five star Italian

A valet parked and retrieved our cars. Our table had a grand total of four waiters assigned to silently glide around it. No pizza was on the menu, which was in Italian. When the food arrived it was covered with silver cloches, which were removed from our plates with a dramatic flourish... I'm thinking it was real silver because they used gloves. Utensils came. Utensils went. They even provided me with a finger bowl to tidy my fingers should the sauce on my partridges and strawberry risotto have sullied them.

Despite the novelty of exaggerated refinement, my favorite Italian dinning experience was in Spain at some hole in the wall where the patrons at one table were charged with flipping a breaker switch because the lights kept going out. I will never forget the aroma that drew droves of patrons every night... or the food when it came. That plate of hot carbs, cheese and spices kicked my partridges' little feathery asses.

It was joked recently that I like poverty... I prefer to think I'm increasingly coming to value good company and good food (wherever I find them) over massaging an idea of myself as a priveledged member of society.

Colação de Grau

This December I will graduate from Texas A&M University. I have been to several Aggie graduations, so I know what to expect for my own: endless boredom. My last name is at the beginning of the alphabet, so I do plan to leave after walking the stage. Rude? Sorry.

Envisioning mind-numbing boredom when my friend invited me the commencement ceremony for a college, it was curiosity alone that forced me to agree.

HOLY CRAP. Where do I begin?

Really, I shouldn't have been surprised by THE THREE HOURS OF OVER STIMULATION that followed.

Brazilians are frequently up front about how much they love their families. "I love you so much. I'm always thinking about you." "You really are one of my best friends. I admire you so much and I miss you whenever you're away." These are things from various friends' Orkut (=lame Facebook) pages. FROM THEIR SIBLINGS!

While I have come across instances of chronic sibling conflict here, generally I'm gratified (and convicted) by these people's obvious affection for each other. Don't even get me started on the parents.

Secondly, Brazilians also tend to be... er... "ebullient", I believe is the appropriate word. At concerts, clubs, parties, church, etc. they compete with each other for being the happiest, dancingest and loudest in attendance. Don't even get me started on Carnival.

Imagine now that someone you love, admire and support with your very lifeblood is graduating from an institution of higher learning.

A small group of family members was about five. Even the nuns turned out for a graduating sister. Most had enough parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, etc. attending that it was possible for one family member each to frantically wave an enormous, bedazzled poster with a single letter... and spell out a name like L-E-O-N-A-R-D-O with still another two rows to throw balloons, pop confetti, and lay on an airhorn like an Italian cab driver stuck in traffic.

I will not deny it. I wouldn't mind one day seeing a large group of screaming people (wearing matching t-shirts with my face splayed under "WE LOVE YOU, DAVID!! YOU'RE THE GREATEST!!!", some with their hair dyed multicolored) mobbing some stage I was standing on. Seems like it would be kind of gratifying.

It was never really quiet even during the most serious speech (and there were many, I assure you). Pretty much the only time things settled down even a little was when the diplomas were passed out - only one group was screaming their heads off at a time, the rest just kind of excitedly tittering in anticipation. I kid you not, though I knew no one there, I nearly cried once from the outpouring of honest... joy.

The time flew by for which I am thankful. I had a pounding headache between the whistles, airhorns and enough camera flashes to simulate daylight indoors.

Parabéns, graduates.

Self-reassuring posting

I know, I know, it's been nothing but static on the blogging channel lately. Life has, in fact, settled into a routine. I know the streets in my neighborhood. People know me at the bakery, the apartment building, my work, the supermarket. They are even starting to comment that my speech seems more natural and fluid. Tranquility? Comfort? Ease?

Nay. Madness.

This is just when moving gets dangerous!! You went to Fish Camp. You bought your books (wtf $$??) You ate pizza three days in a row at the cafeteria (becuase I can!). You've explored campus, even attended a few classes (not so scary). The newness of your dorm has worn off (yes, it's that small).

and you're just sitting there.

at the MSC fountain.

all your highschool chums far away.

Well... what now?

The quiet is so scary because you realize so much of your old life was built on transient things. The silence terrifies you because it demands from you... who are you? what are you about? (and worst of all) Why are you worth my time?

Fortunately, I know how the rest of the story goes. You gradually make new friends (some pretty amazing people too!) You find new aspects of your home (You can get on the roof of most buildings on campus). Religious crazies scream at you. You encounter new ideas. You grow. You work really hard. You learn things you never could have imagined. You fail. You join causes. You get in shape. You learn how to manage money. Your perspective changes. Your direction changes. You cry. You make bad decisions. You fall in love. Your heart breaks.

And when you look around your apartment where you made so many memories. When your friends wave good bye while you wipe the tears away on the road to current dreams, you'll look back at yourself (such a short time ago). And smile.

Though I'm pining for the familiar faces and things, though I'm spazzing out wondering what the hell am I going to do next year? I am confident of this: if you put out your hands and open your eyes - wherever you are - life will find you.

Never underestimate the power of stupid

I'm not sure why, but on Friday at going home time, so many people and cars clog the streets I can't help but think of rats escaping a forest fire. The buses have standing room only. The herds of people swarming the crosswalks migrate like wildebeest on the Serengeti - mindlessly lost in their group identity, focused but still slightly jumpy as though a lion might ambush them at the corner. Friday night commuters are so glazed over tired, I am convinced donating pints of blood is the primary economic activity in this city.

I decided to liven things up a bit by wearing my goggles on the bus. I know it seems rather infantile, but I was really trying it more as a cultural/psychological experiment. You know... for science.

The elevator ride came first. I positioned myself at the back with a big grin. Two people got in on the long descent to the street. They ignored me and Ricardo who was turning purple from trying to contain his laughter. Dignified they both just stared at the elevator door intently, desperate to escape that dreaded question "why?"

In the streets, the commuter zombies were so lost in their cares that few noticed how stupid I looked. Every once in a while someone would see me though... You could read the internal dialog on his face... is he? He is. Why? What on earth? One young lady passing in a bus pointed me out to her friend. Another older woman just burst out laughing.

In the darkening gloom after a wearying day, I'm glade I was able to send at least one person home with a chuckle...

O bonde da morte

This trip to Rio, we stayed in a charming little inn in the neighborhood of Santa Tereza. It was a nice change of pace from the more modern Zona Sul. The buildings are older, the pace is slower... unless, of course, you decide to take the vintage street car that has been serving the neighborhood for the past bizillion years.

The cable car is full of tourists, yes, but residents also hitch rides because, let's face it, living in an extremely mountainous area can get a little tiring after a while if you don't have a car. To say the operators are maniacs would be a little harsh... I suppose they really are no worse than the countless cab drivers and bus drivers I have trusted (imprudently?) with my life.

It's just a little bit more jarring since the cable car is completely open, a wee bit rickety after all these years and if you ride hanging onto the sides as I was obliged to do twice...

I won't say I was scared - more exhilarating. However, crossing the Arcos da Lapa, the street 60 feet below, with nothing between me and the pavement but a board that was smaller than the width of my foot... I couldn't help but think I might be doing something stupid.

Every time the thing lurched, I did a quick check to see who had fallen off. Light poles zipped past literally two inches from my back as frantically I tried to flatten myself as much as possible to the side. Once I actually felt it the breeze as we whipped past it. I just had to look at Ricardo whose eyes were as big as saucers to know just how close it really was to brushing me off.

Needless to say, you really must ride the street car when you visit Santa Tereza.

Cruzeiro crazies

I am staying in Barro Preto currently, which also is the home of the Cruzeiro Athletic Club, one of the main football teams in Belo Horizonte.

Last night around sundown, firecrackers began popping and horns blaring as streets started to fill with cars and trucks overflowing with shouting fans. The Cruzeiro blue was everywhere as the streetlamps flickered on. After dinner, you could easily hear the commotion from 18 stories down and two blocks away. Out the window, you could see tents and blankets streaching around the Cruzeiro athletic complex. O Tempo, the local paper, said over 5,000 turned out to spend the night on the street to buy tickets as soon as they went on sale.

Late this morning, helicopters began circling and the noise really became compelling. Curious at the change in tone, I walked around the block to R. Timbiras where the Cruzeiro administration building is located. Suddendly, hoards [there really is no better word for it] of young men came running, surging and shouting around the corner. As they pressed forward, trashcans went flying, signs came down and the storekeepers who had been watching out their front doors scurried to close the metal storefront shutters. A very restive sea of dark blue tossed in front of the Cruzeiro building. Shouts arouse from the crowd and the street rapidly emptied of shoppers who moved on or posted themselves at the street corners to observe, their hands cluching their bags or shading their eyes. A reporter slowly eased himself out of car and tentatively moved his camera onto his shoulder.

Suddenly, the crowd broke and adolescents scattered back in a wave. The cops had finally arrived. They formed a line in front of the building and tried to move traffic down the street. Overhead, a helicopter circled in tight passes. Soon, the mob regained confidence and the blue waves surged back in rivulets between the halted cars filled with very nervous passengers.

I gathered from the angry outburts hurled from the crowd that the police had cut off the sale of tickets and not all the campers had been able to get in. Feeling themselves cheated after so much effort, they apparently thought the administration deserved to learn of their displeasure first hand. Indeed, men in suits on the patio of the building stared down at stormy crowd with deathly seriousness.

I darted home to retrive my camera when I noticed serveral very well-built shirtless young men ascending the streets in knots. One picked up several shards of concrete from the sidewalk and dove back in the crowd...

By the time I got back, however, there where police on every street corner in the neighborhood. The rabble had been disbanded and an orderly line streached up the street. One particularly massive cop with a motorcycle helmet was coordinating the dealings with the crowd. Order was restored tentatively... boy, wouldn't it just be poetic if Cruzeiro lost after so much bruhaha? hehehehe...

Oak Cliff optical adventures!

I think it was Thursday (all the days are running together lately).

In need of contacts since I curiously misplaced my last leftie, I had arranged a 10:30am appointment at the Optical Clinic off Saner.

Now the Optical Clinic has long been where my family gets its eye exams. The place is only surpassed in age by the tottering old optometrist who apparently resides there. He was the same man who examined my father's eyes as a boy and who now presides over his tiny shop shuffling about, all hunched over, and mumbling the exact same spiel about covering the right now the left and tell me which looks clearer.

When his mind finally goes entirely, he will be asking his Jamaican social worker which line looks clearer. Regardless, he's the cheapest show in town and the result of visiting his moldy clinic with the bright blue plastic folding chairs is vision for approximately one year.

Only not this time.

Upon arrival, I was dismayed to be informed by an obese woman in scrubs that the doctor had not come in. Unsurprising.

Nevertheless, could I reschedule? I was directed to another installation deeper into Oak Cliff at 1:30.

Now, Oak Cliff is the neighborhood of Dallas directly to the north of our South Dallas suburban towns. Throughout my entire childhood, the place loomed large in my imagination. It is a very old, very large neighborhood, which at one time was comfortably affluent - I think about the 50's.

But when I knew it, it was the place for authentic Mexican food, YMCA baseball and deal hunting at the Red Bird Mall. I suppose what fascinated me was the pleasant hills, the ancient beautiful trees, the old houses. The place had such a look of memory and belonging - as if I were walking through a dilapidated, but picturesque version of my dad's adolescence.

Unfortunately, this was because no one had enough money or initiative to update anything. Furthermore, there was a real sinister side of the area of which even as a child I was cognizant. The widespread gang troubles and drug traffic made it the "lock your door, sweetie" area.

Now I'm back, walking up and down a street that looks more like Nogales than Dallas. I was reflecting on how fractured Dallas communities are. Gayborhood, little Mexico, the Hood, Asianland, the various Breadervilles, Yuppyland, Highnose Park... I suppose it's like this all over the U.S., but it still makes me sad the boys on the corner smoking weed regard me as such an interloper. "What the hell is he doing here? Let's stare at him menacingly."

I wandered in and out of shops as I waited. I spoke Spanish to most and was alternately regarded with delight or even more confusion. When 1:30 rolled around, the Optical clinic remained impassively closed. Immensely irritated, I strode across the street to an even shadier dive.

For a couple bucks I finally got my eyes examined by a goofy-shaped spider of a man with tired hair, a rubbery, slack face and spindly arms and legs. His "resting demeanor" was silent and brooding, but when he did talk, his voice, bizarrely affected, slightly patronizing, weirdly effeminate, would attack your consciousness like a bored flight attendant droning on about where to jump when the plane bursts into flames.

As he swayed his entire body about to emphasize his dire warnings of contact over-use, I began to doubt the security of the situation. When he peered at my retinas from half an inch of distance from my face, the only light in the dark, closed room coming from his hand held eye-looker thingy, I had to resist the urge to break into hysterics.

I'm just glad they put jalapeños in my French fries at the restaurant where I ate lunch. It´s the little things that make these ordeals all worth while.


Don't eat here...

Spring is best sprung together

Yesterday, Sam and I wandered all over campus, decidedly aimless and wired on coffee. In celebration of Gay Awareness week, we were there to be seen. Was it a political act? Not really... it mainly was just a fantastic day. Texas A&M is ugly and drab in many ways, but when you look down the street lit by spring sunlight filtered through thousands of fresh green oak leaves... there is more than classrooms, more than students, more than even memory.

I do suggest exploring campus:

1. During a school day - People wander about in a daze. It's as though you were watching hundreds of opaque bubbles floating about. I seriously recommend attempting to make eye contact with everyone who passes you. Your very presence as a wild card (even if you're one of the herd on other days) will act as a foil to routine. This will almost inevitably make you feel mischievous and subversive. And who knows where that will take you...

2. At night - You might not think it would provide as rich a source for observation, but the campus at night speaks to me just as much as during the day. It's just that the dialog comes from the buildings and trees themselves. The dark and deserted buildings are intimate and conspiratory.

After sending the night in the MSC and climbing over every square inch of it over the years, I feel like an old friend is passing away now that they are remodeling it. Rudder tower actually complained to me once about all the students that nap there. He said he didn't mind me so much... I don't drool.

3. Pond hopping is a must before you leave. Play in the dirty water, sit on the jets, slide down the steps and proclaim your vitality as a young twenty-something year old.

***

Later I enjoyed drunken tanning with Brittany. We then proceeded to get sexy and model said sexiness in the bluebonnets on the median of 2818. Pictures to follow. Soon we're going to shoplift Aviator style sun glasses from Walmart and more sexiness will follow. Seriously... I might have to post a warning.

Thence to Caffe Capri for long overdue deliciousness and Revolutions to add layer of Irish coffee and self-conscious hippie artsiness. It is possible to be senuous around here; take it for what it is...

Student Socializing - We then shifted gears entirely and revealed in carefree tea drinking, karaoke and awkward head-dancing. This is also known as student socializing. You're not going to have a meaningful conversation (only convo); however, it is genuinely nice to see people you like, hug them and bob your heads to the music together. Besides, the mildly scandalous (and I mean mild) social milieu provides an edge slightly more entertaining than sitting on your couch, watching comedy central and turning in early. Hey, just think about it. OMG, DO YOU THINK THAT GUY IS GAY? NO, DAVID.

We sang "Faith" by Limp Bizkit. Well, Brittany did. Aaron sang the George Michael version and I was just there to look hot, which I accomplished with my sexy stare and sweet dance gyrations (see post to follow!). When the scroll got to the "Get the F*** up!!" part I did join in. Oh boy! I positively love screaming profanities - well, anything really - in public!

I guess this post is really about letting yourself be free to create and find magic... even in such a decidedly mugglian environment such as College Station.





You gotta KEEP FAITH!!