Emotional Roots

I started rereading old posts of my blog this morning, and what a surprise they were. I can’t begin to tell you how odd it is to take a look back—to glimpse a snapshot of myself in the not so distant past. Even though I’m still me, that old me seems like another me, like some shell of myself floating around in a vacuum of time, just waiting for the future to happen. On some level, it is gratifying to relive the experiences, to rise and fall on my own wave of progress, a quest that I embarked on but four years ago. Stranger still, I am starting to see patterns in my emotional wiring. It seems that about every year and a half, the routine that I establish for myself seems to get dry. Every time I get comfortable with my living space, I get depressed, I feel lost, I feel like moving on. This seems particularly salient to me, to notice this pattern, because I have been falling into this very rut in the past few weeks, feeling depressed, bored, and wishing that I was heading towards some new horizon, “really living”. It is odd to become conscious of this. Is this a vagary of youth, a psychological misfire? Do I have a gypsy’s soul? I don’t have the answer, nor the justification to keep on running.

The Pororoca

Also know as the "onda da floresta amazonia", "the phenomenon", the worlds longest wave.

I caught a t.v. show a few days ago about this crazy surfable wave that sweeps once a year into the Amazon. Apparently, it's created by lunar tides and travels miles up a tributary in North Eastern Brazil. When I saw guys actually surfing this thing my jaw dropped because a) I didn't know it existed and b) who knew that one can surf for 35 minutes at a time.

Wow. Props.

A Rant

[Warning - Rant ahead!!!]

This post contains references that will only make sense if you have been to Bahia (sorry).

Well, I don't want to get off on a rant here [insert Denis Miller voice] but let's just get one thing straight. Pagode is the DEVIL.

I understand this notion of cultural imperialism, this ego-centric view that one art form is more relevant than another. It's easier to pass judgment on others, especially when we think our cultural heritage is somehow more salient, when we stand in the middle of "mainstream" and denounce the poor mans art forms whatever they might be. I have run across a number of Brazilians (usually white-er-ish) who frown and say "ewwwww" when I tell them I play Capoeira. Go figure.

That said, Pagode is still the DEVIL. (did you hear the ominous background music when I said that?)

Why? Because for f*@ks sake, it's just about the most annoying music that exists...

...like ever.

Sure, it's easy to give Psirico street-cred when he's sitting on top of his trio during Carnival, but dear lord, try living in my neighborhood for 24 hours. Try sleeping when three of your neighbors are having a "Who's penis is bigger" battle with their sound systems.

On an artistic level, Pagode is...hack...hack...for two reasons:

1. Repetitive sentences. Repetitive sentences. Repetitive sentences. Repetitive sentences. Repetitive sentences. Repetitive sentences. Repetitive sentences. Repetitive sentences. Repetitive sentences. Repetitive sentences. Repetitive sentences. Repetitive sentences. Repetitive sentences. Repetitive sentences. (see I bet you didn't read all of those) As much as I love glue, and really appreciate the work of the rope guys in carnival, there is really only so many times that I can "cole na corda".

2. Pagode sells fake happiness. Ok, maybe not for the average fan, but there's just something about same doo doo doo doo doo that you here in the songs that strikes me as corny, errr, irritating, errr, shining happy chords that make you want to gag. Pagode is like xuxa. It smiles way to much and you now there's something strikingly odd hiding just beneath the surface. Sure, your teeth are white, but how many children have you molested (ahem, I go to far)

In my head, Padoge plays a little something like...Sobe do chao, yeahhh...SOBE DO CHAO, yeah, cause it's fun to SOBE, mas rapaz rapaz, porra velho, NO, stop sobe-ing. Go back to bed! How many Nova Ruims can you drink at 3 in the morning? Why do you have to yell all the damn time! PLEASE TURN OFF YOUR STEREO!

Now don't get me wrong. I know that this all comes down to a matter of taste. I happen to be a huge fan of Carioca Funk. But in my most humblest of opinions, Padoge is like a repetitive flick to the groin. It won't kill you, but it certainly won't make you stronger.

Hack. Hack. Devil. Devil.

Exactly.

What's a gringo to do?

Truth: Brazil is starting to change me. The cultural winds of this country are whipping up around me. I have begun to dream in Portuguese. I am becoming more rhythmic. I feel like “real food” has to include some form of beans and rice.

Last night, I had a dream that I was running around some nameless Brazilian shopping mall. In the middle of the mall, there was a Volkswagen Beetle that customers could get in and sit inside. As I passed this shining symbol of the Brazilian automobile industry, a group of pimple faced teenage boys, who were sitting inside the car, starting leering at me and calling me “gringo”.

Gringo. What a derisive word. I have come to hate it even in a joking context, because it’s what people call me when they want to feel superior, when they want to steal, rob, or cheat me, and when they ultimately want to insist that I am not one of them.

In the dream, I grabbed the teenager and threw him out of the car. We eventually found ourselves outside the mall, running around parking lots and calling each other names. Eventually, I got a hold of his shirtsleeve and threw him into a line of traffic. He missed a semi-truck by just inches and I screamed. Carl Jung, unconscious world of symbols, repressed desires, call it what you will, that was my dream.

Truth: Sometimes it feels good to just fit in. If you ever travel to Brazil you may notice the strange phenomenon that everybody is wearing braces. In the States, braces are for the young, a sign of awkward adolescents, a torture device that parents force on their kids promising them a better future. When you first arrive down here it’s honestly hard not to laugh. People from 10 to 60 years old wear them—a kind of status symbol that says, “Hey look, I can afford better teeth!”

As a foreigner, it takes some getting used to. There’s something about watching your 40 year old boss try desperately to talk through his braces that makes it hard to take him seriously. Sometimes I feel like just nodding my head, screaming “No! Go to your room Mr. Bobby Mc. Boss!”, just to see what would happen.

Ok, but honestly, I started to consider braces a good idea. In the US they are about 5 grand a pop. Here, about $1000, if you go to a reputable place. I never had a chance to put them on in the States, because my parents were too poor and too aesthetically disinclined to consider them. Here, an adult can get away with wearing them and it’s often seen as a sign of beauty (think rap vids with guys showing their ghetto fabulous teeth).

So, without further adieu, after weeks of suffering the torture of getting these puppies installed, and sucking my food threw a straw, meet the new slightly more Brazilian Leo.

::shrugs::

What’s a gringo to do?

Carnalicious

I've been wanting to get some of these pics up for awhile. This was the first year that one of my friends had the balls to bring a camera into the multidão. Usually its bad news, but this year we snapped a number of incriminating photos without a single problem. Come visit me during Carnival and I can promise you more. Oh so very much more.

Not sure what look I was going for. But my friend and I need to have a sit down.

Então, cole na corda.

Mascaradas. A fun, free, but very gay bloco.

Sigh. Still white.

Hot dancers in private camarotes.

Bahian soul, and afro.

Give me more.

About the only time of the year I can stand to listen to Axe.

Chupa minha filha!

Beads. Helping ugly people have sex since 1956.

And the millions say what?

Dirty nights in the city that has no sleep.

Toca Armandinho

Currently my favorite Brazilian Song:



I don't care how many jedi's I have to kill, I'm going to learn this mother on my guitar.

Old School

Someone just sent me this photo of my highschool gang back in the day.

Two observations:

1 - I think I had more hair. Sigh.

2 - I hated highschool, but at the same time, I wouldn't trade my youth for anything. What an amazing time of your life it is. I'm still friends with pretty much everyone in the photo. Some remain my best friends.

Dear god, I think I'm getting older. Who knew.

Changing the Format

I'm thinking of running in a different direction with my blog. Seems that I haven't been
able to keep up the motivation lately to keep the onda moving. Usually, I publish longer posts with pictures--random events and thoughts that I plan out before hand. Well, the time just isn't there for me right now, and I figure it's better to start submitting small posts than no posts at all.

***

In that vain, I'm going to try and hop on at work when there's time, to throw a little blog tid bit your way. Think of it less like a full course meal and more like a twinkie (minus the cream filling).

So....hmmm....what's happening right now. Well, I'm at work. Things are bad here. I work in tourism and we arn't selling anything. That said, I have a habit of meditating for 10 min every day before lunch, to calm my nerves, to balance myself, to feel spiritual. I meditate in this little veranda like room out in the hall, on the 21st floor of my building. It is a public space that most people don't use, if only to occassionally smoke a cigarette. As I was meditating today, some lady came in a lit one up. Usually people freak out and run away when they see some random guy sitting there, with a bandana over his eyes, meditating. It is a little weird, I admit it. Anyway, the women continued smoking and clearly had no problem interrupting my session. I resolved to ignore her, but broke down when she decided to open up her cell and start chatting.

Kind of pissed, I got up and started to leave. I looked in her eyes and said "oi".

She said, "Eu te atrapalhou?", which means, did I disturb/bother you.

I thought, jesus, um yeah, your rude and I'm going away now, but I just said "no" and left.

I dunno, maybe the meditating is helping.

Thank you....ahem....that's your twinkie for the day.