Best compliment a blogger can receive. This one from my dad:
"I take a certain joy in reading your blog in that I can live adventures vicariously through my spawn. Keep it up."
Weird to think that you live on in the genetics of your kids. That their adventures are your adventures, and so forth into infinity.
Just wanted to give a shout out to my friends and family, and those celebrating hot turkeys and cold pumpkin pies. Thanksgiving doesn't exist here, and I must savor its delights through the fragile whisps of mist and memory.
Saudades for all of voces.
Thursday, November 27
Sunday, November 23
Flip, Flop, Forward
One step and you will see, the brilliance of a born again sun.
One measure and you will know, the flutter of life in branch and tepid sky.
Bustle fills the emptiness of winter past.
Water melts, deluge runs.
Spring breaths and fills us anew.
I have finally made a decision. I have decided to leave Vila Brandão. This as you may note comes on the heel of a decision to stay, immediately following a prior decision to leave, which directly trails a decision to stay put and stick it out. Clearly I am a divided person—a flip-flopper with uneven intentions, an indecisive anthropologist with one foot in the favela and another fleeing the other way.
In any battle of indecision, if one thinks long and hard enough, there comes a point of clarity. I reached that point last night. You see, Vila Brandão can best be described as a really hot woman [ahem…excuse the analogy]. She is beautiful, mystifying, with full lips and a purrrrtyyy smile. When one first meets her, descending the favela steps with a view of the sea, it is instant enchantment. The halo effect kicks in, dopamine rushes to the brain, and one swoons with pleasure and attraction.
But…
Like most really attractive women, Vila B is FULL of issues. You know the one, the girl everyone wants to be or to have, so hot that everything is handed to her, on a power trip, likes to toy with men, abused, misused, unhappy. Vila B is the kind of girl that people warn you to stay away from, so beautiful and lovely to own, but that will surely fuck up your life if you decide to get involved.
While incredibly enchanting, Vila B will take you down, pull you in a spit you out. Vila B is ignorance, a mystifyingly low level of education. Vila B is kids with weak family ties, dad’s who ignore their children, who sit around all day enjoying their sun and getting fucked up on cachaça, weed, or whatever else is around. Vila B is neighbors fighting neighbors, is people flashing their weaponry for the little space they have. Vila B is exploitation, is learning to take when not offered, of leading a life lax in discipline, o malandro, the life of the rogue.
This is not everyone of course, there are good people here too, but the problem is they do not run the show. The thieves and drug dealers do, and everyone suffers because of it.
When I decided to leave Vila Brandão is when I realized that I am not going to change things. Part of me wants to be the savior anthropologist, to pull strings and watch the big boys go down, to save the kids from this band of thieves. But the truth is, I cannot change the hot girl. The hot girl has to change herself. As soon as the big daddies disappear, another generation of rogues will fly forth. In the void of education, new daddies will come to power, ready to steal, intimidate, and mark their territory for themselves.
So, as much as it would make a great book, I am gone. I prefer to skip the crusade and simplify my life. My water bill arrived yesterday—1300 reis. My neighbors continue to put up gatos, to steal my electricity, to laugh at me when I tell them to step up, pay their bills, and be a man. I realize that if I invest my time and money in this house, this space that I love so much born from my sweat, things aren’t going to get any better. I can’t change the people and am a fool to try. If I have a beautiful house in a shit can, it will still smell like shit.
So there it is. It has been a hard one to make, but I’m gone.
I have found a tiny little apartment in Vila Matos my old neighborhood. I am going back to my old life there. Vila Matos is a loud bustling sort of place, that never stops moving. My new place is over a bar, it will be difficult to sleep, but at least I can rest assured that my stuff is safe, that I’m not being robbed, that I have friends who aren’t ready to exploit me. After all, she may not be the prettiest of ladies, but at least she has a good heart. That my friends makes all the difference.
One measure and you will know, the flutter of life in branch and tepid sky.
Bustle fills the emptiness of winter past.
Water melts, deluge runs.
Spring breaths and fills us anew.
* * *
I have finally made a decision. I have decided to leave Vila Brandão. This as you may note comes on the heel of a decision to stay, immediately following a prior decision to leave, which directly trails a decision to stay put and stick it out. Clearly I am a divided person—a flip-flopper with uneven intentions, an indecisive anthropologist with one foot in the favela and another fleeing the other way.
In any battle of indecision, if one thinks long and hard enough, there comes a point of clarity. I reached that point last night. You see, Vila Brandão can best be described as a really hot woman [ahem…excuse the analogy]. She is beautiful, mystifying, with full lips and a purrrrtyyy smile. When one first meets her, descending the favela steps with a view of the sea, it is instant enchantment. The halo effect kicks in, dopamine rushes to the brain, and one swoons with pleasure and attraction.
But…
Like most really attractive women, Vila B is FULL of issues. You know the one, the girl everyone wants to be or to have, so hot that everything is handed to her, on a power trip, likes to toy with men, abused, misused, unhappy. Vila B is the kind of girl that people warn you to stay away from, so beautiful and lovely to own, but that will surely fuck up your life if you decide to get involved.
While incredibly enchanting, Vila B will take you down, pull you in a spit you out. Vila B is ignorance, a mystifyingly low level of education. Vila B is kids with weak family ties, dad’s who ignore their children, who sit around all day enjoying their sun and getting fucked up on cachaça, weed, or whatever else is around. Vila B is neighbors fighting neighbors, is people flashing their weaponry for the little space they have. Vila B is exploitation, is learning to take when not offered, of leading a life lax in discipline, o malandro, the life of the rogue.This is not everyone of course, there are good people here too, but the problem is they do not run the show. The thieves and drug dealers do, and everyone suffers because of it.
When I decided to leave Vila Brandão is when I realized that I am not going to change things. Part of me wants to be the savior anthropologist, to pull strings and watch the big boys go down, to save the kids from this band of thieves. But the truth is, I cannot change the hot girl. The hot girl has to change herself. As soon as the big daddies disappear, another generation of rogues will fly forth. In the void of education, new daddies will come to power, ready to steal, intimidate, and mark their territory for themselves.
So, as much as it would make a great book, I am gone. I prefer to skip the crusade and simplify my life. My water bill arrived yesterday—1300 reis. My neighbors continue to put up gatos, to steal my electricity, to laugh at me when I tell them to step up, pay their bills, and be a man. I realize that if I invest my time and money in this house, this space that I love so much born from my sweat, things aren’t going to get any better. I can’t change the people and am a fool to try. If I have a beautiful house in a shit can, it will still smell like shit.
So there it is. It has been a hard one to make, but I’m gone.I have found a tiny little apartment in Vila Matos my old neighborhood. I am going back to my old life there. Vila Matos is a loud bustling sort of place, that never stops moving. My new place is over a bar, it will be difficult to sleep, but at least I can rest assured that my stuff is safe, that I’m not being robbed, that I have friends who aren’t ready to exploit me. After all, she may not be the prettiest of ladies, but at least she has a good heart. That my friends makes all the difference.
Sunday, November 16
Thursday, November 13
My Routine
Monday:
7-8:30 – Wake up. Drink Vitamina. Eat eggs. Watch Brazil news and marvel at the stories about violence, drug abuse, police shooting people, and traffic accidents.
8:30-9 – Fight traffic with moto. Listen to heavy metal at low volume to get pumped up. Glare at people who try to hit me with their cars. Make lots of noise with my muffler.
9-6 – Play corporate monkey. Sell things. Organize things. Write things. Wish I didn’t have a 80 year old back in a 27 year old body. Pump myself full of pain killers and muscle relaxants. Stare out window and wonder what life would be like if I had a boat and was sailing across sea. Ignore tired brain.
6:30 – 8 - Drive to Pituba. Park moto and watch for muggers. Drink coconut and eat Doritos. Give English class.
9 – Arrive in favela. Stare at people who want to rob me. Play friendly with people I want to kill. Walk through dark alley full of trash. Unlock six locks, enter home. Heat up beans and rice. Turn on t.v. and space out.
10-11- Listen to Garrison Keeler on a Praire Home Companion talk about a life far away from my own. Relax. Fall asleep.
Tuesday: Go to work. Go to gym. Stay up and work on my English lessons. Fall to sleep.
Wednesday: Go to work. Give English class after work. Go home. Eat beans and rice. Fall asleep.
Thursday: Go to work. Go to gym. Go to sleep.
Friday: Yeah! Go to work. Get out from work, drive to Vila Matos. See poor people that are nice and don’t want to rob me. Drink beer with bar friends. Drink beer until I can get a haircut. Pay 4 reis for a haircut and leave……………..interrupting post here. Just went up the hill to pick up V. Talked about how I was tired of the Vila as I descended. Told her that I was ready go off. Started passing 10 or 12 teenagers sitting on the hill. One started calling me gringo to antagonize me. I was not in the mood. I turned around and confronted him, asking if he had something to say to me. I turned around and all the little shits starting chanting gringo! I turned around and told them to go fuck themselves. Descended the hill with V pulling my arm.
Thinking now that I want out. Thinking I wish I could wipe these ignorant fucks from the face of the earth. Thinking I am over reacting and that I’m not a very good anthropologist. Thinking, jesus, it’s time I found a new apartment.
Saturday: Whatever
Sunday: Whatever
7-8:30 – Wake up. Drink Vitamina. Eat eggs. Watch Brazil news and marvel at the stories about violence, drug abuse, police shooting people, and traffic accidents.
8:30-9 – Fight traffic with moto. Listen to heavy metal at low volume to get pumped up. Glare at people who try to hit me with their cars. Make lots of noise with my muffler.
9-6 – Play corporate monkey. Sell things. Organize things. Write things. Wish I didn’t have a 80 year old back in a 27 year old body. Pump myself full of pain killers and muscle relaxants. Stare out window and wonder what life would be like if I had a boat and was sailing across sea. Ignore tired brain.
6:30 – 8 - Drive to Pituba. Park moto and watch for muggers. Drink coconut and eat Doritos. Give English class.
9 – Arrive in favela. Stare at people who want to rob me. Play friendly with people I want to kill. Walk through dark alley full of trash. Unlock six locks, enter home. Heat up beans and rice. Turn on t.v. and space out.
10-11- Listen to Garrison Keeler on a Praire Home Companion talk about a life far away from my own. Relax. Fall asleep.
Tuesday: Go to work. Go to gym. Stay up and work on my English lessons. Fall to sleep.
Wednesday: Go to work. Give English class after work. Go home. Eat beans and rice. Fall asleep.
Thursday: Go to work. Go to gym. Go to sleep.
Friday: Yeah! Go to work. Get out from work, drive to Vila Matos. See poor people that are nice and don’t want to rob me. Drink beer with bar friends. Drink beer until I can get a haircut. Pay 4 reis for a haircut and leave……………..interrupting post here. Just went up the hill to pick up V. Talked about how I was tired of the Vila as I descended. Told her that I was ready go off. Started passing 10 or 12 teenagers sitting on the hill. One started calling me gringo to antagonize me. I was not in the mood. I turned around and confronted him, asking if he had something to say to me. I turned around and all the little shits starting chanting gringo! I turned around and told them to go fuck themselves. Descended the hill with V pulling my arm.
Thinking now that I want out. Thinking I wish I could wipe these ignorant fucks from the face of the earth. Thinking I am over reacting and that I’m not a very good anthropologist. Thinking, jesus, it’s time I found a new apartment.
Saturday: Whatever
Sunday: Whatever
Saturday, November 8
Poverty of Mind
When it comes to my decision to stay in the Vila, I remain on the fence. On the one
hand I love my house, love how I'm not stuck in a hole in the wall apartment, and truly appreciate the fact that I'm not paying rent. Falling asleep to the sound of the waves is magical. Watching the sun tip over the island every night is almost painful in its beauty.
But what the Vila makes up for in charm it lacks in sophistication. A great majority of the people here in the Vila, especially the roaming degenerate band of alpha males, are poor. Good, ok, just about everyone is poor in Brazil. When I speak of poverty in this context, it has less to do with the pocket and more to do with the mind. Poorness of mind is the world’s true poverty and it exists in all economic circles. One universal example of this is the “don’t shit where you eat principle”. Across the board, I find that those who are poor of mind tend to pollute their own living space. In the Vila people throw trash all over the ground, allow their dogs to shit where they like, and generally lack respect for their home. Not to say this instinct is confined to the favela, poverty of mind is widespread among corporate princes, those so called masters of the universe who think they can produce, produce, produce and shit all over everything.
But I digress. I am seriously considering moving away from my home, despite the countless man hours I have put into making this place livable. Unfortunately, the root cause of the problem is the people, and they aren’t going away. I continue to have neighbors that try and exploit me. If you remember the electricity situation awhile back, where my neighbor stole the electricity from my house, and then racked up hundreds of reis in bill/late charges. Well it only seems to get worse. After much fighting, I agreed to share the electricity bill with this lacky, with me taking up the brunt of the charges and he paying the late fees. This option was more than fair, considering the late charges were HIS problem, and I was doing him a great service by helping him to pay and clear his credit-misaligned name. Well the first bill has come and he still hasn’t paid, not after repeated promises to give me the money. To make matters worse, the judge in my citizenship case just denied my rent statements, demanding that I show him an energy bill in my name to prove my residence in Brazil. That means I have to put this huge debt into my name, and lose the power position that I am currently in with this bum.
So yes, I remain torn. The good days are good but the bad days are bad. The owner of the house keeps trying to convince me to stay, naturally as it is in her best interest. Attached below are some old pictures that she sent to me of her life here back in the day. I recognize the beauty of this adventure, but unlike her, I continue to live in the real world of drug use, occasional violence, and people eying my things. Just last week, another gringo’s house was broken into. I spend most of my time outside the neighborhood working, and fear every night that I will come home to a plundered home.
So yes, oh vida mais ou menos, this whole favela life is not without its complications. I’m still not sure what I’m going to do.
hand I love my house, love how I'm not stuck in a hole in the wall apartment, and truly appreciate the fact that I'm not paying rent. Falling asleep to the sound of the waves is magical. Watching the sun tip over the island every night is almost painful in its beauty.
But what the Vila makes up for in charm it lacks in sophistication. A great majority of the people here in the Vila, especially the roaming degenerate band of alpha males, are poor. Good, ok, just about everyone is poor in Brazil. When I speak of poverty in this context, it has less to do with the pocket and more to do with the mind. Poorness of mind is the world’s true poverty and it exists in all economic circles. One universal example of this is the “don’t shit where you eat principle”. Across the board, I find that those who are poor of mind tend to pollute their own living space. In the Vila people throw trash all over the ground, allow their dogs to shit where they like, and generally lack respect for their home. Not to say this instinct is confined to the favela, poverty of mind is widespread among corporate princes, those so called masters of the universe who think they can produce, produce, produce and shit all over everything.
But I digress. I am seriously considering moving away from my home, despite the countless man hours I have put into making this place livable. Unfortunately, the root cause of the problem is the people, and they aren’t going away. I continue to have neighbors that try and exploit me. If you remember the electricity situation awhile back, where my neighbor stole the electricity from my house, and then racked up hundreds of reis in bill/late charges. Well it only seems to get worse. After much fighting, I agreed to share the electricity bill with this lacky, with me taking up the brunt of the charges and he paying the late fees. This option was more than fair, considering the late charges were HIS problem, and I was doing him a great service by helping him to pay and clear his credit-misaligned name. Well the first bill has come and he still hasn’t paid, not after repeated promises to give me the money. To make matters worse, the judge in my citizenship case just denied my rent statements, demanding that I show him an energy bill in my name to prove my residence in Brazil. That means I have to put this huge debt into my name, and lose the power position that I am currently in with this bum.
So yes, I remain torn. The good days are good but the bad days are bad. The owner of the house keeps trying to convince me to stay, naturally as it is in her best interest. Attached below are some old pictures that she sent to me of her life here back in the day. I recognize the beauty of this adventure, but unlike her, I continue to live in the real world of drug use, occasional violence, and people eying my things. Just last week, another gringo’s house was broken into. I spend most of my time outside the neighborhood working, and fear every night that I will come home to a plundered home.
So yes, oh vida mais ou menos, this whole favela life is not without its complications. I’m still not sure what I’m going to do.
Thursday, November 6
I'm a bad blogger.
Well, there's no point in avoiding it so here goes.
I'm sorry. No really, I am. I have become a horrible blogger.
There is something about sitting in front of a computer at
work for 8-9 hours a day that just kills my blogging instinct.
When I get home from cyber space world, that last thing I
feel like doing is hopping on my computer. And because of this my
readership suffers. Moreover, my life suffers, because
when somethingcool happens, it gets sucked away into
that unreliable vortex called memory.
In an effort to excuse the inexcusable, let me briefly present:
The top 10 reasons why I am a bad blogger:
1. Because I have been without internet for two whole days,
and uh, and uh, and uh no internet means no blog.
2. Because I have been paying more attention to the
election than myself.
3. Because blogging requires work. Work is something
I do all the time now. When one works, one learns to
appreciate the time when one is not actually working,
and one is much less inclined to work when it's non work time.
4. Because I only have one free day a week to do what I
want, and I spend that day with my girlfriend.
5. Because girlfriends have boobies, and laptops do not.
6. Because things with boobies are way more fun than
things without boobies.
7. Because boobies.
8. Because I am spending way too much time on
other people's blogs. Rio gringa is putting me to shame,
because she blogs way more than I do and makes me look non-committal.
9. Because getting a tan is way cooler then being all pasty.
10. Because i need to make money and be productive human
being, and because the laundry needs washing, and
because my fridge is empty, and because i want
a six pack, and because i told you so, and because
Barack Obama for president, and because your mom,
and because this there and that times 2.
I'm sorry. No really, I am. I have become a horrible blogger.
There is something about sitting in front of a computer at
work for 8-9 hours a day that just kills my blogging instinct.
When I get home from cyber space world, that last thing I
feel like doing is hopping on my computer. And because of this my
readership suffers. Moreover, my life suffers, because
when somethingcool happens, it gets sucked away into
that unreliable vortex called memory.
In an effort to excuse the inexcusable, let me briefly present:
The top 10 reasons why I am a bad blogger:
1. Because I have been without internet for two whole days,
and uh, and uh, and uh no internet means no blog.
2. Because I have been paying more attention to the
election than myself.
3. Because blogging requires work. Work is something
I do all the time now. When one works, one learns to
appreciate the time when one is not actually working,
and one is much less inclined to work when it's non work time.
4. Because I only have one free day a week to do what I
want, and I spend that day with my girlfriend.
5. Because girlfriends have boobies, and laptops do not.
6. Because things with boobies are way more fun than
things without boobies.
7. Because boobies.
8. Because I am spending way too much time on
other people's blogs. Rio gringa is putting me to shame,
because she blogs way more than I do and makes me look non-committal.
9. Because getting a tan is way cooler then being all pasty.
10. Because i need to make money and be productive human
being, and because the laundry needs washing, and
because my fridge is empty, and because i want
a six pack, and because i told you so, and because
Barack Obama for president, and because your mom,
and because this there and that times 2.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)