Churrasco blesses everyone

While there is nothing more cliché about Brazil than Samba, Carnaval, and thong-strung beach bods, a few things do prove true and undeniable. I like to call them the Brazoly Trinity.

1. There is nothing more ecumenical in Brazil than a coal-stuffed and duly lit churrasqueira. Weekend tally of human tribes present to feast: football fanatics, grandmas, a guy so pierced he must leak at times, the loaded, the country folk, artsy girls, wife-beater clad momma’s boys and a debutante. The grill accepts everyone.

2. There is no plate more essential than a big, freshly butchered steak, rare to medium-well done. I have never seen so much chicken passed up. Made me sad…

3. And there is no drink more mixed than the Caiprinha, with the whitest, most bleached out sugar and sourest lemons you can find. I admit, I tried to slip in some brown sugar, but was found out and banned to the Uno corner of the knoll.

There you have it, the holy three: fire, meat, and lemons. If you want to live in Brazil, you either accept them or… like me, stick to the chicken shish-kabobs and grilled okra. It’s how I remind myself that I’m not Brazilian, for I swear on my momma’s Bible, no actual Brazuca would EVER trade red bloody moo for flightless cluck cluck.

Gemini Theater in São Paulo

I went to see Ashton Kutcher in his worst movie ever this weekend…But I’m thoroughly thrilled to have done so, because if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have gotten to know the Gemini Theater, off Avenida Paulista in the heart of São Paulo.

One word is all I need – Amazing. The place is full of geometrics and Bondesques, low ceilings with Ritzy lights and plastic laquered railings. The floor, a carpet in largely tile obsessed Brazil, is a zig zag of matted blue and orangey-yellow. It doesn’t smell musty, though. It swivels at jagged angles beneath an air that’s neither stale, nor fresh, just heavy with something you might liken to seriousness…a dictatorship-era attempt at the avant-guard.

Up the stairs, and a laquered red tile bathroom invites a hearty piss after a long metro ride. It makes you imagine the stalls and sinks as they were some decades ago, filled with Debbie Harry types powdering their noses inside and out, while checking their feathered do’s in the long, halogen lighted mirrors. The bathroom’s right next to the tiniest popcorn stand, which stands as a monument to times of past un-comsumerism: just a few M&M’s and some Coca Colas for sale.

It’s a good thing, this proximity to the john, because the popcorn does a better job of covering the stench of urine from the yellowed toilets than any industrial strength cleaner could. It’s also great for those watching their calories. By the time I was done tinkling, the light mingling of the two uncomplementary smells had had the effect of putting my focus entirely on other things. No snacks for me!

Besides peeing and avoiding popcorn, you might also enjoy sitting and waiting for your movie to start. Instead of benches or nothing at all, as movie theaters these days sport, at the Gemini, you can sit down on rows of squeaky blue pleather seats. They’re low, so great for shorties, and deep, therefore comfy for taller people. And they’re super, because they’re like great big toy building blocks, just waiting for a yellow blue and red Lego Boy to sit down and make himself at home.

Once it’s time for your film, you’ll be pleasantly surprised that the screen is as big as a Drive-in’s, and the seats just as pleathery and deep as the ones in the waiting area, only this time with arm rests and stiffer backs. The only drawback, given the 60’s design of not so fully McDonalized values, is that there are no cup holders for those Cokes you scored after your popcorn piss in the time capsule bathroom. No biggie. I enjoyed seeing the new Ashton Kutcher flop simply for the digs. It felt like half an Omniverse, a scaled up model of the gigantic movie theaters of nowadays. Whoever built the Gemini was thinking Futurist and it was such an awesome thrill to visit, that sitting through 100 minutes of Ash’s new LA Gayboy look couldn’t smudge. Does Demi know her man’s gone to the dark side? Me, I’m just glad I got to take a trip through time to another era in Brazil’s cultural conscience, when “No smoking!” signs were a twinkle in a yet to be born future and coke-bottles came in glass.

Quick-tip: Talk like a Brazilian #1

“Witty in a snap”

If, like me, you’ve ever found yourself bilingual in a new culture, you soon realize that it isn’t just the words that matter. Culture intrudes on your communicative endeavor and what you thought was funny in your native language no longer holds its weight in verbs. So, here I go with a tidy, bullet point style tip:

When you want to be witty and you’re too drunk to translate that long Polish joke, use a one-liner that’s easy to remember through the fuzz. Just say the exact antonym of what  you really mean (This, however, when in an inoffensive situation, I stress! Look to the Etiquette posts regarding what to do if you need to criticise or express a negative POV).

Let’s give this example in the form of an SAT style quiz:

You’ve eaten a lot. You say to your friend:

a. Ugh. I ate a lot!

b. Uh. I’ve eaten a ton.

c. Man, I ate so little!

If you said, “C, Final Answer,” then you’ve got it! The Brazilians love direct opposites, so give it to ‘em!

I know, it’s hard to believe, but it’s THAT simple. With this easy trick, you can go from snoozer to at least a  tad of a doozer before dessert even rolls around, and you won’t sound like a Gringo trying to bring a dumb American joke across.

Winter is coming to South America

It feels like I might be in Antarctica. Not because of the coming cold… But because the colder it gets the more surreal life feels. Antarctica is the first place I think of when I face the fact that summer is coming, like some Christmas in July celebration for a car dealership or matterass wholesaler. Every part of my body tickles with the cold, like it’s an intruder onto my cells. Where’s the heat? The molecules quiver. At this rate, we won’t have any warmth to keep the candles going. It will be a Wuthering Heights birthday among the banana trees for me this year and part of me just doesn’t believe it.

Ok, I’m getting a little ahead of myself. I know June isn’t even a twinkle in this year’s eye yet, but seeing the wind howl outside my window leads to selfish brooding. “Is the choice of birthday gift influenced by the season?” for example. I used to always get sparkly happy things… but on the one birthday I spent in Brazil 5 years ago, I got a black pullover. I hope to escape the Brazilian pattern of clothes giving (often items that fit oddly or you wouldn’t be caught dead wearing, not even to bed). It’d be a bloody shame to have to hide another tacky scarf in the back of my closet for the next ten years, or until the owner forgets he or she had given it to me and I can re-gift. Whichever comes first.

Brazilian Etiquette

#3

You don’t expect anyone on time, even in emergencies. If you do, you’re the rude one and they’re just trying their best. Case in point, Friday night, waiting for S. off the side of the interstate and at an abandoned gas station. The clock is ticking. I’m pooping my pants out of fear and hoping the occupants of the steamed up car on the other side of the lot stay in there and away from me. People are waiting for me somewhere, an hour’s ride away, and not just any people but Germans, known for their unforgiving relationship to punctuality…

S is 30 min late.

“Oh, you funny funny rascal, you.” I say.

Dreams

#1

Dreamed of watching a Broadway musical audition. It literally took place on a trapeze swing that hung high above a gas station on Houston Street. I was wearing combat boots and a very nice Ann Taylor dress. Then, I was somehow no longer on Houston and instead, on Spring Garden Street in Philly. I took the #5 bus home and the bus driver went blind on the way. So Saramagoesque. 

I love dreaming.

Brazilian Etiquette

#2

You never say what you mean. If you need to say something disagreable, it must come in the form of a not just double but triple disguised joke. Worst case scenario and you’re not wordsmith enough for it… You have your mouth say what you mean but your eyes smile and a lighthearted voice  implies, “Oh, you rascal you” or “Golly cheepers, Beaver, that’s a funny way of being an asshole, you’ve got there.”

Picturing the Recession

Wow… the first ever known “Not Hiring” sign. That’s what I just saw on NYT online and ugh! Words are so futile to explain what’s happening around the world. Call me impressionable, but when the word ” depression ” gets thrown around globally left and right, I get a bit down too. I woke up this morning from a vivid dream about the desolation that must be being laid to my old neighborhood. I always dream about Greenpoint, Brooklyn. It’s like it sprung roots in my heart and I can’t wash ‘em out. Spring was trying to get in on every side, it being April and all. But it was just not having any luck. The streets were intent on maintaing their barren, wide, windy air and the buds didn’t seem to be anywhere near sprouting in order to replace the tree cover stolen by winter. Part of it, I realize, might just have something to do with the fact that I miss winter. Brazilian winters are like Spring or Autumn to someone raised in the Northern Hemisphere. I feel a slow kind of hatred toward the seasons here growing on me, in fact. Like it’s stolen some vital part of my living experience. There is just something special and important about having rain and cold trap you in your house. You end up reading a lot and thinking more. Here, nobody reads. Magazine racks and book shops in Brazil are like corner stores in America – just a few key items for the odd man out who didn’t do his shopping elsewhere. Except, there is no elsewhere, unless you’re from the city of São Paulo. And yet, this country seems to be the place to be during these desperate times. Things here aren’t crashing as they are in the US. Partly, because Brazil has always been in a permanent state of denoument and everyone’s used to operating on panic mode. They panic with a lot of grace, actually. All Brazilians, to me, seem like those old time Philly public school teachers, whom you never see running or rushing anywhere, even though the whole place is burning around them. I actually took quite a few tips from those people, when I was a school teacher in Queens. The stress of the DOE diminished in droves the moment I discovered that a languid walk resolved it all. Here in Brazil, the strategy’s doing a swell job of stamming the blood loss of the global panic. Some people are getting laid off, it’s true, but lots are just taking reduced salaries and reduced hours, and keeping their posts at various firms around the country. The “make-do” culture of Brazilians has a lot to do with it. They are always willing to survive. Something us Americans never had to ponder, we just took it for granted that survival was in the cards and chose to brood over our our artistic souls, our individualities. It’s a bit uncomfortable to be a reader in a whole country of people not accustomed to sitting down and pondering stuff – be it the financial situation, the weather that permits outside activities year-round, or a languidity that lulls – but in the end, I think I’m lucky to be here, especially after seeing the “Not Hiring” signs back home.

Brazil for Beginners #1- Visa

#1

When I first thought to teach and travel abroad, I turned, naturally, to the internet. I found nothing but extensive dissertations on Samba and Carnaval as wellas long bossa nova playlists,  which to me are just Brazil’s answer to smooth jazz and easy listening. Obviously, Brazil is about a lot more than that. So here’s the first of a few things you might want to know after you’re done ogling the boobies in the Samba parades. I guess you could call it the boring stuff; y’know, things you need to know to actually LIVE  in Brazil.

Today’s tips is a general one about Work and Visas. In later posts, I’ll get into the details of each point.

if you don’t have a company sponsoring you to work here, you will need to get :

a. a 6-12 month cultural study visa, like the one offered by IICA.

b. a reason to invest 50,000 DOLLARS in the country.

c. a marriage certificate to a real Brazuca. I think this one’s the easiest and sooooo not a big deal. Since Brazil’s an insanely Christian country, a marriage doesn’t even count if it isn’t done through the church. so, just get yourself a “green card marriage” at city hall and pronto.

Given that 99% of people who live in Brazil do it cause they’re romantic douchebags (like me), the real-life Brazuca part is guaranteed and probably sleeping next to you every night. All you need to do, then, is go to the nearest  ”cartório” and fill out a marriage licence, wait 40 days, get about 4 people as witnesses, and badam! you’ve got yourself a permanent visa.

Beijos a todos!

Hans Eysenck

Extroversion results were moderately high which suggests you are, at times, overly talkative, outgoing, sociable and interacting at the expense of developing your own individual interests and internally based identity.

Neuroticism results were medium which suggests you are moderately worrying, insecure, emotional, and anxious.

Psychoticism results were moderately low which suggests you are, at times, overly kind natured, trusting, and helpful at the expense of your own individual development (martyr complex).

Prior to Eysenck’s discovery of Psychoticism, he correlated his original two traits (introversion and neuroticism) with an ancient greek personality system known as the Galen types (Melancholic, Choleric, Sanguine, Phlegmatic).