Friday, June 27
Another sunset
Sorry about the sunset picture everybody, I'm sure you've seen enough of those by now. Due to technical difficulties, I was unable to upload a sweet picture that I took of Ivan and myself watching TV. The technical difficulty had to do with me falling asleep at around 9:45 last night. I was too tired to do anything and I figured that I would be able to copy pictures off of my camera here at work. Well, guess what? I can't. I'm also moving today. I packed my bags and I'm headed to a new house after work. I don't know if I'll have access to a computer capable of handling my pictures once there, but don't panic, I'll do my best to keep the photography coming.
First casualty! I try to stay as close to the side of the road as I can as I ride my bike. It just makes sense because I need to make as much room for passing cars as possible. Anyhow, I didn't pay close enough attention to the curb, and as lightening strikes, BAM!, my little right toe met the curb and got skinned. Tragic! I think I'll wear my shoes while I ride from now on. It's a bummer because there's only one small stretch of road where I have to be particularly careful, but I've learned my lesson. Sniff.
I had to return the video of City of God to the video store across the street from me, so I went for a walk. I took the video back and was quickly summoned by the sweet sweet smell of grilling meat. I found the grill on the sidewalk outside of the back entrance of a convenience store. A skinny dark-skinned guy with a Marlboro baseball cap was tending to coals as they cooked marinated chunks of beef skewered on thin bamboo shoots. I bought two for 1 real a piece. That's about 35 cents a piece. He took the two skewers and rolled the meat in a dish of toasted flour. I don't remember exactly what the stuff is called, but it's something very unique to Brazil, toasted flour, kind of like soft sand that they sprinkle their meats with. It's nothing special, but it's part of the experience. I stood there, on the back side of the shopping center while four men slapped dominoes on a table nearby. Two men stood inside the store, smoking and opining their night away. And I stood there, in the clear night, lit by the florescent lights shining inside the store, on the sidewalk, chewing away, trying to eavesdrop, trying to understand where I stood, but I came to no conclusion and I left. From there I went to the bakery and bought a piece of a ham and cheese filled loaf of something and an eclair. From there it was to the grocery store where I bought a liter and a half of apple flavored liquid yogurt. I meant to bring that into work today, but I forgot. What's the point of all of this? Why am I writing this? Because it was a nice little walk around the Brazilian strip mall. It made an impression on me. It's always interesting to see foreign people go about their daily lives. The convenience store, the grill, the dominoes, the well-dressed patrons of the bakery, the quiet girl at the cash register in the grocery store. These things are Brazil. It's not samba, it's not churrascaria, it's not violent crime, palm trees, Ipanema, or bikinis. It's Brazilian life, and I just walked around it for a while. I walked home, past a guy selling brooms in the parking lot, past another guy trying to sell pineapple, and past a woman in a white robe with her hair done up in a white shawl who sat at a table making dough and frying meat-filled pastries under the stars and by the light of the strip mall signs.
Music listened to while writing: The Microphones' truly unreal The Glow Pt. 2
Thursday, June 26
A blaze of glory
So the showers at the embassy have two knobs. Presumably, one is for hot water and the other is for cold. However, both are labeled with the letter 'D.' I don't know if there are any languages where the words for both hot and cold start with the letter D, but I know that neither English nor Portuguese work that way. Then again, the labeling would be incorrect even if D did stand for hot and cold. The left D knob opens a rain of luke-cold water, while the right D knob unleashes the coldest water on the continent. Now, while I'm discussing embassy plumbing, some of you might wonder if this south of the equator US Embassy really employs a device to correct the Coriolois force and ensure that our American embassy toilets "swirl the correct American way." Well the answer is no.
I spent the bulk of my afternoon reading a lecture called The Will to Believe by William James. It's a thick chunck of reading and it took up a lot of my time, but it offers a careful examination of a foolish phenomenon that is sometimes created by intellectualism. To explain it, I'll describe my own experience.
Some time ago, I realized that I didn't know as much about God and eternity as I had claimed to know. I had felt comfortable telling people all about my firm knowledge of truth and doctrines, but suddenly I was confronted by the fact that I really didn't know anything and that I apparently was never going to be able to know anything. So, instead of pretending to know, I decided that I never would and gave up even trying. Some applauded me. Part of me felt like I was being more honest with myself, but this all wore thin fairly quickly. I found that I still identified very strongly with my religion, with my faith, and with the ideals that accompany them. I also found myself identifying very strongly with the ideals and principles that my country stands for. Now, I'm edumacated enough to realize that I was raised to believe these things and that it would be difficult for me to divorce myself entirely from them. However, I could do it if I really wanted to. And there's the rub. I didn't want to. As the title of the essay suggests, a desire/will is necessary to believe. I suppose I reached a point in my life where I had the opportunity to decide what I would believe. I had to decide if I would remain a part of my community or separate myself from it. Any anthropologist will tell you that community is one of the central elements of the human experience, but I will tell you that without my people I am nothing. I'm just some guy. And the point is that deciding not to believe in something requires a great deal of faith as well. James articulates this quite well.
In concreto, the freedom to believe can only cover living options which the intellect of the individual cannot by itself resolve; and living options never seem absurdities to him who has them to consider. When I look at the religious question as it really puts itself to concrete men, and when I think of all the possibilities which both practically and theoretically it involves, then this command that we shall put a stopper on our heart, instincts, and courage, and wait -- acting of course meanwhile more or less as if religion were not true -- till doomsday, or till such time as our intellect and senses working together may have raked in evidence enough--this command, I say, seems to me the queerest idol ever manufactured in the philosophic cave. Were we scholastic absolutists, there might be more excuse. If we had an infallible intellect with its objective certitudes, we might feel ourselves disloyal to such a perfect organ of knowledge in not trusting to it exclusively, in not waiting for its releasing word. But if we are empiricists, if we believe that no bell in us tolls to let us know for certain when truth is in our grasp, then it seems a piece of idle fantasticality to preach so solemnly our duty of waiting for the bell. Indeed we may wait if we will -- I hope you do not think that I am denying that, -- but if we do so, we do so at our peril as much as if we believed. In either case we act, taking our life in our hands. No one of us ought to issue vetoes to the other, nor should we bandy words of abuse. We ought, on the contrary, delicately and profoundly to respect one another's mental freedom: then only shall we bring about the intellectual republic; then only shall we have that spirit of inner tolerance without which all our outer tolerance is soulless, and which is empiricism's glory; then only shall we live and let live, in speculative as well as in practical things.
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Got that? Give it some time, or email me if you want to talk about it.
My dining room
Water aerobics and a great ride home. Great ride. I listened to the first four tracks of Black Dice's Beaches and Canyons on the way in to work, and I saved the last track for the ride home. It sounds like volcanoes and A-bombs. Awesome! My trusty iPod knew what I needed next and it randomly lined up a blissful Yume Bitsu song to ease my nerves after the Black Dice assault. Wow! Yume Bitsu is a psychedelic 'shoegazer' band that was introduced to me by a friend. It's just what I needed last night: blissed-out, reverb-heavy, delay-laden, dreamy music. It was great. I got home, but went straight to a friend's house to watch Cidade de Deus without subtitles. Phew! I've got to work on my comprehension skills.
best songs listened to while writing: The Beta Band's "It's Not Too Beautiful" and Aphex Twin w/ Squarepusher's "Freeman Hardy & Willis Acid"
Tuesday, June 24
The best commute in the world
No news=good news. So they say. I don't remember any of my dreams last night, so I spent a night without drama and I woke up without trauma. Cheesy? Whatever.
So, unlike yesterday, I remembered to pack my belt and underwear into work. In fact, said belt and underwear are inside the backpack on my back in the picture above. Today's mishap was that the towel that I had left in the embassy bathroom was stolen overnight. I had no towel, and hence, I could not shower. Fortunately, it was a little chilly today and I wasn't too sweaty. I wet my hair, deodorized my pits, sprayed on some cologne, and considered myself clean. The tragedy is that the towel was my Mickey and Minnie in Vietnam towel that I had bought in Hanoi back in January. It's really not that cool, it looks like a brightly-colored Disney towel, but I really got a kick out of it. I mean, Mickey and Minnie in Vietnam? Why not just 'Nam? It pictured the two mouse lovers riding a moped with screws flying off of it. If I ever get it back (which I won't), I'll post a picture of it. I guess I have one more excuse to go back to Vietnam: to replace that towel.
Little progress was made on my research projects today. I found another human rights article about police torturing suspects, but that was about it. I'm about to commence another project on religious discrimination in Brazil. The research will require a bit more work, but it sounds like a good challenge to me.
Jed, Alessandra and Geoff: The Political Youngins
I rode my bike over to the blinged out Marine house after work. A Marine named Mack is a bike expert and he's going to take a look at my wheels and see if there's anything that needs repair. The first thing that he noticed was that the bike sucks. He's going to look it over for me, but he was quick to offer me one of the spare bikes that they just happen to have lying around. It's a beauty. I don't know anything about it, but it's chromed-out and has some nice front suspension. It's also about half as heavy as the other bike. He's going to see if I can borrow it until August. All he has to do is ask the officer in charge of the house. Done. That was really nice. Geoff showed up after Mack had taken my bike, and we lifted for a while in their weight room. I didn't get to take a good look at the house, but it looks like those Marines really live in style. Their own private Portuguese teacher was there giving lessons when I arrived, they have a pool, they have a monstrous stereo and light system in the basement, a great weight room, and a fully stocked bar. And oh yeah, they have about 6 really nice mountain bikes lying around too. Style. From there, I rode a long way home. I'd be interested to find out how far I've been riding because I'm beginning to think that it's more than I thought. Yesterday my left knee was acting up a bit as I pedaled. It wasn't so bad today, but if it keeps giving me trouble, I might have to put the bike away for a bit.
One more thing. I'm going to move out of Rosa's for a few weeks starting this weekend. I'll be house-sitting for another family here. This one has a pool and a grill. Party at Jed's! SIKE!
music listened to while writing: Aphex Twin's 26 Mixes for Cash
Monday, June 23
My grocery store
Well, let's get right to it. This is going to be a post describing a really down day. First of all, let me explain that I have absolutely nothing to complain about. I'm having one of the greatest experiences of my life down here and I'm doing it in style. I've got a bike to ride, I've got music to listen to, and I've got a huge honkin' copy of The Count of Monte Cristo to read. What else could I want? Well, that's personal, but I really shouldn't complain, so let's just get that out of the way: I'm not complaining. I just had a down day, and it can probably be attributed to a sad dream I had last night. It was far too real, and I woke up exhausted and miserable.
I packed my backpack for the bike ride into work. Shoes, shirt, pants, tie, socks: ready to go. Clad in my bathing suit and a t-shirt, I pedaled in under the low morning sun and passed a man lying on top of a drain on the side of the road. I rode right along, but stopped myself and decided to turn back to take a picture of him. I asked his permission and offered him 10 reais (about $3.50). He refused the money by shaking his head, but he didn't seem to mind the pictures. I would have liked to take more pictures, but I felt uncomfortable doing it and I couldn't quite get the shot that I wanted. Plus, the shadow of a lamp-post was covering his face. Anyhow, I guess I'm going to have to learn how to work with my subjects more it if I'm ever going to win that Pulitzer.
Untitled
I arrived at the embassy and hit the shower. Upon exiting the stall, I realized that I had brought neither underwear, nor a belt. I suppose, that the dream that I had last night had really fouled me up. I wore my bathing suit under my trousers and hoped that people wouldn't notice the thinness of my shirt. My quest for hardbody à la John Basedow, has led to a loss of my love-handles and my belt was sorely missed. Of course, nobody noticed my missing belt or barely visible nipples until I pointed them out. Anyhow, work was great. I started doing research on the Brazilian Development Bank for my next project and I stumbled across an article about Morrissey in one of the Brazilian newspapers (Folha de S.Paulo). Another nice part of the day was that I was able to keep track of the amazing new nerd announcements made by Apple this afternoon.
But the day's real bonus was the last-minute news informing me that I will be sent by the embassy to the city of Belo Horizonte in order to attend a seminar called "The New Ethical Challenges of State, Business, and Civil Society." I was planning on going to the seminar anyway because it has been organized by the Inter-American Initiative on Social Capital, Ethics and Development where I used to work. However, when I asked my superior for leave to attend the seminar, he informed me that they might be able to send me. I never would have expected that! Anyhow, I'm going on official embassy business, and that's what the Brazilians would call legal.
With all of that great stuff, I was still down. Too much emotional stress, it's a killer. I went to a great water aerobics class and hopped back on the bike after the sun had already gone down. A huge smokey fire was burning somewhere and the ordinarily clear air was hazy, the street lamps shining through the branches in shafts onto the street. I rode through the early evening with a flashing yellow light clipped to my backpack, listening to depressing Pinback that made my mood even worse. The smoke, the pesky traffic, my tired heart...it was so sad! But at least I can feel again. There was a time when I wouldn't let myself feel anything at all. Eventually, some rockin' Black Rebel Motorcycle Club came into the queue on my iPod and the guitars-of-fury got me pedaling hard enough and moving fast enough to forget my imagined woes for a bit. However, it didn't come on before I rode past the source of the night's haze.
Nightfire
I got home, ate tacos, watched Friends with Rosa, but only in order to read the Portuguese subtitles for language practice. That show is so lame. Ivan is learning how to play the guitar so he asked for some help with that. That's always nice. Then a guy that I baptized while on my mission in Venezuela appeared online and wanted to chat. He had nothing but good news for me. He's working hard to keep the faith and to be happy. He's trying to help other people and it sounds like he's doing well. That was marvelous. And yet, I'm still a little sad. But that's alright; I miss someone a lot. I guess that's it. Yeah, that's probably all it is.
music listened to while writing: DJ Shadow's The Private Press
Sunday, June 22
A Model City
So it's a Sunday morning and I can't seem to get in touch with my ride to church. So I'm going to have to spiritually edify myself this morning. So far I've done so with some marvelous strawberry liquid yogurt. Oh my! Why oh why does liquid yogurt not seem to sell in the States? I seem to find it everywhere else in the world, and it's so good! Anyway, I think that the maintenance of this journal has some sort of spiritual value, so it's a good Sunday activity. I know that people searching for Mormon blogs have stumbled in here and well, part of the reason I'm on here is to make my small voice heard on behalf of my community.
I rode my bike into work on Friday. Rosa's still out of town so it was either bike, find a ride, or take a cab. So I biked. Let me tell you, that's the best commute in the world. I listened to a song called "Spiral" by The Boredoms that made me pedal so hard that I almost burnt myself out five minutes into the ride, but then Redd Tape's Life in a Cardboard Box came on and I just smiled as I rode instead...with a few pedals-of-fury thrown in on occasion. Anyway, it took about 25 minutes of rockin' and ridin' in the morning sun for me to get to work. I showered at the embassy and got to work. My day was full of research, reading papers, and I got to go to another demarche. This one regarded the next United Nations General Assembly, so we met with two United Nations pros in the Brazilian foreign ministry. The experience was interesting because the two men were diplomatic opposites. One was very soft spoken, kind and thoughtful. The other was gruff, cold, and kind of inconsiderate. Love v. fear in the Brazilian foreign ministry. The interesting thing was that the three of us that went to the demarche all got the exact same vibe and we all got it almost immediately. There must be some sort of science of vibeology. How is it that we can emanate our personalities so immediately? I skipped water aerobics and lifted instead, then I rode home as the sun set. I took this picture on the bridge.
East to West
I learned how to play Mason Jennings' "Drinking as Religion" on the guitar almost immediately upon my arrival home. It had come into the random queue on my iPod and it blew my mind as I rode my bike through the dusk. Wow! I don't think the song is available on any album, but I have a live version of it that I downloaded. Great song. Great! I showered, ate some chicken milanesa that Valeria made for me and laid down to read until the party started. Sometime around 9, I got picked up and we took off for an encore of the party that we had on Wednesday night. I'll just say that hanging out with a bunch of 'barely legal' drunk kids isn't all that great two times in one week. I basically chilled with Jeff the whole evening, until I got so bored that I jumped into the pool despite the chilly night air. I got home around 2am and was woken at 7 by César, one of the most worthless dogs in the world. The other most worthless dog in the world is a live version of Santa's Little Helper named Bella.
Cue "Enter the Gladiator"
Bella is the outdoor mutt who welcomes all visitors benevolent and otherwise with stilted whines of "touch me! love me!" as she jumps in circles. If you approach her, she will roll onto her back longing to have her belly rubbed. César is the indoor shitzu that does nothing but chew on shoes and lick people's feet. Get the two together, and their combined cluelessness instantly binds them into a trembling mass of fur, teeth, and stupidity as they wrestle on the slippery patio tiles. I love 'em. They're hilarious to watch, but I didn't like being woken by César yesterday, I put him outside and went back to sleep until about 10:30. I sat out by the pool and read for a while and then got back on my bike. This time I rode all afternoon with nowhere in particular to go listening to Broken Social Scene's You Forgot it in People (the best album of 2002) and Public Enemy's It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back. I like to jog without music; it clears my head, but biking with music is the greatest. I got a lot of sun, I sweated a lot, I ate a Cheddar McMelt downtown, I braved traffic, I wore the entire day out pedaling up and down the city. I meant to take pictures, but I wasn't feeling it.
Jeff and I decided to take it easy last night. He came over and we ordered some of the worst imaginable food available for delivery from a place called Giraffas. Unbelievable! I won't even get into it. Suffice to say, terrible. We headed up to the local grocery store and got some Ice Cream and fell asleep watching Boondock Saints. I had heard good things about that movie, but I was wholly unimpressed. It's nothing more than a very bad imitation of a Tarantino film. I actually feel sorry for anyone who was involved with it.
Anyway, that was it. A simple chilled-out weekend so far. I've got nothing left but a lazy Sunday with my books. It sounds good to me.
music listened to while writing: Destroyer's Streethawk: A Seduction and U2’s B-Sides 1980-1990