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.