Friday, July 18
Shape.
Now, here's a little intro to Brazilian law: Brazil's constitution is a mere 25 years old, written in 1988 soon after the end of an oppressive military regime. It's roughly 300 pages and if you're interested, you can read it in English at Georgetown University's website here. If you have a moment, you might go take a look at Title II of said enormous constitution. It lists what its authors consider to be "fundamental rights and guarantees." Among these fundamental rights and guarantees is a long list of "social rights" that determine the required retirement age, legal workweek, mandatory paid vacation, among myriad other details. Say what you will, take it for what it's worth, but Brazil's swollen constitution makes life very difficult for its country's lawyers and lawmakers and it's starting to kill the economy. Brazil, kind of like France, has a pension program that is entirely unsustainable and is wolfing down huge chunks of Brazil's GDP. It's tragic because President Lula has devoted a lot of his 6 months in power to the reform of this program, but it looks like he's failed. After months of maintaining a hard line, even claiming that only God Himself would be able to prevent pension reform, Lula started to bend. His first concessions were granted to judges, and it all went downhill from there. Today, it looks like barely any changes will be made. I'd get into the details, but I've got other things to write about. I'll just say that this makes me sad. Most of the country's population does not benefit from any sort of pensions, but the public servants with the most powerful unions are more than capable of striking (another constitutionally granted right) as long as they have to in order to ensure that they are granted a big ol' pension as soon as the retire at the ripe old constitutionally determined retirement age of 53 (men) or 48 (women). Life expectancy in Brazil has increased considerably in the past 25 years, but I guess the meticulous drafters of the 1988 constitution never thought of that. So here's the other stuff I've got to write about...
Churrasco! That's Brazilian for BBQ and it's awesome! I've written about a few of these before, but I can't get enough. Ivan, Jeff and I went to a great one last night with a bunch of people that work in customs, or what is now called The Department of Homeland Security. Here's the word on the street: grilled sausage and fresh French bread is awesome, and The Department of Homeland Security is the place to be. Apparently it's already become common for employees of other law enforcing government agencies to jump ship and head to the new DHS. The DHS is the most modern, most streamlined, less bureaucratically bogged agency in town, and it's a nice place to work. In fact, last night's churrasco host told me that the DHS was better than sliced bread. I asked him if it was better than grilled sausage and bread and he replied in the affirmative. It's a bold statement, but I'll just say that it's rare to hear anybody speak of a federal agency the way DHS employees talk about theirs.
I had another dream worth mentioning last night. Check it! I had two nostrils in this one, but I had forgotten that I had to take a math final exam. It was terrible! Isn't it odd, that I've been out of school for a full year, I haven't taken any sort of math for over 3 years. and I'm still having nightmares about math finals? I rushed to take the exam but halfway through it I realized that I didn't really have to take it. I realized that I didn't even know who the teacher was, and that I was free to go. Nonetheless, I had to really convince myself and 'do the math' to figure out that there was no way that I should be taking a math exam. I guess my psyche is programmed to terrorize me with 'summer vacation nightmares' every July. Stupid subconscious, I've got to do something about it.
Music listened to while writing: Angelo Badalamenti's sountrack to The Straight Story
Thursday, July 17
Fisherman.
I was riding home from work, on a picture taking spree when I rode past this gentleman. He was twirling a length of fishing line with hook and bait over his head (like a helicopter), preparing to cast it into the lake. I rode past, but decided that it was a photo op' that I didn't want to miss. I stopped the bike, jumped off and scuttled down the steep hill from the road to the lake side. I spoke to him and asked him if I could take some pictures. He suggested that I take a picture of a turtle that he had captured. I walked over to him and saw his catch: a large water turtle on its back, pinned down with a rock. He took the rock off and let me take some pictures of the turtle, but as soon as the turtle realized it was safe, its feet popped out and it took off running. I've never seen a turtle move so quickly. He picked it up and moved it away from the lake so that it wouldn't be able to swim away, but the thing shot right towards the water, and the fisherman let it go. I asked him if he didn't want it and he said no. Then he asked me if I had wanted it. I thought that was funny. Anyway, I asked him if I could take a picture of him and he wanted to know why. I told him that I wanted the picture as a souveneir, but he seemed suspicious, saying that he couldn't understand why I'd want to take a picture of him. I took one anyway; only one, the one above. I showed it to him on the camera and he still couldn't understand why I'd want a picture of him. I gave him the thumbs up and he returned the gesture. I ran up the hill and got back on the bike. I think he was comforted to see that I was getting onto a bike and not a black Crown Victoria. I sent him another thumbs up from the bike, got one from him and I pedaled off.
Last night, I remembered a dream that I had had the night before. I dreamt that I discovered that I only had one big nostril instead of two. It was a real blow to my self-esteem. It was as though I had lived my whole life without realizing that I didn't have two nostrils like everyone else, and I finally realized why I had such a hard time with the ladies. Pretty wild, huh?
Work: more gun control and energy research. I found a great resource for information on state gun laws in the US. It's from CNN and can be found here.
One more thing. I posted a whole slew of photos from my recent trip to Minas Gerais at Snapfish.com. You can see them here. You might have to sign up with them to get access, but it's free and easy, so do as you wish. There are some good pictures on there.
Music listened to while writing: ...Trail of Dead's Madonna
Wednesday, July 16
Brazilian Procurement Building / Unidentified Flying Object
I went to a farewell dinner last night. We bade farewell to a girl who is moving back to the States to experience her high school senior year in a real American school. She'll be able to drive, get a job, um...I don't know what else, but I'll just say that it was a nice dinner. Here's why: the parents are letting their daughter move out a little earlier than usual, but it's OK because she's a solid gold girl. I sometimes wonder how much stress families that live abroad have to undergo, but this family, and Rosa's family, have assured me that a good family can handle life abroad just fine. I'm not saying that I know everything about these families, but as far as I can tell, they've handled life abroad very well. So, that was nice. Tasty too.
I don't have much else to talk about. I'm hesitant to write about work every day because work is the same every day. Instead, I'll throw out some more Brazilian uniqueness: While mingling at the punkrockathon on Saturday, I struck up a little conversation with one of the bands' guitarists, and I asked him what band influenced him the most. Without hesitation, the answer was Guns and Roses. I guess it's hard to remember for some reason, but the greatness of Guns and Roses cannot be denied. Ever since Nirvana comletely obliterated glam rock, popular music has wallowed into a swamp of post-grunge scrapple and a bubblegum-pop rennaisance. It seems like G n' R's reign was merely a dream. What other band could ever get MTV to play their 8 minute videos several times a day? And how is it that a few minutes of "Smells Like Teen Spirit" could almost instantly banish Axle and his valiant knights of rock to the joke bin/dungeon? It obviously doesn't help that Axle went a little crazy, but whatever, G n' R has been essentially irrelevant in the US for the past ten years or so. Anyway, their glory is alive and well in Brazil, continuing to inspire Brazilian youth to play several solos per song and aspire to stadium rock grandeur. I don't have an opinion on this. G n' R doesn't do anything for me anymore. They were too overexposed in their time and their style is, sadly, hackneyed. Kids down here have no concept of the DIY (do it yourself, for you poseurs out there), garage, indie ethos. In fact, the old rock star school is so strong that on Saturday I actually met the agent of one of the kids' bands. He was the kid who told them how to dress and so forth. I couldn't believe it, but I guess an agent is an essential part of a glam-rock band. I didn't, however, get to meet any of their groupies, a much more important element, in my opinion.
Monday, July 14
Pao de Queijo .
Homage to Pao de Queijo
Translated literally it means cheese bread, but to American taste buds, Brazil's pao de queijo can't be summed up so easily. A piece of pao de queijo is usually round, flat on the side that it sat on the baker's tray, and small, between the size of a ping pong ball and a racquetball. Now here's the mystery, charm and joy of pao de queijo : it's literally cheese bread, in the sense that the cheese is literally part of the bread and vice versa. It's not on top, it's not inside, or in any other specific spot; it's everywhere, and it's wonderful. Warm pao de queijo is soft, chewier than bread, full of cheesy goodness, and bready wholesomeness. I love thee, oh pao de queijo! Also, thou hast inspired me to pursue a career in food photography.
OK. I just saw Charlie's Angels 2: Full Throttle. Amazing! I had a blast. The movie is so stylized, I had to love it for being so overdone. I also like how the good guys (er...gals) refuse to use guns. I wonder if Hollywood does that on purpose these days. The new Matrix took guns out of the good guys' hands too. I think it's a good thing.
Unique thing about Brazil: the price of the food in the cafeteria at the embassy is determined by its weight. This is fairly common in eateries here. It's generally not too expensive, but it's odd to pay the same amount for a few ounces of apple as you would for a few ounces of fried chicken. It all balances out in the end, but I thought some of you might find that interesting. It doesn't faze me at all anymore, but I'm going to try to recognize as many of these unique Brazil things as I can and post them here throughout the rest of my stay down here.
Music listened to while writing: Postal Service's Give Up mix and The Rolling Stones' Jamming with Edward
Sunday, July 13
So Fine: Daniel, Rodrigo, and Hot.
So my story begins just after I wrote my last post on Thursday night. As I left work on Thursday, I remarked to Alessandra that I was beginning to feel down again. I've got a lot on my mind these days and boring Brasilia isn't helping. I don't have a car here and as tired as I am in the evenings, I feel like I should be getting out more, meeting people and experiencing Brazil. She's from here so she couldn't really relate, but she sympathized, knowing that if she were going to sleep at ten o'clock every night in DC, she'd feel like she were missing an opportunity. Opportunity knocked later that evening. I was lying in bed with my copy of The Count of Monte Cristo (that book is as much a part of my life now as John Basedow's Fitness Made Simple) when I heard a sound. The first thing that I noticed is that it wasn't the sound of Latin music. As much as I love Latin America, I don't like most of the music. I love some samba and I love some really stripped down bossanova, but that's it. Anyway, I was excited to hear some blaring non-Latin music. I put the book down and paid more attention. I then realized that I was hearing some sort of electric bass guitar line; upon further listening I determined that it wasn't recorded. Someone, somewhere in my 'hood was rockin' out. What a revelation! I hesitated, wavered, equivocated, prevaricated et cetera ad nauseum until I decided, "yes, I am going to find the source of that rock."
Off I went, downstairs, out the front door and onto the street. Fortunately, my search quickly ended two doors down. I saw a young kid outside the house that the music was coming from, and he let me in. On the patio in the back of the house, I found the scene pictured above (I love that weird picture seaming effect, by the way). The kids were rockin' out in every sense of the word. They call themselves "So Fine" and they were trying to polish some of their original songs. I sat and listened for a while, I played a little bit for them, but they were too good for me to keep them from playing for long. Hot (so they call him), asked me if I liked "Sweet Child O' Mine," to which I responded, "do I like it? It's my national anthem!" He immediately tore into the final screaming guitar solo from the song, Rodrigo and Daniel played right along with him, and I sat there with tears welling up in my eyes as they summoned Slash's spirit. The group's singer, Luciano, came out, but he was feeling too sick to sing. We sat around and talked for a while instead, and they invited me to come back on Saturday for a BBQ and sets from four bands. Money. I learned a valuable lesson that night: when the rock calls, thou shalt heed that call. I made it home in time to read plenty of The Count. I fell asleep that night without worrying about not getting out enough.
Jeff in a dang kayak.
We got off of work early on Friday. Most of the embassy workers had to work at an embassy sponsored BBQ for orphans on the 4th of July, so someone determined that letting people leave at 3 o'clock on Friday was the best way to make up for it. Alright! I had a good day doing research, the usual. I had a sweet butt-kickin' water aerobics class at noon, during which I realized the following: water aerobics is a tricky way to exersize. I noticed how easy it is for me to get nothing out of it. It's too easy to fake it and float and pretend to run but not do anything. I put a lot into it on Friday, and I feel like I got a lot out of it in return. Anyway, it was a good day, and we got off at 3 o'clock. Jeff and I decided to meet at the Military Liaison Office (MLO) to go kayaking. The MLO is basically a house on the lake with weights, a pool, kayaks and other niceties for the officers that are stationed down here. Luckily for us, we can use them too. It felt great to finally get on the lake. I've been meaning to kayak ever since I got here, and it's well known that my new year's resolution was to spend as much time on boats this year as possible. So yeah, I felt great. I don't know what it is, but I find that life is much better to me in a little boat. For instance, peep this picture of a sunset. That sunset is pretty awesome, but its glory was greatly multiplied unto me because I witnessed it from a kayak. If you don't believe me, go get in a kayak or canoe and you'll see what I'm talking about. Man! I loved it.
Jeff and I told the guard at the MLO that we'd be out for about 45 minutes. I have no idea how long were gone, but it was much longer than that. We paddled out a ways and heard, once again, distant loud music! Whoa! I thought, "it's time to heed the call once again, but we're so far away..." my feeble spirit began to waver once again. I told Jeff the story of the previous night and inspired him, he led the way and we paddled towards the rock (U2's All That You Can't Leave Behind, by the way). Eventually we found the source of the music, it was a giant partyboat with a total of four visible people on it. One was tending the bar, one was laying in a hammock, one was a woman wearing a thong and a T-shirt, and the other was a guy who quickly drew the woman towards him and grabbed her butt cheeks as soon as he saw us approach. I wouldn't say that I regret following this rock, but it was less fruitful than the Thursday night's adventure. The music was blaring out of HUGE speakers pointed off the sides of the boat. It cracks me up to think that someone out there is crazy enough to get a huge party boat and ride around the lake all afternoon doing nothing other than drink and play incredibly loud music. Part of me wishes that I were that person. Anyway, I paddled around the boat (it was going slow) and took some pictures. They honked at me as I got in front of them, but it was all good fun. Shoot! What a life! Jeff and I made it back as the sun set. We decided to do something else that night and I rode home.
We met at the mall later to see Hulk. I know that this movie has overwhelmed people with its mediocrity, but I loved it. It may be attributed to my boredom here in Brasilia, but I thought it was a really cool movie, just like a comic book in so many ways...I think; I don't read comic books. Anyway, I liked it for what it was. Yeah...good times.
Brazilian kids doin' their rock thing.
I went to the party on Saturday. Oh yeah! I went and lived the dream. It was like a Coke commercial! There were kids dancing, eating, partying, rockin' out and straight up having a good time. All of this went on in the backyard of a blinged out house with a pool, a little soccer field, and a fired-up Brazilian grill. I met a lot of cool people, but the coolest dude around was Leo. Leo works at the Armani Exchange at a mall around here and he and I hit it off right away. We bonded as we talked about the great Billy Idol (holy crap!) and Dire Straits. He called a girl that works at "The Exchange" and had me talk to her because she speaks English, and then we bonded some more as we chowed down on the potato salad and grilled beef. His girlfriend had him give me their number so we can all go out sometime. The coolest thing about Leo, though, was that he could never get my name right. I spelled it out for him several times, but he, like most Brazilians, was simply baffled by the one syllable that the world knows me by. Instead, he decided to call me Jerry. That's fine with me because it makes me think about one of my favorite Taiwanese friends from the University of Utah. Taiwanese Jerry's real name was something unpronounceable to Americans, so when he arrived in Utah, he decided to rebaptize himself with the name of Jerry. Awesome! I had an apartment mate for a year whose name was Chien-Sung or something, but he called himself Kevin. I love it! We also knew a Korean kid who didn't seem to mind that his roommate (and later everyone else) called him Chewy. So, anyway, I'm called Jerry now, and that's great if you ask me.
Leo had to get back to work, so I spent the afternoon rockin' with the kids and practicing my Portuguese. Everybody was really nice, but I was much more of an observer than a fully participating partier. It's good to know that kids are the same everywhere: there are cool kids, there are dorky kids, everyone is awkward, but everyone wants to have fun and they all go for it. It was a great party and I'm glad I followed the music that led me to the house on Thursday night. Apparently more parties are to follow and I'm invited. I might even be allowed to treat everyone to my unplugged renditions of Beck's "Nitemare Hippie Girl" and Justin Timberlake's "Cry Me a River." I'll be sure to let y'all know.
Something happened to my stomach and I decided not to call Leo that night. I spent my evening with The Count, and packed my things to leave the house the next day.
Ivan and Me getting ready to wash the dog.
My bags were packed and after a good day at church (I think I understood a good 90% of the Portuguese!), my co-worker, David, and I packed my things into his car and I said goodbye to the house that was so serendipitously situated near my new rockin' friends' house. After lunch, he dropped me off at Rosa's and I was overjoyed to be back home again. It wasn't long after I unpacked that I was assigned to dish, car, and dog washing duty. It's fine with me. I'm glad to be back with Ivan and Rosa. After the washing, Rosa let me take Ivan over by the embassy where he'd have plenty of traffic-free roads for him to practice driving on. I showed him the miracle of the three-point turn and we basically spent some time letting him get a feel for braking and steering. I had a great time because I really felt like we had that 'brother thing' going on. We got McD's for dinner and we watched Waiting for Guffman: a great way to end a weekend.
Music listened to while writing: Dallapozza's The Cliffs Are Red Out Here mix and Slowdive's Souvlaki