Friday, June 20
Geoff, Jeff, Jed in front of the congress.
Once again, my posting schedule is staggered and I'm forced to condense two days into one. No big deal though, I'll just post extra pictures to make up for it.
Work consists of me trying to understand what's going on in Brazil and if any of it is important to anybody. One of my daily tasks is to rummage through about 6 newspapers in search of any articles that deal with human rights violations. One of the State Department's missions is to discourage human rights violations through diplomacy. One of Brazil's most pressing issues is violent crime, and police are constantly being pushed to use extreme measures in order quell violence and gather intelligence regarding gang behavior. One of the articles that I came across this week had to do with investigations into the use of torture by police forces. Back in January, The Economist ran what I thought was an outstanding article on the use of torture. They questioned whether torture is ever justified and presented a situation in which officials were forced to extract some sort of critical time-sensitive information from a suspect; for example, the location of a time bomb. Is it justifiable to use torture in such an instance? They claim that it is not, that the standard for torture needs to be set very high and it needs to be adhered to in order to maintain a standard. Now, I don't remember exactly how they justified their statements, but I see a lot of sense in it. Instead of trying to really explain myself, I'll just leave it at this: I believe that government has the responsibility to enforce the laws that its society has accepted as appropriate. The enforcement of these laws should be carried out with respect for the individuals that break them, no matter what. I imagine that my society expects our leaders to set a standard for the treatment of other humans that cannot waver. Someone needs to set the standard, someone needs to refuse to stoop, and I believe that our society is capable of setting that example. I also believe that we are generally fairly good at it.
That aside, I really feel for those police in Sao Paulo. I'm sure they feel helpless. Human rights need to be protected, but it's not always as black-and-white as I made it sound above. However, torturing or carpet-bombing all the offenders will never solve the violent epidemic. The violence is a symptom of other problems that also need to be addressed. But, phew! It's never so simple. Never.
Another human rights issue that Brazil could certainly work on is that of racism. Interestingly, Title I, Article 3 of the Brazilian constitution lists the promotion of "the well-being of all, without prejudice as to origin, race, sex, color, age and any other forms of discrimination" as one of "the fundamental objectives of the Federative Republic of Brazil." Notwithstanding, Brazil is internationally notorious for systematically marginalizing the 44% of its population that is either black or mixed white and black. Aggressive affirmative action programs are constantly being put into place, to the extent of requiring that certain quotas of black actors to be written into television scripts (article). Anyhow, those are a few things that I've been busy learning.
Swans and congressional reflection.
Work was fine, however it was the eve of a national holiday and it kind of felt like a Friday. That's right, today was Corpus Cristi day and I didn't go to work. As the Friday feeling set in, I got ready for water aerobics! Yet, as I hyped myself up for the workout, I received a very special phone call. About fifteen minutes before the workday came to a close, the phone rang, and a woman at the other end asked for a Mr. Jed Sundwall. It wasn't long before I realized that I was speaking to none other than the marvelous Patricia Naupari. She's a Peruvian woman that I met in Maturin, Venezuela about 5 years ago. I was a missionary around those parts and I developed a great friendship with her and her family. Her husband is some sort of geologist for Halliburton and she has two great sons. The last time I saw her, I helped her pack up her china as she moved with her family to Maracaibo, Venezuela. I wrote them a letter, but as I didn't have their address, I took the letter to Halliburton's offices in Maturin, hoping that they could forward it. I couldn't get into the building, but the security guard took my letter. I handed it over, figuring that it would never arrive, but oddly enough I received a response from Patricia...three years later. I received a Christmas card and a letter from the Naupari family from Saudi Arabia. It turns out that Halliburton had decided to transfer the family again, and as Patricia packed up her belongings for the trans-continental shift, someone delivered a letter. As late as it was, it arrived just in time, and we had regained contact as I had left her my Maryland address in the letter. Now, after 5 years, the Naupari family has been transferred for the third time, and now they're in Rio de Janeiro. Well shucks! They're in a hotel now, but I'm hoping that I'll be able to make it down there in time to help her unpack her china when she moves into their new home. Crazy? Yeah! Life is mysterious sometimes. Anyway, we've been in touch via the email, and she had my work number, so she gave me a call. Bless her heart!
Water aerobics worked me. It's a good workout and I think I'm going to sign up for a full month of it. A month of hour-long classes, three times a week for 55 reais ($19). Not bad. I'm training for a marathon in October and I want to take it easy on my legs and focus on my lungs for a while. So, this is good. Also, it might help me develop the lean muscle mass that John Basedow is always talking about. I wrapped a foam lifting belt around my torso, hooked myself onto a hook on the side of the pool and followed instructions. It was an hour of jogging in place, goose-stepping, rock-climbing, knee-lifting, and other hyphen-related exercises. It was a great way to welcome the evening: sweating in a pool with three middle-aged women and my friend Karen. The ladies flirted with me as the sun sunk into the sky behind the embassy making silhouettes of the mango trees around the pool; vespertine birds flitted in and out of view, the holiday-anxious embassy workers had left quickly and the place was especially silent.
I got a ride home with Karen and her father, changed and went to their place for dinner. From there, it was off to rendezvous with the kids...
Sculpture/pigeon apartment building.
Kids are amazing. I wonder why Catcher in the Rye is so engaging. I wonder why Y Tu Mamá También fascinated me so much, these stories of elite, independent/neglected youth, out of control, wild. On a Wednesday night that felt like a Friday night, I was a fly on the wall at their party. I'll leave out the details, but one of the kids had a driver, we partied in one of the most blingin' houses I've ever been in, the kids had a seemingly limitless supply of alcohol, hip-hop blasted, we had a heated pool (it gets chilly here at night), there was an overwhelmingly positive girl: guy ratio, servants were on hand. It was a fun time, and I'm glad I was able to serve as the lifeguard/designated-driver. Nothing got out of control and everyone was civil despite the apparent material excess and slight beverage excess. The most interesting phenomenon of the party was the DJ process. A computer was hauled out to the patio and plugged into the stereo. Everyone took turns selecting mp3's from playlists, in fact the only surges of party drama revolved around the music. Kids would interrupt other kids selections, we'd complain about what was being played, the computer would act up. It was amazing; I'm realizing how my peers that are only a few years younger than me have spent their "music-discovering years" listening to mp3's. It's the format of choice, CD's were left out entirely.
I took Geoff's sister home at about 3:00am and left him at the party. I slept at his place, woke up, ate French toast, drove back to my place and fed the dogs (Rosa's out of town for the long weekend). Beth and I then wandered back over to the party place. We picked up the stragglers and drove them home.
I spent my afternoon driving and walking around Brasilia with Geoff and Jeff (that has a nice ring to it). We saw the sights up close: the odd buildings, the odd sculptures, the wide roads, the ubiquitous white surfaces, the blue-dyed pools in front of the government buildings. I had a few errands to run and I convinced Geoff to drive us to Extra, a massive Wal-Mart-esque store where I was assaulted by two farmer's daughters on roller-skates. We came back to my place for more leftover Mexican food (it's finished now) and we watched Jet Lee fight himself in the action packed movie, The One. It's felt like a nice condensed weekend. Now, I face a one-day condensed workweek and a full weekend. Awesome! Plus, I get to go to water aerobics again.
music listened to while writing: Todd Chilton's Zeroes and Ones Mix and Heavy Vegetable’s Amazing Adventures of…
Wednesday, June 18
My living room, flood lights, coffee table, and weights.
Last night was so wild that I had to save my entry for this morning, but I'll explain that later. I'm writing from the embassy as the day slowly begins. Yesterday was action packed! First off, I'm happy to say that I finally completed my first small project, that of researching the senators that preside over the eight permanent committees in Brazil's senate. The best part about the whole thing is that the last senator that I researched turned out to be an evangelical/pop singer by trade. It was kind of like desert after researching the other senators who were trained as journalists, economists and lawyers.
The other treat of my day yesterday was a chance to use our direct line to DC to call an awesome associate at the Supreme Court. Everyone knows that the Department of State and the Supreme Court are pretty tight, and sometimes their interns and administrators have to talk about stuff like books, mutual friends, weather and so forth. I really felt like the call was bearing fruit when it was suddenly cut off. I figured, "no big deal, I'll just call back!" Two minutes into the resumed conversation, the call was cut again. That's when I started to sweat and decided not to call again. I suppose some people don't feel that the Supreme Court and State Department should be so tight, but whatever. I just hope that I'm not snatched out of bed and thrown into a rubber bag and/or trunk one of these nights.
Last week I wrote about a cultural head-butting match regarding the odd nasal Brazilian accent that I had with my Brazilian colleague, Alessandra. Well yesterday marked round two, however this debate was much more fun and enriching for all involved. It was about the Speedo. I am contemplating...no I have decided to take a water aerobics class offered at the embassy, and as we discussed the exciting prospects of me hopping into a pool with a group of bikini-clad Brazilians, the topic of speedo-clad men arose. Don't worry, pictures are sure to come. Anyway, Alessandra was quick to point out the flagrant machismo behind the idea that men should wear shorts while women were encouraged to wear bikinis. Jeff (the new intern, not Geoff) explained that it had nothing to do with machismo, but that speedos merely looked 'gay.' To further his argument, both he and I tried to explain that the female figure is much more worthy of celebration/admiration than the male figure. Alessandra disagreed adamantly. We said that women have curves that men don't have. She said that men can have curves too. Jeff and I quickly pressed her on that point, and she realized that male curves were not as desirable as the female variety. Then we tried to understand what she was really looking for. If she likes the male figure so much, why aren't shorts enough? Technically, men go topless all the time, we show just as much skin as women, and the only thing the speedo has to offer is a glimpse of upper-thigh and an enhanced ability to um...gauge the...um...you know, speedos don't leave much to the imagination. Anyway, Alessandra claimed that she wants more upper-thigh. I insisted, asking her if she wanted to see my upper thigh. She said yes. I know she has a boyfriend, but I was deeply flattered. That was the first time a girl had ever told me that she wanted to see my upper thigh, and I've decided to go buy a white speedo post-haste. However, I'm afraid that my upper-thigh is not quite up to the standard that fitness model John Basedow has set and I'm still a little self-conscious. But whatever! I'm up for the challenge! In conclusion, viva el speedo!
I worked out when I got home using the weight pictured above, jogged down to the bridge, ate more Mexican leftovers, and read for a bit. At about 9:30 Geoff's sister Beth and Jeff (not Geoff) arrived to pick me up to go 'hang out.' We had all originally planned to watch a movie, but nobody could decide on a suitable venue and somehow about 9 or 10 kids ended up hanging out in front of Cool Kid Juan Carlos' house. Salsa blared from his car stereo and the chillens stood around putting their beers down and dabbling in a few other beverages while I had a Coke. Jeff (that's Jeff), and I marvelled at how old we felt. He and I are something like 6 years older than most of the kids there, but who cares? I had fun, we all danced a little, and I'm sure we'll continue to find older kids to join our little crew. Now if we can only make sure that they never decide to 'hang' at Friday's (daaaah!) again.
From there...yes, there's more. I was commissioned to drive across the bridge to pick up Ivan at a nearby golf course where he had spent a quiet evening trespassing and candlelight picnicking with his girlfriend. Brasilia was designed for the car. The non-residential roads are wide and fast, with plenty of places to exit into neighborhoods or make U-turns. In fact, the original plan was to not have any stoplights. They haven't been able to stick to that standard entirely, but driving around here is pretty smooth sailing, especially at 11:30 on a Tuesday night. The only bummer is that they have pesky cameras that radar your car and send you a ticket if you're caught speeding, the bright side of that is a requirement that signs be posted announcing the cameras. I'm not really one to drive out of control fast, but having to brake for a camera every mile or so is an added element to the driving experience that I'm not accustomed to. I'm not saying that it's a bad thing, it's just interesting.
music listened to while writing: Pinback's This is a Pinback CD
Monday, June 16
Late. Dusk palms.
It was a lazy Monday. I think this might be my first non-huge post of the summer. First of all, I'm happy to report that my new guitar has already served its purpose: I've used it to transcribe Justin Timberlake's "Cry Me a River" to a simple acoustic guitar song. It was surprisingly simple (I had planned to spend a lot of the summer on it), but the real challenge lies in modifying the melody so that I can actually sing it. I don't have Justin's range or anything like it, so we'll see if I can find a cheap voice coach down here...
So yeah, today was lazy, no demarches or anything like that. I didn't do much, other than boost my productivity a bit. I'm burning out less quickly as I'm starting to grasp the routines and general feel of things. The fact is that I've enrolled myself in a crash course in Brazilian government, Portuguese, and US diplomacy. It's hard to grasp all at once, but that's OK. I'm trying not to be impatient with myself, and like I said, I'm not wearing my brain out as much as I did last week. One funny task I got to carry out today: one of my superiors wanted to know how old Brazilian VP José Alencar is. Brazil's federal government happens to have a vast presence on the world wide internet, replete with fun facts about everyone who is anyone in Brazilian politics. But alas! I couldn't find anything about the VP's birthday. In an effort to do whatever it takes, I decided to call his office. I bucked up and asked the secretary in my weak Portuguese that I was calling from the embassy and that I would like to know how old the vice president was. She told me to wait, and I heard her discuss the matter with another woman in the office before she told me that he is 72 years old. Thanks. Click. Done! Now the info is on the internet: as of June 16th 2003, Brazilian vice president José Alencar is 72 years old. Got that? Good, don't ever ask me again.
To the amazement of our two dogs, I jumped rope in the backyard after work (I took a little break to take the photo that I've included in this post). Bella got tagged by the rope as she tried to come smell what I was doing and I'm afraid that I have given her a perpetual fear of the jump rope. She'd hang around as I took breaks, but would skulk away in fear every time I resumed my jumping. Dogs are great things. The one's that I live with are particularly loving...almost needy, but it's nice to be able to make something so happy by simply petting it. Oh yeah, I almost injured Bella by pinning her head to the ground with my shoulder. Allow me to defend myself, I was doing pushups and in her zeal to lick my face, she shoved her way underneath me just as I descended. Stupid dog. She's a keeper.
I went to Friday's again for dinner with a bunch of kids from the embassy after watching a hilarious episode of The Family Guy that Ivan downloaded off of Kazaa (who would have thought we'd be downloading cancelled American sit-coms in Brasilia?!). So much for my anti-Fridays policy. Tonight's visit furthered my aversion to the place, thanks to a waiter who was so flaired-out that I almost punched myself in the stomach. He had little Pikachu figurines sticking off of his suspenders. Terrible! I'm going to start a charity fund to put an end to this nonsense. Ugh!
And that was it.
music listened to while writing: Coldcut's phenomenal Journeys by DJ mix
Geoff throwing a dart at the Parrot's Perch, The UK Embassy's pub / tennis court / all 'round party place. To see what a real man looks like throwing a dart check this.
Where do I begin? Duh! Where I left off! So here goes...
I slept in on Saturday. The real day began at lunch when 'the new guy' came over for lunch. His name is Jeff and hails from Seattle, where he is getting a master's degree in policy. Interestingly enough (or boringly enough), he is interested in studying energy policy, just like me! So, what a coincidence: a guy shows up, one year older than I am and he seems to be exactly where I want to be in about a year's time. He arrived yesterday and almost immediately came over for lunch. After we ate our leftovers from Friday night's Mexican food extravaganza, we all took off to check out the 'hippie fair.' It's something of a crafts fair that is comes together at the base of Brasilia's TV tower every weekend. The sad thing was that I didn't see too many crafts. It was hard to tell if anything was authentic or if most of the wares had been mass-produced somewhere. Either way, it was worth checking out. My host brother Ivan and I wandered the booths in search of anything that would catch my eye, but I didn't find anything. Ivan nonchalantly told me that "once, there was a dead guy here." What? Yeah, apparently he had gone to the hippie fair a while back and noticed that the man who looked like a sleeping laid-out bum was really a dead laid-out bum. Ivan could tell that his chest wasn't moving so he nudged the corpse with his foot. Sure enough, the guy didn't respond at all. Dead! And the craziest thing is that no one seemed to care. This brings me to a point: Brasilia is surreal.
I'm not going to get into all of the surreality just yet, because I want to save my visual description of the city for a later date when I've had time to crystallize and refine my opinions and observations about the space that I'm living in. Nonetheless, I'll just start off with this. Take a late 60's vision of the future, cast it in concrete, lay it down in the middle of a plain, and let it sit for 35 years. Yeah, that's Brasilia. It looks like a run down Stanley Kubrick set (think: A Clockwork Orange). The flat horizons and harsh sunlight make sure that the odd shapes and silhouettes of the cityscape are impossible to ignore. On the surface, painted metal and concrete don't age well. They corrode. It's an odd place. Really odd, and the bright late afternoon sun scraping over the concrete and cutting through the hippie fair stands made me marvel at how otherworldly this city really is.
I went out with Geoff again last night, this time over to the British Embassy for a fundraiser for their cricket team. The night was spent placing bets on little wooden horses that raced down a track on the tennis court. Huh? Well, here's how it goes: they have six different colored wooden horses kind of like foot and a half tall Monopoly pieces lined up at the end of a track. Someone rolls a giant wooden die with each of the six colors represented on its sides, the horse that moves forward is chosen by how this die falls. Then two equally giant numbered dice are thrown to determine how far the selected horse moves. I think the track had something like 20 spaces on it and blah blah blah: I spent the evening listening to a drunk Englishman call the race over a tremendous PA system while I ate Brazilian BBQ (blew! free! siven! BOLLOCKS!). Once the racing was over and the announcer had finally been stripped of the mic, Queen's greatest hits was put on and Geoff, the Ecuadorian Ana Maria, Jeff's sister and I took to playing darts in the pub. Before we could even finish a game, we were teaching a group of diplomats from Ghana how to play. How awesome is that!? It's pretty awesome.
We took Ana Maria home and met some kids at T.G.I. Friday's for drinks. Interesting note: they still wear pieces of flair (those assinine pins and buttons that the waiters used to wear up and down their suspenders) down here. Of the many policies that govern my life, one of them is to avoid T.G.I. Friday's like the plague, but I'm not going to be a stickler about it. Anyway, I had been told that flair was no longer required in America, as we have become far too cool for such jackassery. Well, the Brazilians are not only lame enough for flair, but several waiters were wearing awful Cat in the Hat / Blossom (daaah!) / Redd Fox hats. I can imagine no more compelling argument to aggressively develop Brazil's economy. It is imperative that we foster a market in which Brazil's youth will not be subjected to such degradation in the workplace.
After Friday's, Geoff and I got our flirt on with some girls hangin' at the mall (the place to hang out in Brasilia) and then we took off.
Church this morning. A great place to practice my Portuguese. I really love my community. Obviously, I was warmly welcomed and everybody was very patient with me as I tried to speak Portuguese with them. The nice thing about church is that I generally know what people are trying to say as they teach their lessons. I can focus on learning vocab and grammar instead of trying to figure out what's being said. By the way, I'm beginning to reconsider comparing Brazilian women to John Basedow and the Crypt Keeper; the beauties that Geoff and I met at the mall last night and the lovely girls at church have convinced me that Brazil boasts a certain beauty that is nothing short of stunning (it's just not as ubiquitous as they'd have you believe). The family that I went to church with is good friends with Rosa and Ivan so we all came back home for lunch afterwards. Once again, we chowed down on leftovers from Friday night's fiesta. I can't complain. Mexican food=good; even three days in a row. Rosa and I went to the Paraguayan Market after lunch in search of a lock for my bike. The market is an expansive little city of booths and stands that sell just about everything, given that it was procured semi-illegally. Well, that's not fair. I'm sure there's plenty of good business that goes on there, but most of it's kind of shady knocked-off Rolex, Oakley, Versace type stuff. I found a nice lock and happened to stumble across a sexy little all-black classical guitar for about $50. Not bad my friends! Not bad at all! Besides being all black, the best thing about the guitar is that it sounds like it cost $50. It has that charmingly crappy K-Records vibe going on. Yes!
Anyway, that was my weekend. It all ends here at the keyboard again, after a three hour nap and an enormous burrito (more leftovers), I've got to find something else to do until I fall asleep again.
music listened to while writing: Boards of Canada's masterful Music Has the Right to Children and Steven Malkmus' mediocre Pig Lib