There will be no new updates soon...

Prepare for a loooong winter, boys. I'm going to be gone for like, 4-5 days, celebrating a new decade. Yeah, this is the first fully conscious decade I've lived, I grade it a/n

Anyway, last week, dog poop in my bathroom, flaming pieces of paper falling from the sky, christmas, running, soreness after running, bbqs,

Ana's mother tried to teach me how to drive stick. I am not capable. Pluses: I'm a nice guy, I'm college-educated, employed. Minuses : I can't drive stick.

Waiting for Dani to take me away, she was supposed to come at 8. It's 9. I expect her at 10.

RAMMIES!

Off to Campinas!

For a Campinas Christmas!

On the way to pick up my physical ticket, and nervous because I'm awful as a portuguese speaker, my friend Cris was there, and she helped me get it! Yeah!

Finally got a haircut

Bela cut my hair.

I said she should open up a hair salon called "caBELA"

Bs. As.

Like i said, they aren't great. But it's proof i was there. I like you all!

Looking for ideas...

that are feasible for execution.

Leave in comments box.

A pretty Mega-Update

I haven't been writing much at times because there wasn't much to write about. This was not the case with the past week and a half to two weeks. In fact it was pact with things to write about, unfortunately these things also kept me consumed.

And because this might be long, I'll give you a table of contents. Some you may skip through, as I will write this as thoroughly as I can. You can decide the ending. And, to be sure, I didn't skip write because I don't care about you. I assure you that.

Table of contents:

Pt. I - When I stopped being a bitch
Pt. II- When I went out 2 weekends ago
Pt. III - Ro Ro Ro the Bot
Pt. IV - when I started to realize how much I suck
Pt. V - When I realized how much I suck
Pt. VI - I didn't really get deported, but still...
Pt. VII - The Christmas Dinner
Pt. VIII - Buenos Aires pt. I
Pt. IX - Buenos Aires pt. II
Pt. X - Buenos Aires pt. III - the Departure

Part I - When I stopped being a bitch.

For the greater part of a month this blog has been no better than a teenage girl's Xanga page, I know. And I do attribute this to not embracing the gimmick. People responding "But you are Brazil!" stung more than it hung like a badge of honor. That wonderful summer talking point had at some point dissolved away. But it hangs once more, as mistletoe over my door. It's all I have and it's more than most.

Part II - When I went out 2 weekends ago

Two thursdays before, I walked home with thick wads of cash stuffed in my socks. Walking as fast as I could, I entered the door to my apt. and poured it on the bed. I then jumped up and down on the bed until I heard more creaks than I should like.

On the Tuesday of the same week Mari had given me an itinerary of what was to be an eventful week for them. Culminating in a dinner the following wednesday, but highlighted by a costume party on the Saturday. It was on Friday that I finished and scurried home. I was called on, and ventured over. Here at the apt. waiting for me was a package from Al featuring a scarf, a book, and, awesomely, $20 cash. Strange to try and hold in a smile trying on a scarf. Wasn't successful at it, at any rate. At their apt., three of their friends from Sao Paolo, whom I had met previously during the Bohemia fest, had arrived. I spoke in some portuguese. I did things like this. A few beers and sips of some flavored cachaça and we were off to a bar. In a car with Bel and another friend, we went to the first bar. It would not let one in because she did not have ID. To another bar, closing down. Another bar, closed. And finally we headed back to the apt. with no 'out' to have gone to.

Here some bottles of wine were opened, glasses filled and cheese consumed. Beers then after that. These are the nights I can't describe in any detail, because they are fleeting conversations. That said, these are the best nights. The ones I can't really describe, because I'm not thinking about it at the time.

Pt. III Ro Ro Ro the Bot

The next morning I woke up, lounged around for a bit and then made my way to the kitchen to finish off some ramen. In the kitchen a man resembling sean weatherspoon whom I'd met before, along with his roommate, a girl I think I'd met before, began trying to speak to me. The man's comments appeared to be in jest, including re-enacting how I eat. I giggle along like a fool, no one dislikes someone giggling like a fool. And we conversed enough with what little portuguese I know, and what little english they knew. And this was, to be sure, the most complete form of immersion I've had in Brazil. After implying we were to go shopping, I obliged. We walked to a christmas market, and he asked things like 'Do you like Mariah Carey' and...in an effort to seem likable, said I did. 'Do you like the Whitney Houston?' And in an effort to seem likable, I said I did. These things are painful at the time, but I'm confident I made the right moves.

It's not really important that you have anything in common with these relations, the mere excitement of understanding what the fuck they are saying is divine.

And then we went to the grocery store and I picked up aluminum foil and tape.

And we went back to the kitchen and the girl invited me to her hometown that next weekend. Though never intending to go, I did not know at the time how I really would not be able to go.

And then I took the bus over to their apt. Where I began on my costume. I taped a bunch of aluminum foil to my shirt. Made gloves of aluminum foil. Made a hat of aluminum foil. And I was a R$1.20 robot. Not bad. My costumes are always particularly awful, but honestly, this really wasn't that bad.

And then drinks and sips of cachaça and we were off to the costume party. Located on the hills of curitiba, in a house I suppose made for these types of events. Walking in, a cooler filled with beer and a table with spirits placed upon it. I made a stiff vodka-coke. Perhaps this was a mistake.

The following is in bits and pieces:
Eating fried cheese on a stick.
Hitting on the girl who passed out fried cheese on a stick.
Meeting the dude from Chicago who was perhaps the most boring person alive.
Doing some sort of robot as Bela was on a microphone screaming "Roboche, Roboche"
Trying to describe what song should be played next.
Being near some sort of chair.
Dancing with some sort of indian girl who was nice.
In some conversation where I offered to be some guys English teacher.

The following was relayed or asked of me:
Did you kiss that Indian girl?
Do you remember when we were dancing and I fell on my ass?

The following was on me when I woke up the next day:
All sorts of tomato.
All sorts of foil.
All sorts of some sort of beaded gems from an Indian dress.

I placed it together best I could. I didn't get up all of sunday. I ate all the white bread left in my drawer. The friends from the day before knocked on my door at 2 occasions: 2 p.m. and 7 p.m. and at both times I had to intimate that I was too tired still to leave. And I made a swigging motion.

Pt. IV When I started to realize how much I suck

On Monday I woke up knowing I had to go to the Policia Federal to re-up for 90 more days. It was here in the morning I realized my passport was not on me, but at the girls Apt. This was a big deal. Upon counting the days again, I realized that the next day was in fact the day I needed to go. This was a relief. I picked up my passport later that night.

Pt. V When I realized how much I suck

There is a certain assumption I had that people who tend to leave and travel for extended periods of time have a certain savvy about them. They have stories about how they jumped over tracks to make a train, convinced people of things, got out of robberies, got out of stuff.

I learned over the next two days I had none of that. I am the anti-savvy. But to my credit, I seem to find people willing to help. That may be of some consolation.

On Tuesday I woke up early. I looked up info on this process at the PF again. I realized I had only like half the stuff I needed, one being a return ticket. Freaking out at how stupid I was to leave this to the last minute - I did what I normally do, just sort of wallowed, letting the time pass where I could worry. Then I ran into the american I know. She told me that one time she just went to a travel agency and they printed out an itinerary saying I paid for a ticket. This was the savvy I speak of. This is where I have no skills. She took me to a travel agency and did all the leg work. Then all I had to do was go to the PF and all would be fine. I did not do this. I walked to where I thought the PF was, realized it was not the PF, then walked back. And then I thought, man, that was dumb.

Pt. VI I didn't really get deported, but still...

And I essentially had turned myself in. I went to the Policia Federal, and said "Eu gostaria meu passaporte estampar para 90 dias tambehn" which is incredibly broken portuguese filled with fake words and some words that might be close. The man looked at me and told me I was already illegal. "What?" I acted. "You are past the 90 days, theres nothing I can do" "Well, I just bought a ticket, please?" "I actually have to inform you that you must leave in 8 days, you have to sign a document saying that I told you" "LIke as a suggestion, or" ... He then took pity and told me that it wasn't like I had to return home, I merely had to leave the borders of brazil and return. He suggested Foz de Iguacu, the massive waterfalls on the border of Brazil, Argentina and Paraguay. A bus could take me over the border and back. Instead, if I had to waste money, I decided on Buenos Aires. I paid R$8.20 for my fine, took the letter, and bid him adieu.

Pt. VII Christmas dinner

They, the girls : Bela, Bel, Mari and Dani, picked me up for their Christmas dinner. Bel gave me chocolate, Mari gave me a candle. We went to an Indian restaurant. It was delicious. I got the spicy chili curry, which had strips of filet mignon. We gave toasts to our year, I saluted undoubtedly the greatest year of my life. And I informed them of my misfortune in having a temporary time limit on my stay. Bela told me she'd talk to Maxi. We spoke of new years and all sorts of goodies. And I ate my fill. And then they wrapped up the left overs all for me. And then they paid for my dinner. It was not cheap, and did I mention how though I'm not savvy, I tend to surround myself with people willing to help?

Pt. VIII Buenos Aires pt. I

that lunch was on Wednesday. On Thursday I looked at flights. All day at work I looked at flights. During an online class I looked at flights. I booked a flight for the next day. I went home. I booked a hostel. I called Bela, asking how to get to the airport. She gave me explicit directions on how not only to get to the airport at curitiba for R$8, but how to get from the airport in BsAs for cheap as well.

The next morning I woke up at 6 a.m. packed some shirts in a backpack and headed to the shopping estaçao, where a bus picked me up and took me to the airport. At the airport, I ordered a coffee and pão de queijo and I kid you not it was the best pão de quiejo I've had in Brazil. And I got on the plane and then got off. Went in circles in Porta Alegre. And then the moment of truth at that time, the international customs where they checked my passport. I looked as my plane was calling last call. The woman stared at my passport for 20 min. rechecking the letter of the fine paid, talking to her supervisor, before stamping and passing it back to me. Flight to Bs. As. Arrived.

Then as I get to Bs. As. I find the transport to the hostel in a little kiosk. She spoke english to my astonishment. I pay money. I found out where the bus was. And while on the bus to my hostel I thought how savvy I was. Then I remembered Bela had given me explicit directions on everything I must do in order to get where I was. And I still smiled. in less than 72 hrs, I had been nearly deported, booked a flight immediately, found transport and was in another South American country all by myself. Autonomy ftw.

Pt. VIIII Bs. As. pt. II

The bus gave way to a station. And the station had little cars transport us to the hostels. The car dropped me off and the bus driver pointed. I walked with my bag down Ave. Florida, which has to be the busiest street in Bs. As. (no cars, just walkers and counterfeit merch.) Went to the hostel and checked in. First floor was all rockin out with a bunch of american travelers and brazilians. Went to my room. Nice and clean. Own locker with lock. Put my stuff in and took a walk, went to the computer and then said "Now what?"

That would meet me in my room, a kid who spoke English, like, proper queen's english, was there. I asked him if he'd eaten, and off we went. (Prior to this, a Brazilian was in the bunk below, and now I had the pleasure of having in common that I lived in Brazil. And we communicated okay. And that was nice.) But the brit was for the rest of the trip what they might call a "mate." We walked along, finding a restaurant finally and had a beer. He had been traveling for 19 mos. in the likes of Australia, NZ, and Asia. He had saved up for 5 years for it. But I, shockingly, had all the knowledge of South America. I was able to communicate best with the waiter. It was nice. I, for once, was not helpless.

And for that dinner I had an empanada. Eggs, beef, spinach, tomato, cheese. Awesomeness. And a beer. The empanadas would only get better, but also overshadowed by steak. The steak here was cheap and huge and delicious. Fuck Texas.

Upon re-arrival at hostel, we decided to 'give it a go', found a bar in Lonely Planet travel guide. Which is bullshit. Among how it's written are things like "In Bs. As. looking FABULOUS is as important as anything! These people have style and aren't afraid to show it!" How is this informative? Anyways, for one of the clubs it advised "This is the hottest club in Bs. As, but the lines are LONG, be sure to grab a VIP pass." How is this helpful? Are the VIP passes baked into the empanadas? Or fried I guess? I could write better. But won't.

Oh, and of Buenos Aires? Absolutely wonderful. Maybe the best city I've ever traveled to. The perfect mix of old European-style architecture and mixing of modern architecture as well. Beautiful trees lining the streets, apt transportation, wonderful city planning. People were beautiful, truly beautiful. Tall as brazilians with the french body type. Music was all over the streets. They were much more politically active, and with the Falklands war with Britain, I feel Argentina has a certain amt. more street cred than Brazil.

The bar though, we were just walking for ages. And ages. And upon nearing to turn back the brit said "how bout this place", miraculously it was the exact bar we were looking for. A tiny pub my most opinions, it served a cold pint for cheap price. We sat ourselves in two leather chairs and admired the human scenery. They new we were gringos, but being a traveler now instead of a transplant, I kind of admired it. Novelty! On this chair I taught him spanish pronounciation, for which I know little. "And what are the numbers," he said. "Uno...d-dos...tres...quatorze" "You've got to be fucking kidding me," I said. "U2 really did that to you?" And we had a hearty laugh. And he exchanged stories of 19 mos. of travel. Ridiculous jungle trips in asia. How cheap Asia is. How he killed a kangaroo with a car.

And then we went to get something to eat. And we went to a steakhouse. And I got a big steak. And he got a big steak. And I got the wine, b/c I owed him a round, and b/c the wine here is 12 pesos for a nice malbec. That's about $4. And he discussed more about his trips and I, Brazil. How friendly the people are, which I've truly come to admire. The brazilians I asked said that Argentinians were a bit snobbish, but if you are to put Brazil as the standard for approachability, the world will seem cold and bitter in comparison.

The steak came out, gigantic, and french fries as a side. And I discussed how his language has problems. "What about aluminum" "What about it?" "There's no I after the N, it's not aluminium," "For fuck's sake it's our language, if we say it's aluminium it's because that's the way it's pronounced" And I suppose he won that one. I had a shameful tendency to use the word "proper" more often than I normally do.

Then we headed back to the hostel bar, proper wasted, and down below, a sort of cruiseline bar filled with tourists. We started talking to some swiss girls. And after being thoroughly bored by me, and I them, I thought of how they are banning minarets and wanted to really try their neutrality but alas I just bought tequila. And then I found some Brazilians, and they took me in, told me I am brazilian now. And they tried to teach me Portuguese. I began speaking to some women, and the brazilian came back and said "no, friend, they are ugly" and I thanked him. And the brit was lost at this time, it turned out he met a swedish girl in the lounge to some effect.

And the next day I woke up at about 5 p.m. We went to go find a restaurant at 6 p.m. on a saturday, and I kid you not the world was closed. After walking ages, we finally found one, and ate steak. And french fries. And he described how much he desired a sunday roast, which is like a roast with vegetables and potatos and gravy or something. I unno. I really wanted lots of soda with no refills. Same bar that night, few drinks. Retired.

The next morning I ventured off sightseeing. Went to the Plaza de Mayo. Went to a Botanical garden and Palermo. Took some truly awful pictures, which I will post tomorrow. Ate lunch by myself. Had a truly snotty waiter this time. I took the subway and all. Proper autonomy aye?

Pt. X Bs. As. Pt. III - The Departure

The next day I woke up early, took the shuttle to the airport, and got in the long line for TAM to Porto Alegre. She took my passport, looked at the mark from PF saying I had overstayed. She told me they might not let me back in. Then she said, one minute, I have to speak to Sao Paolo. And she was gone for 40 minutes. They made me stand aside. I waited. I thought about how I would have to find a flight to the U.S. Ship my stuff back. Notify everyone.

She came back flustered. It's all okay, she said, just show them this. She was an angel. I wouldn't wish going through that much brazilian bureaucracy on my worst enemies. I got some food, went on the plane. And, unfortunately I sat next to an old woman who I'm sure had pooped herself. And I covered my mouth the whole way. I was confident I'd have 2 hours between flights at Porto Alegre. So confident I discounted the fact that we boarded late. I discounted the fact that we were stuck on the runway forever. And when we arrived, I didn't mind that I was in line at customs for 30 min. I saw the clock 18:00, ahh, it's only 4 p.m. Because I'm retarded I can't tell time. I also forgot there was an hour difference between Bs. As. and Porto Alegre. And so I stepped up to the Policia Federal. She checked my passport, she made a call, and 10 minutes later, I was off. And I dillydallied, used the bathroom. Went to my gate, and ... wait, why is no one there yet. Okay, it says last call. What time is it...it's 630? My flight leaves at 605. The board? Changed to "taking off"

So I went to the TAM and got a new flight at 22:00. Got in at 23:10. Went to some people, asked in broken portuguese where the shuttle was. They laughed and pointed 3 ft. away. I got on the shuttle. He dropped me off in my place, and Here. I. Am.

And no doubt, no doubt, with Christmas with Ana's family and then New Years, there is plenty to look forward to.

Pictures to come.

wonderful

Phoenix - 1901 - A Take Away Show from La Blogotheque on Vimeo.

today

My ceilings are tall enough that I can scatter dolla bills on the mattress and jump up and down without hitting my head.

Problems...

So, my initial hypothesis was wrong. Apparently, São Paolo has the third-highest Jewish population in the world. So why, then, are there no f'n bagels in this country?

A dude at the school told me this, and it was the first question I asked "Then why don't you have bagels?", and he thought I was being funny. But I wasn't. 

I read the 7th Harry Potter book in a couple days this weekend. Worst pacing I've ever seen in a novel. I don't think she realized she was writing the defining book in her series for 300 pages and then scrambled for the next 300 to tie all the nonsense she was spouting in the first.

Better asteroid-disaster movie: Deep impact or Armageddon? 

Wants: DVDs and BOOKS. 

DISLIKES: long hair and lack of toothpaste. 

One of the things I love about reading Glenn Greenwald is left-leaning blogs tendencies to link every time he goes after a right-wing hypocrisy, but ignoring the complete tenacity in his defending of his civil liberties values against the clear hypocrisy of the Obama Admin.

Here Greenwald goes up against Matthew Yglesias, to be sure one of the most reasonable and entertaining bloggers on foreign policy, about Yglesias' claim that Obama's disturbing record on civil liberties is understandable because that's how the executive branch works. This is a post that will not be linked.

However, a post like this will get linked like wildfire. Greenwald, of course, quite possibly could be short-sighted and underestimating the difficulties of governing in a time like this (and Yglesias' main point is probably correct), but it is quite refreshing to never see Greenwald back down from his values.

I'm losing my edge... but i was THERE

I'm incredibly full right now. This was probably my first real created meal at the pensionato. Boiled up some tortellini and poured some tomato sauce on it. Considering the popularity of toasted ravioli I wonder if the same could be had for tortellini. Mix up some cheese tortellini and calamari for some real fun.

I can't really keep a room clean.

There was a work party last night. It was at a very nice house. They had little canoli's filled with potato salad instead of cream. A series of cheeses, breads, and wines. And potato and chicken salads. I ate my fill, two days in a row now. Hard as I tried to speak portuguese, most would rather speak English. And 3 months in I'm still about as awful.

I successfully mailed a letter, though, on Friday.

Thanksgiving was on Thursday. I celebrated by going grocery shopping. I decided I'd shop at a new market. This one is closer and a bit more comprehensive. However, they do not have any pre-packaged meat. This doesn't mean processed, rather, usually markets have sliced up some cold cuts and put 'em in plastic, same with cheeses. This has just the butcher. I'm doing good on pastas now, but should the fancy arrive, I think I'll write down the fraction and point. Also, I ate a chocolate cake, pretty much a whole chocolate cake in 2 days. It wasn't portillo's sized or anything, rather more like an entenmanns.

It appears I'm missing perhaps the best Hawks team of my lifetime, even though they got shut out last night. The circus trip is brutal on any number of hosts.

It really is summer here.

Two days ago whilst walking to work, it was raining. I have no umbrella because I forget every single trip that I make to the market to buy one. So anyways I'm walking to work in the rain, which happens about once a day, and listening to music. And so all the sudden to the right of me some guy rushes next to me and puts an umbrella over my head. For 4 blocks he just walks next to me so I can be under the umbrella. It's one of those nice things I can't see happening in the states. The resulting awkward thank you and half handshake-highfive, however, seem to follow me everywhere.

On Thanksgiving I had some especially awful internet. Which was inconvenient for the phone calls home. My brother asked if he could call my cell phone, but seeing as I have about $6 on it, I told them no. My father said "I'd like to think talking to your family is more important than your minutes," but the truth is, the process it takes to re-up for this chip, there isn't really anyone i'd recommend calling my phone.

Finally, I deleted Jay-Z's blueprint III. Pretty weak album. I don't even like the songs I thought I liked 3 mos. ago.

Bloodsuckers, bubble wrap and (b)samba

Looking at my ceiling right now, there are 8 mosquitoes. This is troubling. Word has spread through their social circle. I'm easy pickins, a sitting duck. While during the day they don't bother me, they expect me to forget, at night they swoop down and leave open wounds. I cover up best I can, which means they get me in some odd places. Ever had a mosquito bite on your palm? It isn't the itchiest, but it's odd. Knuckle? Yeah. They get the feet a lot. And worst of all, they buzz right in my ear. Last night I killed three, and thought I was winning. But no, they've multiplied? The ceiling is so high, I don't know if I can do anything. I'm not even sure how so many make it up into this room, through my tiny window looking into a hallway.

Friday night before I went to bed I was out on the balcony. I heard some pops. Across the street, a homeless man was sleeping underneath awning. Wrapped in a tarp and sitting on bubble wrap. This bubble wrap was the only thing between him and the cement ground. Yet he couldn't help himself. He found popping the air bubbles so much fun he was willing to waste his comfortability. First he was popping one by one. Then, he began stomping his feet for an epic 'crack-crack-crack'x50. This, to me, seemed very short-sighted. But, I guess when life is that bad, popping bubble wrap must seem like Christmas. And boy, did he have a great Christmas.

The palm is itching now. UGh.

So, this weekend I've been going to a bunch of music acts with Dani and her friend. Her friend, through questions I've asked in PORTUGUESE, I've found out is from Rio de Jineiro, and is a lawyer. The first night we went to a small, hidden place, that when you walked in was an empty room and in the back was a make-shift bar and a piano. Samba bands played all night. Due to the intimate location, I did not attempt to dance. They were all very good at samba dancing, very good. Like a coordinated snoopy atop Linus' piano.

Especially an old man. In a fedora and blazer, he walked like he was 80. And then, it was like a scene I watched from my sister Jordynne's movie collection called "Tap." It was your typical dance movie, some dude get's out of jail, falls into the usual bad habits and meets with his old friends. Here comes trouble, right? Except his friends aren't drug dealers, they are TAP dancers, and his crime? It was innocent, non-violent, altruistic. But so anyways, his friends are all like 80, and they aren't allowed to dance anymore because of the doctors, who presumably are worried about the cardio activity on their heart. But they are unhappy, and it's a conundrum: should they dance and feel alive, or actually BE alive but feel dead? But seeing their old friend out of jail, it just causes them to dance. And these old men, who needed canes to walk, were suddenly doing crazy-legs!

And that's what this old man was like.

Ode to Cup'o'Noodles

I love you. You keep my belly full when my wallet is famished. You teach me about different cultures. You're color-coded consistency keeps my language inadequacies from becoming a problem. 

That one night we had, where I had no way to heat the water, so I used the mysterious tea pot to heat the water, while I eyed the security camera nervously, was so THRILLING. It brought us closer together, as I consumed you.

Carne, Frango, somethin someone told me was hillbilly chicken, they all ESSENTIALLY taste the same, yes, and the flavored cardboard you call meat is difficult to discern its authenticity, but my God how many lives have you saved? Jobs created? Jobs saved? 

Shrimp. Hot n spicy. 

It's a global treat, it would have been in the boxes during the berlin airlift.

I'm a proud owner.

Blogging for flogging's sake.

I learned I could download albums.

The first one said it would take 216 days to download, a total more than my Visa lasts.

But, upon second try, a much more reasonable 21 minutes sufficed.

Surfer Blood - Astrocoast, is worth a few spins. While I don't normally do well with these things, I notice some very toned down Built to spill, a dead ringer for Shins vocals, and some Citay. Good album for summer in brazil if i had headphones.

Girls-album.girls. I've been waiting to download this since before I left, but I forgot too. While I do enjoy it, it wasn't quite as good as I wanted. Few spins.

Nonetheless I needed some new blood in my itunes. I've been burning through the same stuff.

Today I ate a whole jar of pickles, what did you do??????????

not much to say...

You can point to some anybody on the street and it's likely they've had a more eventful 2 weeks than I.

I did move. I am here. 4 walls with a window into a hallway. A bed that on the first night was merely covered with towels and comfortable tshirts I felt comfortable sleeping on. The next night covered with old sheets a nice co-worker gave me.

And, almost mercifully, one of the walls in this 8 x 4 room is salmon. I can't handle anymore white walls. And no more living out of a suitcase.

But yet, no more free breakfasts. And those were important. On Saturday, which was a day of depressing bouts of nothing, absolute nothing, a day where boredom is something to do and everything else is numbness, I walked further than I needed to to get some groceries. Not enough for a week. Enough for a day. A day of eating cheetos. A day of cheese sandwiches. A week's worth of vodka. And a liter of coke. And plastic cups. 50% of each liquid into the cup. It wasn't particularly fun, it wasn't particularly helpful, but it was a task. It did give incentive to move, which was more than I normally had.

I had a 2-hr class at 8 am on Saturday morning with a Japanese student. When it became time to speak he grabbed his hair and smacked his face, looked up at the sky and torturous motions and kind of willed words out. His vocabulary is fine, he knew a lot of words, just in no coherent way. The words eeked out with no discernible pleasure, or any discernible fluidity. The vodka would've been helpful then, but it wasn't in play for hours later.

But the hours at the school are indeed the best. The only amounts of interaction I have. Going home, finishing, signifies the absolute end of the day, but I can lay in bed and stare at a salmon wall.

Can You Move To Brazil?

Hard to say my experience is an example. But how much do you like yourself? Enough to spend countless hours with it? Your meals will largely be alone. Your nights as well. Your mornings, absolutely. Your days, of course. Your weekends - those are tricky. The hostel gave the allusion that things could happen. And for the first weekend it was great. The second was made by Dani, there was no one at the hostel. The third nothing happened except for one night with a bottle of tequila, a bottle of vodka, and 2 Paolistanos and a Curitibano. That has a happy ending though.

And then the fourth here. And the fourth was brutal. Conversations in your head can only get you so far. My dreams even became boring. Probably due to self-induced hunger, I've had many dreams of merely eating. Just at a table eating. The unattainable climax is thinking about getting ice cream, but then I wake up...fuckml. I used to try and act like I had something to do when eating alone at a lanchonette, but I've resorted to just staring straight ahead. Staring up. Staring straight ahead. A conta. But then you have the walk back, and that's something.

And but then a few connections finally pull through, and things are able to turn around. But there is something awful about days just going by. They turn into months, and months, likely, is all I have. I just hope there isn't a point where someone asks me what Brazil was like and all I can muster is "It's kind of like being stuck 4x8 box with one salmon wall. But the food was great"

moving tomorrow.

self explanatory.

Nothin else has happened.

and it comes to a screeching halt.

happy halloween

It is sure to happen to anyone, let alone me. Especially since I'm not traveling much, especially since I'm alone for much of the week. Those small details that seem so exciting at first, (say, enchiladas on an airplane!?!) gradually just shift into what becomes your life. That's what is so great about dramatic change, especially change that involves moving to a different culture, each one is like a single bubble in a sheet of bubble wrap, each pop brings as much excitement as the last, until gradually one isn't enough, and you pop handfuls at a time until you're left with an unexciting sheet of plastic, that is now your life. But I'm not there yet. But it is tougher to think about ways of writing things that are exciting.

For instance last Saturday I went to a Brazilian country bar. Dani took me after a day of tourism that involved pictures I will include at the bottom of this post, Al Craven style. We drove up to this warehouse of a club with a line that wrapped around corners and more corners, reminiscent of a star wars opening night, without costumes. And we stood in line: Dani and 2 of her friends, and myself, after I had been waiting for an hour without a cell phone outside in front of the mall - where, after wondering for 30 minutes where this hideous smell was coming from (surely not the Brazilian people, right?!), found out that I was standing next to where a hobo had cleared his bowels. But 3 girls would not stand fit to stand in line, they got to go ahead. And eventually, I made it to the bar, after 40 minutes of waiting, standing in silence oogling the pretty brazilians around and wondering, they are older than 15, I hope. 19 is my new limit.

And in this bar we had fun, and I paid dearly for that fun with my greatest currency, which now, for the first time, is real currency. And it was crowded, when I made it in there was still hundreds behind me, and I had to squeeze through as soon as I made it to the door. There were several brazilian women I refer to as "Amazon women" due to their tremendous height, they seemed upwards of 12 ft tall but I suppose I'll settle for 6'5. Their legs seemed to end at my mouth...but I'll leave it there. They were enabled with both breasts, however, and that's where the name falls short. Nonetheless, these Amazos were a tremendous asset. Assembled hither and thither among the dense crowd, they served as booeys as I navigated the sea of people. Where are we? oohhh right by booey hoop earrings, and they were a stable reference point. I imagine girls like that don't need to go to the bar to get drinks, they can just reach from wherever they are.

And it was for the second time I was at a bar, recognized, by people of previous acquaintance. And this enabled tremendous success, along with my general gringo charm and pretty face.

But before that success was a time where I had another man put effort for me to achieve success. One of the girls friends, who asked me which girl he should go ask to talk to me. He pointed to one of the booeys, and I, I think out of respect for what they had meant to me, said yes. But so she spoke english and talked to me, then introduced me to her boyfriend. Who spoke to me, and after 10 minutes speaking to this man I thought, hey, cut your losses. This sucks.

And then all of sunday I slept and looked all around me. It was rainy then.

What do I say for the rest of the week then?

On Thursday walking to class a grouping of police cars were gathered, along with an ambulance, along the road way. I saw a group of gawkers gathered as well. In the corner of my eye I saw a tarp on the ground. At that point I knew the rest, and said "don't look" to myself. But I did look. Beneath the tarp a sea of blood spilled out from the lump being covered up. I remembered being a young journalist sent to a mcdonalds where a man had just been shot. The photographer raced there saying "I hope they didn't move the body, yet!" "Yeah...totally" and then when we got there I saw a bunch of blood in the middle of the parking lot and said "That must have been where he was ... shot." It was a tremendous observation. And both led me to feel awful. Awful gagging feelings. Brain completely distracted. blood is incredibly red, before it dries up. Distracted and cotton-mouthed, I walked to work. I nearly got hit by a car I was so out of it. I couldn't write on the blackboard without writing redrum.

And, reassuringly, the people at work told me how bad it's gotten. "oh you live across from Estacao, lots of drug deals in that park, very dangerous." "Yeah a student almost got robbed outside the school last night, but he was holding his iphone out in front of him" Idiot, I would never do ... oh wait I do that with my ipod all the time.

I ate a hot dog then, that night, with mustard.

And so then, last night, I hung out with some Americans here on a biology trip. I went to dinner, got a x-egg, a cheese eggy, a hamburger with ham on top, an egg on top of that, and lettuce tomato and cheese. Keep in mind not in American portions. And we exchanged books that we were tired of. And I have connections in different parts of Brazil. But that ended at 10 pm and I went to sleep.

And today, at halloween, with my friends all mostly gone, I did nothing. Nay, I went to Passeu Publico, a zoo of sorts. And I laughed at the rainbow-feathered parrots, who looked so embarrassed. "I bet they feel overdressed" I said to myself. And I laughed at this. Because, it's at that point where the dialogues in my head are more common than real live ones. And then I went to a lanchonette and got a x-frango and a cocacola and fell in love for the 100th time with the counter-lady.

And I read a book today. And spoke to friends.

And at 9 pm I spoke to an american here, who I spoke to the night previous. And she was going to Wonka bar. And when asked what I'm doing tonight, "not so much". "Yeah, if I was on your budget I'd understand. I'm glad I still think I'm on vacation." And so instead of making a small step to go along, I decided to ride this theory, that I wasn't planning on going anywhere because I was poor, as opposed to what it actually was - I had no one to go with. But if that sounds pathetic, she wasn't that attractive so I forgive myself.

And no I'm here. And Here are pictures.

the one on the right is who let me stay in her room for one month, muito obrigado Dani

taking suggestions...

on how to solve my laundry problem.

Leave them in the comments box por favor.

fighting sickness...

been kind of useless this week as I battle a sore throat and stuffiness. I have pictures from the weekend, and am aware the longer I wait the less interesting the writing gets, but so anyways. A volleyball club is at the hostel, which means about 70 teenagers are here. Earlier I watched them re-enact 'Single Ladies'. They think it's funny to say "Hello" to me and then giggle for 10 minutes. Hostel wearing out welcome.

ptarmigan

At 1030 this morning, they moved me, again, from the 12 man dorm up three flights of narrow stairs where I carried my suitcase with forearm strength 2 ft. in front of me, to accommodate my legs, in to a 12 ft x 8 ft single room with white walls and a mirror, ceilings slanting starting at 2 feet and / up to 6 feet, so I crouch in 3/4s of this room to sit on my 5 ft. bed, where I jumped on too and exhaled. It is in this white, short, small-lapped room where I lay now, with roughly 3x the anxiety, remembering the 1 friend who could subtract it down to 0.

And it was then, 1 hour ago, to now, where I traveled through time and space, to the opening drones and haunting wails, a strum of guitar and plucks of a bass, to three years ago, barely standing by the north sea, my ancient friends...

Standing in some foreign apt in Indiana, there for little 500, to see a cousin, but ended up the first night, with one good friend’s girlfriend, and three that I knew by name and appearance and little else. Before those three bonded with 3-6, the discussion was less hood, more spiraling around stairs, which pavement album was the best, what to make of terror twilight, the shock of meeting a kid in fraternity listening to malkmus, the shock of meeting anyone who listens to pavement, the drinks that accumulated one by one to result in one singular embarrassing moment, whilst dreaming that a kitchen was a bathroom.

I will fight to expedite another lonesome winter

Forward, westward to Kirkwood, in a cramped kitchen at a wood table me and Stephen to meet ted to meet evan, fresh from the boat, after taking the plane thousands of miles, arriving in st. louis, from Scotland. A figure now with long hair and tanned narrow face, more confident and straightforward, remarking on the exactness of the pint, a glass there 3 ounces more than here. The Croatian women, he remarked, more than 3x more beautiful than the men, to whom he was roughly 2x as good looking. And for one hour he spoke of 5 months, and off to sleep, while we headed to Teds basement, to drink 2 xs, while we sat on the cement floor.

didn´t want you to go, if you die just let me know...

1 year from then, after 6 mos. of a group with a total sum so large from makeup of its respective parts it seems like a fluke,we sat on the cracked wooden porch on a shredded leather couch. Evan, in heightened anxiety due to the absence of Bess, and Me, in heightened anxiety for reasons I can’t rationally explain or disclose, sat in silence, only able to speak of how we felt restless and heavy. Each other compounding our anxieties. But the solution, of course, was a change of scenery, not company. And in the winding roads moving out of Columbia, with each exhale, the heaviness expelled through the cracked window, into the leaves of the looming trees, to be breathed in by the leaves, and exhaled and taken in by the blinding stars above. Far away from me for the night…

Continental drifting is so hard on me, to find out just where we’ll be…

Reverse nine mos. to the basement. The first practice after 5 mos of Peter being day away in Australia, evan hours away in Scotland. Behind the fish tank of a fish of particular lack of intelligence but strong will, surviving alcohol poisoning and malnutrition, began the first sounds of the music that would define the next year in all memories and importance, with continual peaks and no valleys, that could not even be described correctly as a plateau or rising mountain. We jumped from mountain top to mountain top and never looked below or ahead, to such success now it’s impossible to not, now, look behind.

And your face glows blue with the second hand light reflecting off the moon

And in the daylight of a bar usually avoided, one that plays evil dead on loop and what to make of it, a small group of us made it to watch the notes reflect in the sun, and with hours to go, a later rendezvouz to cap off a perfect day. A drive through the trees, where we parked, and hiked to the top of a bluff. And watched a house’s single light turn into a fire, and the fire turn into the moon.

Just sit on yer perch and watch everything collaaaapse

A message from peter in February outlining the many ptarmigan dates, to be circled on april 14, or 16^th, when the album would debut. It made the semester look as short as it was, but almost mercifully that night seemed the perfect length. ½ an hour of numbering cds individually, hands reached to the sky, 6 18 oz pbrs to be drunk before 1 4 hour show with 4 acts, respectfully. Of course, and a meet up of 6 close friends before entering into a sea of unknowns. The reward for years of service, the word was out, the hands were up, and no amount of hyperbole could match the elated feeling of all loosely involved…

And it’s been said, I don’t feel the same…

In late june the heat of the summer became oppressing in a 90 year old house with 0 circulation and the result was a general bitterness and shortness with everyone that, certainly, was on par with oxycontin withdrawal. This, was cured by caroline’s apt and cooling temperatures.

Where’s the wolf

1 walk down the 1 mile trail to see the meeting of 3 creeks was stopped short by the complete realignment of shore and water. And with that, Evan mortared some rocks with mud, and I looked through a myriad of them to find the perfect shape. And with that the water of a tiny stream was stopped, in hopes of washing away the excess of rocks preventing the numerous jumps one could take from one leaning tree into the water below…

I don’t care-a what the nurse says a pqrs p-q-r-s

And for one time, at the same creek, a breaking of the heavens left creeks and streams to be rivers. And with it, we packed our phones and keys under a log, and ventured with jimmy and Christina and Stephen and evan and Peter and I and we walked cautiously across a rapid, where some fell, turtles were saved, beer was forded across like Oregon trail and we made across to the soggy ground afore. And made it to the meeting, the swimming hole, where it was now a massive rapid. And the turtle, unfortunately, had to stay. But the beer was chucked, one by one, across, it was a matter of life or death. And Peter jumped first, off the tree, as far as he could make it before swimming frantically to the other side. And then Jimmy. And then Christina didn’t jump but bolted from the ground. And then Evan. And then I. And to get back, we all lay on our backs, projecting where the water would take us, before grabbing a tree branch and hoisting ourself up.

I am the interloper.

And as I opened my eyes I was here in the room, it was white now where there was trees and water before. Sometimes I look at the birds in the trees in the courtyard and try to mimmick the sounds, and it’s reassuring. And Ted’s effortless ability to connect with technology makes it easy. But the fact I haven’t talked to evan in 2 mo’s is something that can now, I found, be rectified with the press of one button, with one finger, and I can be in perpetual company, like the finger that rectifies the situation.

-to evan-

-from ben-

Conversation with Al (Girl Craven)

Al Craven: um. i don't remember the rainbow fish very well.
Al Craven: just remember it was shiny!
Ben Magnuson: Yeah!
Ben Magnuson: well, she gives away all her shiny scales to other fish to make them happy
Ben Magnuson: but then at the end, she had no scales at all, and was ugly
Ben Magnuson: and ridiculed
Ben Magnuson: and drowned herself.
Al Craven: she did not drown herself.
Ben Magnuson: haha
Al Craven: a, that's horrible for children.
Ben Magnuson: oh al
8:00 PM
Ben Magnuson: she's a fish
Al Craven: and b, she's a fucking fish.
Ben Magnuson: hahahaha
Al Craven: yes.
Ben Magnuson: This is going up on the blog.
Al Craven: :)

A bit of bad news ...

Today, whilst walking to class a bird shit on my head. I was walking at the park adjacent to my hostel, when I felt a rock land on my head. These things happen. I assumed it was one of those hard leaves. I used my hand to brush it off, but it seemed to just move a bit, and then I looked at my hand, covered in the brown, digested worm goo of a native bird. The wonders of Brazil. So I look down, and look up, and think 'No...' There are a couple of decisions:

• Keep walking with your hand hidden until you get to class and wash it off there
• Return to hostel to wash hands and hair
• Try to stand next to a hobo to seem comparatively cleaner
• Jump in front of a bus

So I walked back to the hostel with the high-level of self-consciousness that only comes when you know you have shit in your hair, but hope other people don't know.

And then I went to work.

And tomorrow represents an important day. It is a first day. And the phrase 'tomorrow is the first day for the rest of your life' is much less reassuring when you remember that first days are quite terrible. My first, first day, covered in goo screaming until sleep. My first day of school crying due to separation anxiety with my mother. First day of middle school, where it seemed overnight all my friends had girlfriends, and when they asked who I liked, it marked the first time "What am I gay?" worked against me. Loss of innocence. First day of classes suck. First day of work sucked. First day of post-graduate life was rad. First day of Brazil was average.

And so tomorrow is the first day of my Portugues lessons. Soon I will be able to order food, and understand how to pay for things. No more one meal a day. No more awkward fumblings. Soon I will be able to tell the hobos to 'get a job!'

That's not a name

Looking back to where I last updated the blog is exhausting. I'm tired. But things have worked out well, this week, have planned portugues classes, have found cheap living, and had a good weekend. I can't type well right now, and I don't think I'll edit this even moderately.

And so Wednesday was inconsequential and boring. Thursday night was about to be the same. Bela's cable got downgraded so no Brazil's next top model, it was out. I was sitting on the bench about to go to bed, when an American named Chad walked up. 34 then, 35 now, He is the size of Steve Nash with the same hair cut only blonde, and looked like he was from Colorado, and he was.

He had originally come to Brazil for 3 weeks and was no here for three months. He was originally headed to Florionopolis the next day, which was postponed for each day of the weekend.

And so, he asked if I wanted to go out. I did. And we walked to Batel street, which was the street of the original bar I went to on my first weekend here. The Irish Bar, The Soviet Bar, The American Bar (it was American because it had neon lights and was called Yankee bar). We walk up the street, and then down the street, each bar less promising than the one before. I did want to go into the soviet bar due to Wayne's World. It had murals of VI Lenin in strength positions.

We walk across a bar with tinted windows but enough to see people in it and a band. He speaks in broken Portuguese to the bouncer. We walk in. When they get our IDs to create our tabs, he hands them a piece of paper with his name and date of birth on it. We get our tabs and order 2 legitimate pints. After two glasses of courage he walks up to a group of women dancing in front of the band. "How do you say happy birthday" he asks me. "Feliz Anniversario" I say. It's the one thing I know.

He walks up and I stay back, partly because I didn't care yet, partly because I'd have nothing to say. When he talks it looks like Slater from Dazed and Confused. He waves me over. Lord behold they were speaking English. "Wut is yr name?" "Ben" "Been?" "Ben" "Beh?" "Ben" "Bem?" "Ben" "Ben! Like Beer" "yes." and this continues like this. I speak, they make bad jokes, and as I stand, a man walks up to me and says "Do you like Jazz music?" "I love jazz music." "You. Come with me." And I grab Chad. And he introduces us to Rafael, from Rio. "You split taxi." So we split a taxi and it drove around for a while before dropping us off in front of a bar. The original man, who had slicked black hair and a soul patch along with a bludgeoned face, walks over and pats me on the shoulder three times.

We walk in and it was pretty great. All brick on the inside with low lighting and pictures of Ella Fitzgerald everywhere. We grab drinks and he introduces me to the band. "Chicago Boolls" Conversation about Curitiba. I spoke with the band about American Jazz, what I could muster, sometimes making names up to seem educated. Sometimes not. They excuse themselves and the band goes down to play and we follow. The basement is darker, the only lights coming from candles and the lights on the band. The band starts and was impressive. I speak with original man about Miles Davis and what his best album was. He makes drum motions with his hands sometimes and then plays the bass as well. And now the piano.

The music was really good. And people continued to come up and talk to us. It was kind of remarkable. Chad leaned over and worked on a girl unsuccessfully. And drinks kept coming. Rafael then started talking to me about Rio. A couple came up to me and asked me if I like the Stooges. " I love the Stooges" They are playing in Sao Paolo, they offered I come. We exchanged numbers/info. The woman was an english teacher and explained to me why Portuguese sucked. Rafael then started talking to me about politics. I made stuff up when it was convenient. A girl sat down next. Woman sat down next to me and Raf. She had been talking to original man. In mid sentence speaking to Raf about something with oil, she jumped over and kissed my cheek and then my eye. And my eye hurt. It was stinging like hell and I couldn't open it. So I looked pretty cool. "He does not want me to do that but I want to." she said.

Luckily she drove us home. And I woke up the next morning with an unbelievable hangover.

And so Friday, I had to switch rooms, and despite going to bed at 7 am, had to wake up at 11 to switch with a headache would cause zeus to take an axe to his head.

But in the room I moved to was Chad, and he was talking to a new American, Rich. Rich was 25, from new jersey, lived in spain for two years, went to university of chicago and just graduated law school from American university and had a job lined up with a firm after he spent 3 months in South America. So he was more accomplished than me. I slept late that day and then got a hot dog. At 9 I met up with Rich in the lobby and talked about Chicago. Then we went to go get sushi. He spoke Portuguese too. I'm quite the novelty just speaking English here. We go back and at 11 head to a bar after getting beers at a gas station and drinking on the walk along the way.

The bar was an American rock bar named Crossroads, named for the Eric Clapton version presumably, by the Clapton mural above the sign.

We head upstairs, and 1130 was still too early, the bar was fairly empty. I drink a couple to several beers as Rich worries that he'll end up with a hideous girl of Japanese descent in front of us.

Rich told me a story of hooking up with a girl in Florionopolis. After spending a day at the beach the girl invites him back to her place mid day. He asks if she wants dinner, and so instead insists they make dinner. Her apt. is 1 bedroom and her parents are there. Live there. They have a candle light dinner while her parents are adjacent, 2 feet away on a couch watching TV. She then starts making out with him...again...parents 2 feet away.

And so we move over to an area where the clear favorites in terms of attractiveness are. He goes up and asks if they are sisters, which, when you have our low level of vocabulary, is about as high class as we can get. I stand still looking cool. I am clearly the best looking man at this level, so no worries.

The one thing I keep hearing from the girls is translated as "you lie." She didn't believe he was American. Then that we were friends. She said that he was my father. I asked dad if he wanted a beer. Later she walks up to me and asks me what my name is... "Ben" "Be?" "Ben" "Bem" "Ben" "Ben?" "Sim." "That's not a name." And she walked away. Some 35 year old woman then started talking to me, and then explained to me how her boyfriend was from Los Angeles. He was a drunk. He was always away. I wanted no part of that.

The next set of girls were rather boring even by our low comprehension standards. One asked me if I like the Doors. "No" "They are the greatest American rock band" "Please" and I walked away. Rich talked to another. He was trying to convince her we were brothers. Again, our standards for entertainment are very low when compared to no comprehension at all. "You are trying to cheat on me!" she exclaimed. We laughed at her. She meant trick. I get to laugh at others' comprehension.

I think i'm going to make an authors edit on the rest of that night. It wasn't something mom should read.

So we get out of the bar at six. Someone was speaking german so I spoke to him. Man in his forties. Then he asks "so how do you know Chad?" I was like "WHo" he was at the American from Chicago's bbq i attended some time before. How bout that, I'm running into people who know me here.

And so we get back to seven and I sleep away. Lunch/dinner/sunday/monday/tuesday.

And I'm all caught up.

The Day of Tourism!

I woke up today and it was the best day there has ever been in Curitiba. The sky was crystal clear, that never happens, and it was 70 degrees about, that never happens. After finishing having lunch with a man from Colorado and pondering whether to strike up conversation in German with the adjacent table, who were speaking it, I took out my damn tourist map and had myself a day.

First, I looked at what was close, and saw the historic district. Mari had told me on Sundays it's the place to be for shopping, and today was Wednesday and I wouldn't shop anyways but I'll be damned if it wasn't close.

So I took my camera, put on my back pack and I walked down Rua Branco and was to go to Sao Francisco. But it seemed to dead end so I took a left and then thought, a right seemed good here and then I dead ended again, so I took a right. The houses and shops looked very old, and I walked in the middle of a very wide cobblestone street. I reached the end of the street and looked at the sign and lo and behold that WAS Sao Francisco. One of those great moments in your life where you just kinda keep going forward and end up where you need to be. But so anyways I get back at 11 and decide, this day isn't close to done, I'm finding that damn Botanical garden. So I walked there, and here are the pictures. I laid around for a few hours and looked at the birds. Listened to music, felt very safe. Saw two horses just tied up to trees, which was odd. And then went to burger king for lunch. No 1 meal for me today!

This is the Jardim Botanica. It is pretty small in person but it looks lovely.
So this Tree is native to Southern Brazil. It's endangered so wherever a tree is, no development can cut it down, merely build around it. It's a pretty beautiful conifer tree.
South American skies thru American eyes. Much more distinctive in person, it looked like Bob Rossi was painting the sky.

-BM

Last day of sunshine before 6 days of rainnnnnn...

On Saturday night I went to a prom at El Rancho...

But before that, during the day, I started crunching numbers. And I realized that I was going to be living a pauper's existence. There's the odd chance I could be a dead ringer for a prince and I would throw him out into the street as I took his throne, but for the most part, I'm getting used to a meal a day. The free breakfast. Gettin swoll, it happens.

The reality of a budget made my chest get tighter and my head hurt. Everything so far had gone according to plan, and then the crucial misstep of assuming I could afford it easily wasn't a smart one.

So I went out drinking.

Sitting at the Cafe Democrata with a Brahma cerveja in a chilled glass, I watched the reaction of Maxi, Bela's Argentinian boyfriend, as Argentina played Peru in the crucial World Cup Qualifier for them. My back was to the closest TV and I squinted to catch the action at the opposing end of the bar. Bela's Argentinian Spanish teacher showed up shortly thereafter, and a Colombian girl with him. It was a UN summit. They spoke in Spanish, occasionally stopping and asking if I got any of that and chose some of the words I knew to imply comprehension, meanwhile Max would grab his hair and throw his head forward screaming words I can only assume were not meant for children's ears. I did what I knew how to do, occasionally motion to the waiter to bring another one.

My spirits were improved after eating some food for the first meal of the day. Argentina went up 1-0 to the chagrin of the Brazilians at the bar, and to the delight of Maxi. I drank and watched and listened. And in the 88th minute, Peru scored sending cheers throughout the bar from antagonistic Brazilians and merciful jeers from Maxi, I assume.

And then, in the 92nd minute, a long distance kick from an Argentinian giving-it-a-go created a rebound and an open net. Max stood up and started screaming and pumping his fists, and then tore his shirt off and was probably saying something like "That's how we do it in Argentina! We are awesome! Go team!" And I was rooting for the Republic of Argentine so I put my fist in the air and let out an "Aw" but luckily no one was paying attention.

We moved downstairs and I followed the conversation much better as they were talking about how people say different words in Colombia, Argentina and Brazil. I was going to interject "in some states people say 'Pop' while others say 'Soda', but in the south, those people say 'Coke' for everything! Loco!" but I motioned to the tab and was quickly served another Brahma. This time Brahma black, which looks like a stout, acts like a stout, but brother, it ain't a stout. (Probably a black ale).

In the end my tab was very expensive.

But so towards the end before we paid, they said "do you want to go to a Latin party?" and I'm like, "yes".

So we walk into this doorway and there are christmas lights wrapped around the rafters, the walls are painted yellow, and the doors are archways, some jaundice-stricken women are painted on the walls, and the dance floor is surrounded by some tables. In the distance was a stage, which was just nearly finished up by the band featuring an old man in a fedora tickling the ivory, and he looked awesome. Then three microphones for horn/guitar players and the drummer and bassists tucked in the back. The occasional dude with the stick and the ...tubes he hits together. They were preparing their set that would feature enough pelvic thrusts to turn the toilet water clockwise.

I went to the bar and successfully ordered. I watched the dance floor as the many people filled in to dance to the live music. At it's best, Brazilians dancing is as fluid as the ocean's waves, and at it's worst it's something out of the '96 Republican Convention. So no matter, it's a hell of a show. I was preparing to do my dance called "Stand and Observe" which has a song to it that goes "STAND and OB se-e-RVE, STAND and OB se-e-rve." But as my body digested the alcohol it was only a matter of time before I showed Brazil what the show "So you think you can dance!" was all about.

And I did. "You don't need to be polite," I asked Colombian Maria, "How was my dancing." "You need to practice." And we did. And I could enjoy it, I see the attraction to these learned partner dances, but while dancing I'm concentrating so hard that as soon as she gets out of the routine to do that fun SPINNING I lose everything. I don't so much have two left feet as two stubs, and shopping cart wheels for hips.

I was very happy, though, and my thoughts from the day were erased, it would just take a little bit of effort to reduce the overhead costs, and I'd be doin' fine.

I'm not sure when we got back but I woke up at 1 p.m. the next day, napped again, went to the hostel to change, went to mcdonalds, came back. Then Bela said we were going to her Spanish teacher's house for some homemade pizza. I went there and spoke to a girl from NE Brazil from the night before, became friendly with another Argentinian...

ahh yes...on the way over Max referred to himself as Argentinian. I said "I'm glad you said that because my friends were always confused whether to say Argentine or Argentinian!" He responded " We are the Republic of Argentine, the country is Argentina, and I am Argentinian. End of debate."

And so the pizza's were great. Homemade crust, and slices of Mozzarella melted over sliced tomatoes, some pizzas with ham, some with onions, some with Arugula, all delicious. I ate my fill. I came back and went to sleep.

So, Monday was a holiday in Brazil celebrating some saint. I went back to the hostel at 3. I met the only other person now in the room with me, we never got each others' names, but he was from Maranau, pretty much in the rainforest, but a pretty well-known town. We made plans that night but I slept through them, when I woke up he had left. One of the few beautiful nights in Curitiba, we sat on the bench and chatted. A girl from California walked up. She went to school in São Paolo, and had taken a trip to Blumenau for Oktoberfest, a town in the south of Brazil with many German descendants.

I envied her Portuguese and her travels. She'd traveled all over. I'd done not nearly enough, but I was being shockingly responsible in my savings. "Well-behaved women rarely change history" I said to myself.

Sparse Internet = Blogging complications

When I get a full charge on this badboy I'll give updates on a very busy weekend + Mon. + Tues.

As for now, love you all.

First Night in Hostel was Fail

Yesterday at noon I packed up my things and went down to the sidewalk. Bela had gone to pick up Max, who had arrived from Buenes Aires, from the airport and come back to take me to the hostel. I had training at 2 p.m. and was too lazy to make anything to eat.

I got into the car and met Max, who speaks both English and Portuguese well in addition to his native Spanish...everyone does, and spoke some encouraging words that once I get a base level down it's going to snowball with the rest of the vocabulary. I hope so.

We arrive at the hostel and I check in. I had to go to the ATM because they have me pay up front and they don't take credit cards. R$10 in ATM fees again. So I get into the hostel room, with the lights off and someone sleeping. I go to a corner bed where there is just sheets and throw my bag under. The man wakes up, he's from Israel. Here touring South America. He leaves. I am now in a hurry, I leave and have to hop on the bus, get off at Peixoto and head on in. To teach us what it's like to learn, they brought in a teacher to give us a lesson in German. I had four years of German under my belt, and so this marks the first time in Brazil a foreign language (to me) was spoken that I felt comfortable and superior. Ja, das ist Deutschland und Deutschland is ein Land.

And so I walk home, saving myself the bus fare. Right in front of the hostel is a beautiful park with fountains, trees covered in Ivy and statues of men. Generally I stay away from these areas when it gets around this time, but, I saw little kids and families and I was like, I'm going to go see the fountain. As soon as I take the lead-in sidewalk to it's end, a woman comes up to me, a woman who from appearance I knew was not asking for directions. I start to walk away, a man comes up too. And then another man. As he is speaking loudly and in a seemingly intimidating manner, I checked to see in his flailing arms for any thing to bludgeon me.

I then looked at his pockets.

I then thought that if me Chase Daniel'd me, I'd have my lap top stolen. I looked around and the families seemed to not be there anymore, instead it was a swarm of hobos walking like neanderthals, and it was as if I'd been transformed into a b-level zombie movie. I walk faster.

The park seems much larger now, the trees and fountains look run down up close. But perhaps this perception shifts as you are getting swarmed and followed by dirty people screaming portuguese. What a novelty, Brazil!

Should I get punched, I may fall, but if not, surely my backpack has the weight to do some damage. But now, I was wondering whether to come out and say I don't speak Portuguese, or continue to act aloof, like, oh? I'm sorry I didn't see you, screaming man. So I took the mid-way route and started making signs with my hands as if I was deaf and this was sign language. No joke. I tersed my lips and angried my eyes and made the hand gestures like, please, I'm deaf, why are you hobos bothering me? This did nothing.

It's hard to communicate how big Michael Jackson is down here. 20 years from his height of relevance and 4 mos. removed from his death I still here his name every day. In movies such as Eurotrip and Almost Famous, the right song stops conflicts and brings harmony. My knees were shaking but my head was pretty clear, and I thought about singing Billy Jean in a deaf person's voice, and they would stop yelling and following and it would turn into one of those Indian Prison youtube dance montages. The absurdity of the situation, my first attempt to do anything local following in assault, seemed it would be cured by an equally absurd solution. But instead I just kept walking and made it to the hostel door.

Get in, Bela was to call me later for dinner. I hadn't eaten yet save a few crackers. I get wireless. I go back and all the lockers have locks on them. So I go back and get poorly communicated to about these lockers, thinking that my room key works on the locks, which is incredibly stupid. All the lockers were taken up. It's a holiday, and the room was full. So I'd be leaving my lap top and camera in an unlocked room. Not ideal. SO then I lay on the bed for a few hours thinking, this kind of sucks. And then everyone in the hostel gets back, all speaking portuguese, my Israeli buddy is not there. Apparently all the beds had been taken, now. So, since I was leaving, now it was 10, I was sure there would be no bed for me when I got back, no bed and an unlocked lap top. At this point I wasn't thrilled with my day, I was pretty pissed off. I was hungry. I was sick of portuguese. I was sick of hobos. And I was terrified that my first day away from the apt. would end up with all my shit stolen and a broken jaw.

I go to dinner. Mustang Sallys and the menu has English food titles but portuguese descriptions. Mari asked me if I wanted an English menu but I understood Jack Daniel's burger just fine. Halfway through the meal Bel and Mari sit down next to me and said "we have something to tell you" they say that Dani doesn't get back until Sunday, and I am gone until Monday, and that I can stay. At first, I didn't want to, but then, I did. They drop me off at the hostel, I grab my laptop bag, and the room smells hideous. I leave. I get in the car. I'm back in the apt.

And now I'm at the apt.

I would not survive Brazil without Ana's friends.

the eagles

are such an awful, awful, awful band.

If you are counting, it's a month.

One month.
1 week in Campinas + 3 weeks in Curitiba.

The math isn't exactly right, but for purely symbolic reasons, I accept it on this Monday, because it was the 4th weekend. Wednesday night, I'll move into the hostel. Wednesday afternoon is the first day of why I came. The next few weeks will be the real transition. But for the last 4 weeks, I'm deeply thankful it moved so smoothly.

And for that 4 weeks, not a single entertaining picture? Desculpe. I'm terrified of bringing my camera anywhere, and you can decide for yourself whether being so scared of having your camera stolen you don't take it anywhere and actually having your camera stolen are equivalent. For now, I choose to believe there will be an event, a perfect event, where I'll want my camera, and everyone will have a visible bulky camera like me, and everyone at the event was background checked as especially not a camera-stealer, and I run around like Ashton Kutcher in those canon(?) commercials I hate. I hope it's on a beach!

Last week I became overly sentimental, though I showed no physical signs. On Friday night, we were staying in. I drank a bottle of wine, watched Jumper with Mari, and then Be Kind, Rewind with Bela. While watching the latter it made me miss home. Oh the friends are like friends, and the video store is like 9th street, and the making movies is like going out. But Jack Black actually sucks, the video store is nothing like 9th street, and there were no parallels to my life. I remember, I was living in my father's house in 'White' Brook when I left.

On Saturday, I made coffee promptly after waking up. I stopped drinking the coffee Brazilian style, with half milk and sugar, and gulped down the coffee to perk my weary eyes. I remember why I love coffee now, it serves a purpose. Drinks are wonderful like that. For food, you satisfy Maslow's needs. For drinks, you satisfy your desires.

Mari proposed to get some real Brazilian food, the kind I'd shamefully avoided since my arrival. Rice, beans, etc, want it. Bela, Mari and I walk 200 ft. to the right of the building into a buffet. Earlier, I asked Mari the price range. She said "Well how much do you eat?" I didn't know what that meant, when people ask that at home I'll say 'a lot', but it was clear she had something specific in mind. "Because 1 kg is 18, but you probably won't eat a kilo, do you think you'll eat a kilo?" Regardless of the fact that I have absolutely no reference for how much a kilo is, I couldn't even figure out a way to think of how much I eat in terms of the familiar lbs. I thought about a half pound hamburger and fries. That was a pound. I think a pound is more than a kilo. I think a pound is less than a kilo. 1 kilo is 1000 grams.

"I don't know, but I'm sure it will be fine," I responded.

My plate was half a kilo. Pickles, cabbage, potato salad, rice, beans with beef, some beef, and chicken. 1/2 kg. They have the right idea, rice and beans fill you up. Bela waived down the waiter after I told her, yes, I would like a drink. The waiter arrived and was like "oaubefiasdlkfj" and Bela asked what I wanted, cocacola, and he was like "bousdfjsdflkaj" "bottle or can", Bottle, and he was like "Normal e light" I said Normal! and everyone was like YEAH, you understood Portuguese!

We left. We were initially going to get some sort of chocolate pie. We walked past a clothing store, and Mari and Bela walked in, they said they'd be 5 minutes. Normally I'd just go in as a sort of reminder to Wrap it Up, but something about looking at girls and clothes after eating makes me sleepy. I stood outside, leaning against the wall, crossed my left leg over my right, crossed my arms and did that think where I bite my cheek. I probably looked pretty cool.

When we left the restaurant, it was a rare sunny, warm day in Curitiba. As I waited outside the clothing store it went from sunny and warm to rainy and cloudy. You may think this is to illustrate how long I'd been waiting, but actually I'm showing you how f'd up Curitiba is weather-wise. They came out, Bela left, went to super market with Mari, then went to McDonalds for dessert. I successfully ordered a McFlurry, pronounced Mick-flor-ree, and it was delightful. Some airy chocolate. It was welcomed that they had some other toppings beside M&Ms and Oreos. I remember the days when they had 8 different Mcflurry toppings, and the scarcity of variety now is nothing less than a disgrace. America is all about options.

So, then the night occurs. Mari asks if I want pizza, I'm like YES! Jason had told me to get Pizza first, among everything else. She then says "Do you want pizza hut pizza?!" I'm thinking 'FUCK!', but yes, I did have Pizza Hut pizza with wine I bought at the super market. And it was good. 4 cheese, mozzarella, gorgonzola, cheddar and...i don't know, provolone or something. One, two, three, or all four of them were responsible for my stomach getting poked by knives for the next 3 hours.

Halfway through pizza-eating, Bela and Mari started snapping, which meant we were going out. We went to that Chicagoan's house whom I'd met at BOHEMIAFEST09 for his bbq. On second impression, he was nice, he'd only been there for 2 months longer than me, and spoke about 2 months more worth of Portuguese. Skol, Caipirinhas, etc. At one point a song comes on and all the girls do a coordinated dance to it. One thing I've noticed about Brazil is the improbable teen movie scene where everyone gets together at prom and does the same dance is not so improbable here.

When I am greeting or saying good bye to men in Curitiba I get fairly nervous. Even if someone were to tell me whether they were going to do a traditional handshake or where you do the sideways high five and make a fist like that famous symbol of racial unity, I don't know, it's the move you do before you pull each other close and pat each other's back like that dude hug. Yeah so even if someone told me if they were gonna give me a handshake or brofive I'd still get nervous because of their wild accuracy, and propensity to improvise with slapping my chest three times, or going for the arm. Each time I'm not sure if I'm supposed to lean into this gesture, stand still, or give them my whole chest, shoulders back and head looking up, as to avoid a scary situation.

Anyways so when I left and was shaking hands, I had a very familiar, not awkward goodbye handshake to fingertips thing with Chicago dude that I don't even really do at home, but it seemed welcome at the time. Like when I enjoyed hearing Pink at that one bar.

So hopped in the car, the three of us with an Argentine. Go to this first bar, line for miles. Pick up one of Bela's friends. 5 in the car. Have to pee unbelievably bad at this point. Then traffic arrives. And I'm in pain. Then we get out and go to the next bar, and there's a line. And while in the line I give up all worries of the appearance of grabbing my weiner violently, as I was hoping I could cut off circulation so thoroughly it would become numb, and I could merely feel the pain in my bladder. I was unsuccessful, and as I wondered how crippling it is socially in Brazil to piss yourself, we entered and I walked briskly to the bathroom.

When I came out a glass was handed to me and a bottle poured beer into it. I couldn't tell you much about this bar at all, looking back. Kind of looked like Tin Can without the awful paint job, a converted Italian restaurant, I suppose. We went downstairs, a band played. More bottles. We went upstairs, and more and more bottles. And Mari tried to teach me to dance. And it just doesn't happen. I'm fine with the whole step here and then step there thing but as soon as the 5'0" Mari steps back and twirls herself then directs me that I too follow up with a twirl, except the height difference is extraordinary and my arm is getting dragged down as I turn and my back has to arch...anyway there's no way to do this smoothly, Latin Americans. Frankly, i'd rather dance by myself, arms doing fun stuff, legs moving. But it appears this another thing I'm needing to be fluent in.

There wasn't much to Sunday or Today. I'm happy the bears won.

Bel is back. I move out soon. Good night.

Hypothetical Halloween (H)costume

For if Brazil celebrated Halloween:

First thought, illegal immigrant:
Lame. Google image searches are only coming up with those clever "illegal alien" costumes with an alien mask and a jumpsuit. Those are for old people with no sense of humor.

Okay, so, then I thought, show some American pride, go as Barack Obama:

Etc.
Look at that FUPA. Ahh, I'm going to miss Halloween. T-minus 2.5 hours until Olympic bid gets announced.

What was carried out in our name...

http://tinyurl.com/y96hz94

The failures of 2001-2008 are almost unbelievable, but the fact that info like this gets out with little recognition is too familiar. Fatigue, it's over, etc.

Thursday is a good day (quince?)

Thursday is Brazil's Next Top Model day.

For the remainder of the next 5 days I will be doing online training. Which is as fun as it sounds. Need wine.

Most excellent news...

The quest is complete. My good looks/charm won out, again.
Check the employed box for me.

A letter to Hana

Dear Hana,

So, after getting some disappointing responses from schools last week, all citing december as the time for teacher hirings, Mari told me that one of her co-workers teaches English. She said she would ask.

The following morning (Friday), I get a call from Mari saying there is a school hiring English teachers. She gave me the address, told me my resume` looked great. I finish my coffee. Cough. Put some water on my face. Look in the mirror for 20 minutes. Put on a nice shirt. Waste more time.

I look up the address. Grab my bag and go. Hop on the bus. Get off at Jirdim. Walk north. See a Japanese Tea House. Walked north. Walked East. Saw a road that I recognized. Walked north. Checked Directions. See destination.

Cough. stand. Walk in. Go to reception. "Desculpa, não falo portugues. Eu estou procuranda Cara." She stared at me and the right half of her lip curled. "Eu não sei. uhh" I looked for my phrase book. She said "Do you speak English" "Yes" "Oh, I speak english" "Oh, sorry, I'm looking for Cara, I just moved here and I heard there is a position for an english teacher." "Okay... ... were you speaking Portuguese?" "Um...trying to" She laughed really hard. Then went upstairs.

A woman introduced herself to me. She had read over my CL and Resume`. She was first wondering how committed i was to staying there. I told her how I'd sold my car. I told her how i'd emptied my savings. I told her how I'd left the band I love(d). She seemed convinced. She then told me about the school. They don't even NEED to advertise, because they have a hold on businesses in the area who need to train their students. They are international. They have a major news organization giving them TV spots to analyze for their students. They have my favorite children's show as their sponsor.

Needless to say I was impressed. We set up a presentation time for 9:30 am on Monday. Afterwards, hopefully, an interview will be scheduled. Then, I find out. And it's a full-time gig. If I get this, it's like an affirmation that I'm not entirely stupid.

Hope Virginia treats you well.

Your friend,
Ben

Update of sorts...

So, I'm going to write a longer post about this week, and I'm about to go hit up some tourist spots...

but come Monday I'm going to have some good or bad news. Hope for the former.

It's not test results or anything. :)

In case you were wondering...

Karate Kid is just as good in Portuguese as in English.
-BM

And so Curitiba is illuminated...

You have watched 72 minutes of video today.
Please wait 54 minutes or click unlimited use of megavideo...

And so it is, Megavideo. I have 54 minutes before I find out what happened in Mad Men. So I'll update this past weekend.

Surprisingly, there is more to Curitiba than the triangle pathway I've taken to the supermarket on most days. More to it than the Shop Curitiba! shopping mall.

Friday night, Bela and Mari get home. They work a lot. I work less than the homeless here. Studying Portuguese with free online Web sites and phrase books and dictionaries, it is what it is. But, this was the weekend, and that means whatever work you do do, you eliminate it and enjoy yourself.

Bela needed to go to the store to pick up food/beer for her friends coming in for I will describe later. I went with to get out of the house. Friday was abysmal. Rained for 6 hours straight before I stopped counting. Supermarket, 2 bottles of wine, 12 pack of Sol beer, bread, cheese, I'm rollin. We get back and make dinner, open up the bottle of wine. Mari assigned me homework, to watch the soap opera and find five words and use them in sentences. We were 40 minutes late. The entire show is incredibly slow flash backs. The show is on 6 times a week in prime time, so I guess they create that many episodes by this incredibly beautiful woman lead just having flash backs of twirling around in the ocean in Rio. It's a good business strategy.
One bottle of wine down.
Mari goes to bed because she's working on a Saturday. A Saturday.
2nd bottle opened.
We start watching Panico TV, a bunch of sketches, the best one being two Brazilian dudes trying to get autographs on their Brazil passports from the Argentina futeball team after they were defeated in the WC qualifiers.
2nd bottle finished.
At 12:30 am, or 00:30, her friends arrive. "Do you want to go out?" "Sim."
We get in the car and go, park, get out, okay, it's a strip of bars. Over there is the Irish Pub. Ahh, the American bar. A Japanese bar...and the one we were going to...I don't know.
I felt safe though because when we walked in they took a metal-detector wand to me. No guns in here! To the right of me was a bunch of...ticket booth things. Didn't think much of it. They handed me a sheet of graph paper. Didn't think much of it.
Walk in and it's crowded. This is a Lincoln Park bar, I quickly realize. No...no it isn't that bad, sorry. But I walk in, to the right side, separated, is a dance floor, stage with a live band. To the left is the bar, with the dozens of bottles of Johnny Walker. I'm introduced to several Kraft employees. Say my hellos and make my way to the bar. "Uma Bohemia por favor" NAILED it.

He then looks at me and says something. I repeat what I said. He makes a square thing with his hands. It's hard to explain how uncomfortable not understanding service people makes me in Brazil. It's the worst. I look around for something of a clue. Other people are handing him the graph paper. It's a tab. You pass them the tab and they mark it. I already had a 30 mark on it, because dudes were charged $30 reais. Sexism has not cured itself from Brazil, I see.

Then, I get introduced to more people and then Bela waves to follow her to the dance floor. I maneuver my way around. and follow what I think are people I know...and then we get to the part where all you have is a strobe light. Following people in a strobe light is bullshit. At first I thought it would be easier because it's like you are moving in slow motion, you know, but really everyone just looks like the crowd in NHL '94 and your mind can only process things in binary code.

Flash, flash, 1, band starts singing pink, look for heads, 27s, god dammit. Band starts singing No Doubt. god dammit. 110110101010101 I shield my eyes and just start repeating "excuse me" in Portuguese and back up into the light. I decide to just wait there. I'm not going back to that hell.
Bela finds me. More beer, this time, flawless. Then the bartender says thank you. In English. Bastard.
So then back to the dance floor. It's hard to explain just how much this cover band was like being in guitar hero. They were singing guitar hero songs, they had chosen the girl singer, the bald guitar player and the black bassist. The drummer was playing behind, plexiglass or something. The lighting was the same. The stage was the same. Uncanny. red blue blue green 100101101
I started talking to some dude from Rio who studied at UNC. We talked about how much I hated southern people. He didn't relate, but he did say they kept asking him where Brazil was in Africa. I then started talking like I knew something about the Baile Funk movement in Rio. I must've been convincing. He offered to take me to Rio and show me around. Plans are so much fun to make with people you'll never see again.
We left and were at that checkout ticket counter. Passed them my tab. $75 reais. I was miscalculating what he was saying because I don't know what the hell anyone is ever talking about. Because instead I watched Band of Brothers all summer. Which is a great series, perfectly cast.
And then we're driving and we stop and I'm so ready to sleep but hey hey were at a sushi restaurant. Except it was just raw fish in some like seaweed cone with rice. And I ate it. And then I sat there while people talked and couldn't even think. We get back as the sun rose.

When I woke up the room was spinning, and I wondered if it was spinning counter what it would in the US. I closed my eyes. I opened them and watched the TV drift away.

We had lunch at Habibis. It is a fast food chain here specializing in Arab food. The mascot was a very arab, very mustached man in a fez hat. I couldn't help but wonder how awesome this place would be to place next to a southern Baptist Church.

The ordering process was difficult because everyone was ordering more than one thing. I didn't bother with that. "Beirut, por favor" Unsuccessful. how do you miss pronounce Beirut? I don't know.

So then the reason for buying beer this Saturday was a festival being held by Bohemia beer, product of inBev, where they asked the bars to compete for who had the best food to eat with Bohemia. Think taste of Chicago for a one night launch, targeted to adults, on a smaller scale. That's the best I can come up with. It's kind of like something where there's music, beer and food. Something...

But so pregaming begins. And everyone is speaking Portuguese. For the first half hour I try to focus on words that I could learn, or expressions. Then I just started creating conversations for them based off of gestures. "I just caught a big fish! This big!" "Where's Francisco? There he is! Where's Francisco? There he is!" etc.

So then a cab ride and we're in a big warehouse lined with tiny food vendors, a huge stage with some ... Brazilian music acts. Go to a place where you give them money and they give you tickets that say $2 $3 $5...and if anyone can explain to me what his does, I'd really be pleased. Is it just to make sure things move faster at the actual vendors because they don't have to give change? Is it just a needless that one person did and then everyone copied for no reason?

I should mention that at this huge collection of people the reputation of Brazilian women, for me, was realized. Everyone was beautiful. And especially not homogenous. Blonde and brunette and tall and short. And medium. You could look anywhere and be entertained. Ordering anything was easy because every vendor had just one item. All I had to do was point. And point I did.

I spoke to a lot of people that night. One man was from Chicago. We had little in common. The conversation was short. I had women to look at, and this guy...was a man.

Mari translated some Samba songs for me...all I remember was "I am an only child, I have to go to my home and mind it" or something. It was Chris Martin quality.

I danced some dance with one of their friends. I was awful. In gym class in my youth they taught us some dances. The macarena was one. They were trying to teach us social skills. The electric slide. The waltz. None of these dances was this dance. U.S. public school fail :(

And then a couple more fried items I knew not what, a few more beers spilled on my shirt, and we are taking a cab ride home. And I slept.

And I woke up, and watched the TV drift away.