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.