No Country for Old Clem

Last Weekend With Camila

2009-07-20T09:03:00.000-07:00

I Want a Hug from Marie Calendar at the Airport

2009-07-16T16:01:00.001-07:00

Since sleeping isn't really an option when you have two weeks left of your Brazilian life, I do other useful things while the rest of my time zone sleeps. Like calculate the number fo brownies I have made in the past month: over 400.

Brazilians valorize our dessert culture, which is great, fantastic, but please, anyone who was planning on baking me brownies as a coming home present should definitely, definitely not. Jalenpeno poppers is what I really want (go figure) but Kit Slover is on that. The rest of you will just have to be creative. But think blueberries.

See you all soon (except for all of my affluent, international fans in Dehli and Dubai).

Lins/Termas de Jurema/Foz do Iguaçu

2009-06-30T13:48:00.000-07:00

This is called living it up until your very last day in Brazil.

I couldn't figure out why these crazy sparrows were suicide bombing en masse into the chaotic spray of the water fall, especially on a such a crummy day weather-wise. Then my guide explained to me that sparrows make their nests behind the waterfalls where they are protected from preditors. Which is exactly what guides are there for, to spin a good tale that coves up for the severe depression present in the wildlife of the region.

Both the Brazilian and the Argentinian raccoons are completely out of control. This sign demonstrates the raccoon point of view, note how the middle and index finger holding the hamburger are transformed into a hot-dog, and the whole thing is black, white, and edible.

This is the resort "Termas de Jurema," they were having "June Parties" every night we were there (hence he flags). Apparently the festival is based somewhere far, far, away in Catholicism, rooted there with a piece of dental floss, but these days it is mostly flags and food. Which is fine by me.

The Devil's Throat.

Water falling is a common sight in this region of the world.

The Bourbon Hotel. Home to the best breakfast buffet ever. Period.

Me being a successful dolphin trainer, look how tame they are.

So we went to this bird park, where we tickled tucans and flirted with Flamingos and sawa fowl from the size of my pinky nail right up to the most obese ostrich (I don't know where this accidental aliteration is coming from) and the whole time I was looking at my map, anxious to get to the last pen which was entitled "exotic birds." And there I was, feeling the macaw nibble on my ealobe and thinking, "if this is not exotic, I don't know what is." And then we got there.

And the exotic birds were pheasants.

And I thought, "I eat those."

And if that is not humor, I don't know what is.

Itaipu; could beat up your hydro-electric dam.

Rare are the moments in life when you can pay 12 reais for a tea (made out of a tea bag, not pheonix feathers), and when those chances arrise you have to take them. With sugar. In the lobby of this hotel. And it tastes so luxurious that you miss the last bus out of the park and have to have a team of tucans (or a taxi) shuttle you out.

The Paraná River.

Cinthia (the 82-year-old patron saint of this whole trip) gave me this matching hat/glove/scarf set. Expect to see it exploding on to the Provo fashion scene late this fall paired with other accessories like bone necklaces and leaf earrings and shirts with holes in the back of them. Yep, all at the same time. If you can't predict the weather, don't let the weather predict you.

One of the hotels we stayed in. All of their stars could fill up the night sky. Or equal fifteen. This one offered bud baths. I'm still tracking down those pictures.

Getting wet. There was water falling everywhere. There's no controling the stuff.

Porto Alegre/Gramado/Canela/Florianópolis

2009-06-30T09:26:00.000-07:00

This was the trip to the south that I took with my friend Nora, from Switzerland.

Nudist beach. We hid behind these rocks to get a good view, but when we noticed that it was unoccupied and we asked a passerby (we actually had to track down someone to pass us by--it was very abandoned) where all the nudists were, he said it was too cold. You would think they would be used to it.

Local men, taking their fish for a walk.

Persimmon pudding, persimmons do not cease to amaze me, nor do my photgraphy skills.

Floripa is an island with 52 beaches, but for some reason, this is the only one that wins the title of "Beira mar," or, "sea-side."

Nora at the Praia de Ingleses.

Misty Magic, on our hike around the Lagoa da Conceição.

Juice flavors. And by flavors I mean the ones that come from real fruits.

I was such a filth this entire trip. I think that during the ten-day period I took 3 showers, and one was on the day I went home.

Our friends took us to a choro circle. Which is where you and your musically inclined friends gather at a restaurant and play super typical Brazilian music that is so charming that nobody gets upset that you are playing and electric (insert the name of wacky instrument above) right next to their elbow while they are trying to enjoy their soup buffet.

Summary

2009-06-28T17:10:00.001-07:00

When I squeeze my eyes shut and let my mind bump over the haze of happiness that has been the last month of my life the thing that surfaces first is a this:

Eggplant mousse rolled up in slices of grilled eggplant like a cinnamon roll and covered in this mustard/sudried tomato/walnut sauce.

It brought me to my knees where I stayed and weeped and weeped and ate and ate right in the middle of the fanciest party I had ever been to in my life. Luckily it was dark.

Lot's of other things come to mind as well, but I'm sure you can all being to understand why I'm having a hard time processing it all while the remnants of the culinary sistine chapela re still working their way through my digestive tract.

Welcome home Ingrid.

(!)

Bonito Review

2009-05-27T14:19:00.000-07:00

This is the review that I wrote for my intership on my trip to Bonito, it was probably the best weekend of my life. Not, however, the best writing of my life. It's merit is that it is already written, and will be read mostly by people who don't speak English that great. So I'm putting it here for you. Anyone not going to Bonito (all of you prolly, but if you are coming let me know and lets have lunch) should read a few sentences and then skip to the pictures, which are lovely.

Bonito: Burning Calories and Getting them Back Again

Bonito is experiencing a tourism boom, a boom that you will hear coming from all sides as you try to decipher which river is the clearest and which waterfall is the most inspiring. When it comes to this region, where beautiful sights abound (the name of the city means “beautiful” in Portuguese), infrastructure is what sets a tour apart from the others. Tours preach very similar packages, but vary enormously in the way they receive tourists. Choose your activities before you go so as not to find yourself coerced/overwhelmed upon arrival (see my list of recommendations at the end). That being said, you’ll have a hard time going wrong in Bonito. Never before have so many caves, fish, waterfalls and ice-cream flavors been condensed in such a small geographic nub.

On my first day in Bonito I visited the Estância Mimosa, excited to see Bonito’s waterfalls that I had heard so much about. But it ended up being much more than just waterfalls, for the 5 hours that I was a tourist at the Estância Mimosa, I was walking on sunshine. Little cobbled trails lead you through lush gardens up to the reception, a transformed ranch house whose walls are now covered in ecological information, is now used as a craft shop, reception, and kitchen. Leather hammocks are strewn beneath passion fruit vines and fruit trees and sun chairs surround a little lake full of cranes and alligators.

Shortly after arriving the tour begins with a slow stroll through the forest. As an American, I have never seen anything quite like this. Not only is the biodiversity amazing (I saw monkeys, armadillos, and several birds I couldn’t name before the first waterfall) but the sense of isolation truly impressive. During my whole tour I only ever saw two other tourists and their guide, and even then they barely uttered a peep. If you want to be at one with nature, this is your chance. As I round the corner and see the first waterfall I pretend that I am the one discovering it, and my game works perfectly. The owners haven’t cut down a single tree while developing the property and the whole thing has a very secret garden feel.

The hike continues through 8 different waterfalls, one has a 6-meter-high diving board that makes me feel like Pocahontas, one has a small, hidden cave that makes me feel like a waterfall, all are beautiful. But I have to say that the best part was yet to come. Upon returning to the farm, I am received with an impressive spread. There must have been 15 salads on offer, kept fresh by a spring channeled through the kitchen, and another 15 dishes being kept warm on the wood-burning stove. I loaded up my plate and sat down to gobble up every calorie I had just burned, happy to know that the vegetables I was eating had been grown but a few feet away (the Estância Mimosa uses their own produce grown in an on-site, organic veggie garden). When I returned back for more a huge variety of desserts has appeared, as if by magic. Not even I, renowned for my sweet-tooth, was able to find room in my stomach for everything, but I did try crystallized star-fruit and watermelon rind, rice-pudding with doce-de leite, several kinds of cake, some sort of sweet-potato dessert and ginger cookies. And then I waddled over to the hammocks to rest.

That night we went out to explore the city. We went first to “O Projeto Jibóia,” where during the interesting speech on snake conservation in the area (with a chance to pose with a giant boa-constrictor afterward) I somehow managed to work up my appetite again. We stopped by the casual “Vício da Gula” (The vice of gluttony) which was participating in a regional gastronomical festival with a featured plate: Grilled Alligator sandwich. I decided to go for it, heartily encouraged from my companions, and was well rewarded. The meat had a texture between a fish fillet and a chicken breast and the sauce had a special bite to it (or maybe that tanginess was a slight pang of guilt—who knows). To wash it down I enjoyed a glass of Guavira. When it arrived at the table it looked like a cup of yellow clouds, but the owner soon explained to me that it was basically liquid gold. This is the only place in the world where the fruit is found, and it can only be found during one season of the year. To buy twenty liters of the stuff apparently costs an arm and a leg and the fruit still has to be processed, turning 20 liters into three. The taste is hard to describe, but it definitely tasted rare.

The next day I went to Rio da Prata, run by the same people who own Estância Mimosa and the winner of the title “Brazil’s best tourist attraction” two years in a row, I felt like this was a safe choice. A drive through golden fields leads up to the reception, where things start to get foresty. The reception area is full of trees and flowers and boasts a productive veggie-garden, a native seed bank, fruit trees and a worm farm. Where one begins and the other ends is hard to say but together they form a land of milk and honey.

20 minutes later I am in a wetsuit about to float down the river. It’s hard to believe it’s a river, the water is so clear that you can perfectly see the fish swimming below. But once emerged I’m convinced it really is water—even through the wetsuit, the chilliness bites. But you won’t be thinking about the temperature for long. The guide gave us a few minutes to get used to our snorkels in the river’s headspring, and then we headed down, letting the current carry us. It’s hard to describe the sensation; it’s like being inside the aquarium at your dentist’s office, only there are no dentists around, just fish. Big fish. Rare fish. Gold fish. They seemed about as surprised to see me as the average domesticated dog and responded to being touched with an ironic and toothy look that seemed to say, "If you don't stop that, I'll probably slowly move to a spot a few feet away." As I bump into them I want to yell, “RUN, lest you suffer the same fate as the Dodo!” But I can’t because there is a snorkel in my mouth. And then I calm down and remember that this is a protected reserve, and that their golden hides are safe here.

The snorkeling lasted about 2 hours and I was only able to leave the river by convincing myself that I would come back again, and of course, by thinking about the all-you-can-eat lunch that was awaiting me.

Things I did/ate/saw: Bonito Youth Hostel (clean rooms, helpful staff, interesting people and hammocks) Vício da Gula (reasonably priced sandwiches, fancy coffees and exotic juices) Palácio dos Sorvetes (offers ice-cream in more flavors than you can imagine mixed with fruit salad and baked with meringue on top) Recanto Ecológico Rio da Prata (snorkeling) Estância Mimosa (waterfalls and traditional fare)

I took these pictures with and underwater camera. I felt a bit dorky. There is something dorky that hovers around underwater cameras like a cloud--even underwater. But I was also wearing two (2) wetsuits, and using a neon snorkel, so that might have contributed to the dorkiness sensation.Oh yeah, caption: fish.

Cachoeira do Sol/The Waterfall of the Sun

This is fruit that makes the juice that walks the dog that lives in the house where Jack lives.

Grilled cheese with reptile in the middle.

This is what smacking into fish looks like.

Bonito: Where the Sun Shines too Brightly to Take Decent Photos

2009-05-24T17:46:00.000-07:00

These are some pictures.

This is Tamara making "inside out underwear," which is, surprisingly, actually a bit of fried dough covered in cinnamon sugar.

This is my mom.

Camila and I marveling at the mirror attatched to the bottom of the escalator.

The guide tried to explain scientifically why the water in this cave was so blue.

We're pretty sure they dump chlorine in it at night to propel the tourism along.

Hard hats.

I have a hard time taking posing seriously. Especially when there are giant fish diving into the cement in the background.

The first time Loiva has ever taken off her sunglasses. And nobody has seen her eyeballs since. They are still resting from the destructive rays. Scheduled to be loosed again in the spring of 2011, lovely aren't they?

Learning and growing.

Dangerous.

This is what my face looks like under one centimeter of sunscreen.

That clear stuff is water.

The one crouched in front is not my sister, but she seemed so content to be contemplating that we tried not to disturb her. I don't think she even noticed we were there. She was very mesmerized.

I'm putting all of my sister pictures here because I think that they are charming. But they also make me look a bit pitiful, as I'm always the only on without sunglasses...

or the only one with unruly hair...

The first time I left my camera lying around the house, when I went to upload my pictures I found hundreds of shots like this.

Step-by-step photo shoots on how to express familial love.

Now I leave my camera out more often, just to see what I'll find.

We're pretty busy around here.

What Brazil has taught me: Don't just be beautiful, provide evidence, otherwise nobody will believe you.

Small Fish, Big Pond

2009-05-09T07:02:00.000-07:00

I'm doing an internship here. The sights are in English, partially, thanks to me. I also translate press releases, talk to the English-speaking travel agencies, research ecological content, and get free shrimp pastries. YES. I reak of productivity and eco-friendliness.

p.s. The awkward translations are not mine. I'm getting around to those.

Pretending to Be Rich

2009-05-02T14:00:00.000-07:00

These glasses are so fancy that you can't even take photos of them using a mere mortal's camera, nor does looking in a mirror do them justice, in order to properly evaluate your beauty you have to take a picture using their camera, and send it to your self by email. After thouroughly contemplating the image, you can then make the educated decision to return and buy the glasses, provided you have an armored limosine to take you there and a middle-aged butler to accompany you as you purchase.

Who pays 200 dollars for sunglasses? Not me.

Curitiba

2009-04-23T12:42:00.000-07:00

When the cold woke me up at 5:30 in the morning, I knew that we were arriving in Curitiba. I had been asleep on the bus, my chin bobbing, jaw relaxed and swinging, left to right, you know how it is. Camila (my host sister) and I descended the stairs, our legs still asleep and wobbling, managed to buy ourselves something fried for an early breakfast. We sat there at the bus stop on the highway, our palms warmed by the pastry and all other extremeties slowly turning into ice. It was an irritating but familiar feeling. Like the urge to eat chocolate just after you've brushed your teeth.

For the first time in a while, the air was crispy, and I was cold. And that was how I knew that Curitiba was going to be different.

Curitiba is the capital of Paraná. It has an incredibly advanced bus system, sparlklingly clean streets, miles and miles of neatly trimmed grass, and a bussling, friendly population of Italians, Ukranians and Poles. It has an Indian food restauraunt that makes a mean bell-pepper samosa. It has a Botanical Garden. And almost nobody has ever heard of it.

The best view of the city.

Camila and I went there on a spur moment trip, we decided to take the bus, stay for a week, and do everything there was to do. Camila is a night-owl, I am an early bird, and since we had a short amount of time we decided to accomodate both lifestyles by never stopping. This was made possible by a lot of simple carbohydrates.

Nachos. Finding a Tex-Mex bar was one of the spiritual and gastronomical highlights of the trip.

Curitiba also has lots of shopping centers, which are helpful in a city that experiences all four seasons in one day because all you have to do is pass the winter-time in the dressing room taking pictures or stealing McDonald's mustard packets (its the only mustard camila eats) in the food courts and when you emerge again it is springtime and the blossoms are blooming. In one such interval spent in a fancy-pants shopping mall I discovered my new favorite clothing line:

http://www.farmrio.com.br/

It's called farm. I would like to see someone wear one of these pieces on a farm. The clothing is so heavily patterned and stamped that it borders on camoflauge, except more colorful and floral. I bought a vest. More pictures on that later. For now, here is a picture of me with some pigeons:

We spent lot's of time in the city's historical center, which has art museums and second-hand shops by day, German bars and hot-dog stands by night and really good architechture for those who accidentally wake up too early and none of the shops have opened yet:

Camila and I's chemistry throughout the trip was touched by the hand of god and scented with apples and cloves. Lovely, in otherwords. The two of us operating at differing levels but in the same four languages (English, Spanish, Portuguese, German) made lot's of friends, some crazier than others but all good fun. I was delighted to find that she shared the opinion that taking showers in cold climates is dangerous (and a waste of time) and that she applied the five-second rule to even wet things, like hot dogs. By the end of the trip we were just two smelly, happy hippies. She leaned a little more towards taxis, and I leaned a little more towards walking, so we took buses. In museums, she took pictures and I read placks. But when it came to eating we were both so on the band wagon. She liked savory and I liked sweet, so we neglected niether.

Gastronomical highlights include:

1. Vegetarian Restauraunt: Gluten steaks and soy hamgurgers. Foods so manly you would never guess they were made out of grains.

2. Acarajé: in the Sunday market in the historical center of the city was both a dream and a nightmare for the both of us. In order to experience the authentic deliciousness of the dish we both had to overcome primal fears, Camila of spicyness, and I of those little shrimp legs.

3. Mustang Diner: A Tex Mex restauraunt fallen from the sky and landed in Curitiba. Basically I found my sizzling platter dessert. And since the food safety laws aren't as rigorous in Brazil as they are in America the experience was even more breath-taking. A droplet of molten carmel splashed onto my nose. Two centimeters to the right or left and I would be blind. But still content.

I love the complete concentration in this photo. I almost got the brownie, but it didn't come with a sizzing platter.

I still don't understand why this country eats dinner at 10:30, nothing productive ever somes froma blood sugar spike at that hour. We just ended up embracing a lot, like this, and being back-up singers in other people's birthday celebrations.

4. The Madalosso or, the biggest restauraunt in Brazil (2nd biggest in the world, but who is still counting China?). A castle capable of serving lunch to 5,000 people at the same time, and little coffees with whipped cream afterward. You pay one price at the beggining, sit down and watch the hundreds of waiters weave around the dining room(s) in a never ending pasta-chicken-and-polenta-dance. They place some dishes on your table and refresh them periodically (risottos, salads, chicken livers etc.) and others they offer you portion sizes as they zoom along their trajectory (gnocchi, spaghetti, lasagna, sea shells, cannelonnis). If you aren't quick on your feet your plate gets full really fast and there is so much watching of the excitement around you to be done that eating becomes a chore. Until you realize that those rectangular prisms are fried polenta.

5. Indian food. I forgot how much I had missed it.

6. Ricotta Croissant

Camila and I trying on glasses in a second-hand shop. After the food part is over describing things looses all of its fun. But it was an amazing trip. Thanks dad.

Spotted.

2009-04-12T12:14:00.000-07:00

The paparazzi is hard, but it's worth it because I'm living out my dream.

This is a newspaper article about being an exchange student in Brazil, for my (enormous I'm sure) Portguese speaking audience.

Whiskers on Kittens

2009-04-12T05:22:00.000-07:00

Easter egg. What was waiting for me on my bed when I got home. It was exactly the one I wanted, two good centimeters of milk chocolate with pulverized hazelnuts hiding six Ferrero Rocher bom-boms, almost a foot tall and, young as it was and so rich in calcium, probably would have had another growth spurt had i not eaten it before it got the chance.

And now we are going back in time, to before I was too full of ground hazelnuts to walk or breath.

Once upon a time the countries Argentina, Brazil, and Paraguay realized that they were going to have to, geographically, meet up at some point and so they decided to have 275 enormous waterfalls to mark the spot. Foz do Iguaçu is the name for the group of them, and also the name of the city on the Brazilian side of the river, where we stayed in the youth hostel. We, being Candido (host dad) and I. It was an experience and a half.

We left Campo Grande at 6:00 in the afternoon and drove through the night (well, rode, we went by bus) and arrived in Foz just as the group was leaving for the all-day tour of the Argentinian side. So we went with them, and hung out with a British couple named Ivan and Kirsty who had been backpacking through South America for the last 4 months. They only spoke english, but that didn't stop Candido and Ivan from becoming the best of friends. Candido spoke a mixture of Portguese and German and Ivan (a little more logically, considering that we were in Argentina) spoke one of English and Spanish and the two got along just peachy.

The second day we hitched a ride with a Brazilian girl that I met at the hostel who was traveling around with her mom. We went to the Brazilian side which, though it can only claim 15% of the waterfalls, prides itself on panoramic views and also an elevator to take you back up to the top once you've seen all that you can see. After that, we went to the bird park which is full of some endangered species and others so pretty that I'm surprised they aren't.

The third day we went to Paraguay (no comment) and Itaipú, the biggest hydro-electric dam in the world which generates 90% of Paraguay's electricity and 20% of Brazil's. And then home again, home again, clickity click.

"Parque das Aves" on the Brazilian side of Foz. I found Tucans to be tame but distant birds. Not big on picture smiles. I hate it when one person in the picture is like, 10 times more enthusiastic than the other.

Itaipú means "singing rock" in the indigenous language of the the tribe that used to live on the land where now sits a big, fat reservoir that powers the biggest hidroelectirc plant in the entire world. Itaipú was the name that the tribe gave to a small island in the middle of the river, but since that island got swallowed up with the creation of the damn (along with 18 Brazilian villages and 6 Paraguayan ones) they decided to recycle the name and use it for the power plant.

The entrance to the Brazilian water falls.

That is as official as it gets. Paraguay is a very, very confused country. But then, who knows what even is Paraguay. I tried to ask, by delicately pondering aloud, "What did Paraguay do before international commerce?" and the response I got was, "They were Indians." Whether or not that is an answer, what I saw were heards of people of every imaginable creed turned into a homogenous and sweaty blob, their distinguishing racial features distorted by the thirst for Puma. I followed my friends drool-trails as they bought Tommy Hillfiger and Reebok, glad that I could just let the mob carry me, since my enthusiasm for nice sneakers has always been startlingly low. Unhealthily low.

The fear of extinction has driven this little bird mad, and he has started knawing on wood to help sooth the anxiety. He was my favorite. He looks like Micheal Jackson.

Ivan and Kirsty. They are going back to London next week and are going to send me a Bakewell tart via express mail.

These pictures were taken on the Argentinian side.

At the "Devil's Throat" which is the biggest of the waterfalls and makes it's presence known my getting you all wet.

Argentina has 85% of the over-250 waterfalls in Foz, but like I said, the Brazilian side stil draws a crowd because they have an elevator.

Paraguay on the other hand, who knows why Paraguay draws a crowd. Somewhere behind my lower back lies the huge difference between a third world country (Paraguay) and an at-least-first-and-a-half-if-not-second-world country (Brazil).

This is the more panoramic Brazilian side. Getting chunks of any number less than five unknown tourists was a triumph, which you can clearly seen chining out of my eyes and gleaming off my forehead. It was a sweaty day, but at least I still have my shirt on, unlike that guy.

Candido embraced a lot of new things on this trip, he stayed in a youth hostel and kept up with young, strong backpackers, and apparently, before this trip he was very camera shy.

So taking that into consideration I think his camera smile is coming along nicely.

We tried out various poses, he likes the theme of omnipotence.

I generally just smile.

At first I was startled when I realized that an anaconda had slithered around my neck, but then I realized that it just wanted to see my bracelet.

I really like this picture, you can just barely make out the rainbow, and the joy, on the right-hand side.

Views from the Brazilian side.

Here are more pictures from the bird park. Instead of just putting these pictures in order and making my blog into a pleasant reading experience, I prefer to leave it as it is and make it a challenging mental exercise for everyone.

Argentinian lizard. So not afraid of humans.

I don't know what animal this is, it looks sort of like a racoon and can be seen in the food courts of south-western Brazil.

My How Healthy You Look

2009-04-07T19:07:00.000-07:00

On Sunday we went to a Barbeque where Candido (host dad) was the live entertainment.

Just kidding, that isn't my host dad, that is his accordion-playing partner.

This is my host dad.

I don't you know if you guys remember me but I am pretty darn tall. I hold my own against a daunting bookshelf. But my 15-year-old host sister makes me look like a frizzy-haired troll doll. And she is still growing. It's because she drinks chocolate milk every morning for breakfast. She does have scoliosis though, you can't have a spine that long without a few problems lurking somewhere in it.

Laura loves Tommy Hillfigger and teaching me how to be a model. But I am sort of afraid of horses so I'm not really the best student. I did better on the shots where I could just look confused with a plain white back drop.

Like this one.

There is nothing in my hand. And the horse seems to think this is just as ridiculous an idea as I do. But this one shows of my massive bicepts and the jingly bracelet that Ingrid sent me from Germany (that I tied on too tight to take off).

Basically we got bored of the party and I went to the bathroom. My aspiring photorapher host sister followed me in and, as I was leaving the stall said, "look serious." Which was easy because who jokes around immediately after leaving a bathroom stall?

When there are germs and other, sad, sad things to be thought about.

Serious as a heart attack.

Then she took this one super close up to show the peachy glow that eating a quart of ice-cream given me. This post is just really for my dad. Please excuse the narcissism. I will do anything not to have to get a blood test again.

Dairy Queen

2009-04-02T14:33:00.000-07:00

This week I went to my family's farm. The plan was to go with the family, but after a running through an obstacle course of class shedules and sleeping habits and meteores and people who are sick of cows, only Candido (Brazillian father figure) and I came out triumphant. So we went just the two of us. Luckily, there were 2,700 head of cattle and some cowboys there to greet us with their calloused hands and hats full of wisdom (and moos, in the case of the cattle).

It is a meat farm, but they keep 10 cows for milking to provide dairy products for the family and the workers. And I learned how to make them all.

Cheese balls, you won't believe these guys's destiny: mixed with egg yolks and boiled with sugar, water and cloves before being stored in a glass jar. I just followed orders.
Making Requeijão: involved frying a milk and cheese mixture in butter. Which is like frying a baby and teenager mixture in boiling adult. It all comes from the same place, they are just a few hours/days ahead of eachother. There isn't even any salt involved. I don't know how all of these things ended up tasting so different. And delicious.

Dairy Products are very mysterious, this is the making of creamy, spreadable cheese.

This is what happens to the milk in about 6 hours if you don't boil it, it's the starting point for the spongy cheese, the cooked cheese (not picutred) and yogurt (the yogurt was the winner of all of the dairy products, it tasted just like Turkey, the country not the fowl). I also made ice-cream! Flavors: burnt coconut, white chocolate, and doce-de-leite.

My silent instructor, Dona Teresa.

Candido liked the way that the palm trees framed my triumphant pose (?) I liked the termite hill.
Hat hair.

Driving the tractor. Too bad I didn't know the word for clutch in Portuguese.

Camila.
Siesta.

Cowboys, these guys lifted bags of salt twice my weight, castrasted angry bulls (not bulls anymore), climbed avocado trees (the last avocado of the season happened to be 40 feet off the ground) and ground sugar cane into juice, just to make me pleased. Oh, and because cows need salt or they will die.

Queijo Prato: spongy cheese

Zebus graze in front of a pillar of smoke belched by the nearby factory turning sugar cane into alcohol for cars. we tried to go there and get a tour but they wouldn't let us in, so we stole some of their sugar cane to make juice.

Reflecting/looking for alligators.

Where the alligators live, but it makes for a really serene picture doesnt it?

Fence.

The birds were the best (and hardest to photograph) part of the trip. It was like being on a a fancy bird-watching excursion for three days, except the people I was with were wearing leather instead of khaki and we were riding in a tractor.

Ema: My zoom doesn't do this bird justice, i'm pretty sure it was taller than I was, and it was definitely faster.

The farm house: one more groomed shrub and a lot less mud than I am used to in farm houses.

Crossing the river: The first day I still didn't feel comfortable wearing a cowboy hat, but 24 hours and 3 layers of fried neck skin later, that would all change.

This is the only picture out of the hundreds that he had me take of him, in which he looked at the camera. And that was only because I threatened to stop photographing him if he didn't.

If it looks like this horse is going to fall over in the water and blame whatever pepple tripped her on me (with a loud, upset neigh) that is because it is.

Note the posture (?)

This horse is ornery, so they cut her tail to look like and elephant.

Candido told me to take a picture pointing toward the creator, acknowledging the beauty and the origin of the waterfall. 99.5% of my body his idea seriously, but my unruly teenager subconscious manifested in my left index finger, stuck itself out at the last moment, so I ended up looking more ABBA and less angel.

I have no nothing to say in my defense. I offer this image up as photographic penance, evidence of my degeneration and as a warning for just how cowboy one can become in a period of 72 hours. At least my smile is still false.

Way Down South

2009-03-24T11:38:00.000-07:00

Campo Grande is a whole new ball game. While the rest of Brazil dream of going to Disney land and Hollywood, these folks just want to go to Texas. I am in a family with three excellent sisters who take me partying and lead very active social lives on which I parasitically feed. This weekend was full of cowboy boots and Tommy Hillfiger polos and 4 o' clock in the morning. I'm pretty sure I had a great time, but when I try to remember I just feel sleepiness.

Home: It might look tantalizing, but that is what the chicken egg thought right before he jumped into the frying pan. Ever since then he has been hard, and pale. Just kidding it isn't that hot, it's a very nice climate really.

Making steak! Various kinds! Various animals! This might look like bread but don't worry, I will make a meat out of it.

Adelaide, i.e. mom. She is excellent and loving and buys me cheesy bread shaped into horse-shoes called "chipa" and German streussel bread called "cuca" and is getting her law degree just because. Tereré. Just keep adding "e" until you think it looks good. This is the bread and butter of the region, without it, no socializing or working or anything else that requires being awake can be done. People keep various two-liter bottles of frozen water (also known as ice) in the freezer so that when you want to "have a tereré" you just grab a bottle, a cup full of mysterious herbs, a straw with a strainer on the bottom and you are ready to go.

Baby pool with recycling bins in the distance.

Loiva, 16 years old, enjoys sunbathing, drinking Tereré and wearing cowboy boots. Did study abroad to England for one month in January.

Laura (pronounces L-"ow"as-in-pain RA), 15 years old, has beautiful hair and excellent study habits, taught me how to cowboy dance.

Last night I went to do an experimental yoga class. It was one of those ones where I knew that I was only going to experiment because the classes cost 180 dollars a month and come with suede neck pillows and rights to as many fiber-biscuits as you can eat and as much inscence as you can inhale in a 2 hour period. You know, one of those chic places.

But during the class, we did this thing where you balance on your head, which just happens to be the place where I feel most comfortable, after my mothers lap and my grandparents log cabin. And so everyone was super impressed, and the teacher said that I had done yoga in other lives. While she took pictures I asked her how many lives I could have already lived tops because I was pretty sure that I had also been Amelia Earhart and maybe Dr. Suess (I did all of this without breaking my concentration). When I decended from my inverted throne I was feeling pretty good because my head was full of myself and also oxygen. And then the instructor said that I was an angel and that I was welcome to do yoga there for free for the rest of my time in Campo Grande. And I was like, "can I eat the fiber biscuits too?" And she said yes.

Magenta Sunset/ Dirty Sock

2009-03-17T11:33:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I lament the fact that I didn't do what Dr. Suess did first.
Other times I think I might have, on the cold, rainy days when I believe in reincarnation.
Mato Grosso is cow country. This is a poem that I wrote on the bus, inspired by my new surroundings. The bus ride was 25 hours but this literary gem only took me about 4:

Brown cow, white cow
wrong cow, right cow
humped cow, bumped cow, thumped cow, TRUMPED cow.
that cow.
wins cow.
wow cow.
take a bow cow.

And then I laughed for the rest of the trip imagining a cow take a bow.
Oh life.

Bye Bye Barbacena

2009-03-10T18:31:00.000-07:00

I switched families two days ago. I live in the jungle now, the capital of the jungle. The name of the state, Mato Grosso do Sul, means "thick weeds...of the south" in Portuguese. I have a new address now, for all of you who are addicted to sending me long, detailed, carefully illustrated and well-thought through letters. These are some pictures of my favorite things about Barbacena, i.e. the primary kids at my old church, the fries at the shopping mall and the spicy corn "broas" that Cimino and I made 75 of when it was just him and I in the house.

Glee.

The hair cut I'm considering. Thoughts?

Broa: ground corn flour, lots of onions, crack open like a dinosaur egg and eat if your face still works after being mutilated by the rising steam.

This is me waiting in front of the oven. That cool, tranquil face is a facade, I still have nightmares about over-baking things.

The sizzling platter experience Brazillian style. This is a portion size for four. I mean, four of us ate it.

My new family in Campo Grande is awesome. Has three teenage girls, a glass full of rotating brands of chocolate and a dad that plays the accordion. I will post pictures of them soon.

That is a Full-Blown Essay

2009-03-08T15:43:00.001-07:00

Maybe it will get me into college and I wont have to take the SAT. It shows that I am passionate.

Breakfast

2009-03-08T13:11:00.000-07:00

This is what being serious about gaining weight looks like. But even if you arent you should still make this dessert.

To read on you should know that:

* means a quotation mark and

_ means a question mark and

apostrophes have been omitted due to technical difficulties.

I remember the first time I ate Applebees White Chocolate Walnut Blondie with Maple Butter Sauce. We, the Jacoby family, had found ourselves, through some odd chain of events, seated at a booth in Applebees. Nobody really seemed happy about the decision, but I dont remember there being anyone to blame it on. The air was heavy with the silent whisperings of *How did we, a respectable middle-class family made up five, free-thinking individuals, come to find ourselves here, in Applebees_* I remember that we were all starving, had arrived at levels of hunger never before reached by humans, and, like any group of god-fearing but famished individuals, we were all very grumpy. I remember that there was not one single option on the menu that did not have meat, but that somehow I managed to remain concious until the rest of the family had eaten their food.

We almost never eat out, and when we do, we most certainly dont order our own desserts. When we order a dessert it is to share, but I remember that on that occasion, it was clear that the dessert was to be mainly mine. I didnt understand the gravity of The White Chocolate Walnut Maple Blondie when I ordered it, me being in an avanced state of hypo-glycemia, and the moments up until its arrival at the table are foggy. I remember that the restauraunt was silent, all that could be heard was my rumbling tummy and a far off waitress trying to explain an onion blossom to a confused client. When the thing came it was mounted on a sizzling platter, the clouds parted (...except for one, but wait, no, that was no cloud, that was an Applebees-size portion of vanilla ice-cream) the waitress poured the sauce on in front of my eyes and little flecks of mapley goodness leaped into the air like sparks, swan-diving over my head and falling gracefully back onto to the blondie, where they congealed and beckoned me.

It was the best dessert experience that I have had until this day. I know that that is probably hard of some of you to accept, expecially those of you who can weild a whisk or command a kitchen aid. But I would just like to admit right here and now while I am miles out of your reach, that I respect Applebees as a restauraunt. You see, dear reader, I can make delicious food in my home. I have made the Sweet Potato Cake with White Chocolate Ganache and I have been the slave Paul Prudhommes Spiced Pecan Cake. What I cant do, is provide myself with that dessert experience. In other words, what Applebees (and every time I write Applebees I almost write Arbys) may lack in class and fresh, healthful indgredients, it makes up for in having a sizzling platter, and a waitress to pour the sauce so that I can sit back and watch the catapolting of the walnut chunks. Its the dessert experience. I cannot create it.

But I tried.

It took me a long time to gather the ingredients and when I finnaly spread the batter in the pan and stuck it in the oven I felt a wave of relief. And then one of horror, realizing that I had forgotten my Capoeira class started in 15 minutes, and that the blondies would be ready in 25. Cimino said he would take them out for me, I implored him not to let them cook too long, emphasising the importance of the toothpick test with wild hand gestures and stressing the fact that undercooked is better than overcooked (he has unusually high samonila fears). But I fretted about them during the length of the Capoeira class, which is how I know that I will never be a real martial artist, and I rushed home as soon as it ended. When I opened the door I could smell Ciminos fear, he starting explaining himself but unfortunately in my preoccupation I had forgotten how to speak Portuguese and could not comfort him. I entered the kitchen and saw them there on the counter, my blondies were brown.

I was so destroyed that I simply saran-wrapped them up and put them in the fridge before returning to my room to lay down and letting my physical (due to Capoeira) and mental aches mingle, until I thought that I might die on behalf of all the overcooked food in the world. This morning I woke up early, tormented by dreams of smoking ovens and images or charcoal. I chiseled a blondie from the pan, topped it with a generous portion of sauce and stuck it in the microwave. I was without ice-cream so I ate it with a cold glass of milk, which I ended up just pouring over the top to soften the thing up.

Never has a food been so delicious and so dissapointing at the same time. That is how far the Applebees White Chocolate Maple Blondie has to fall. Even burnt, cold, without ice cream and accompanied my a chunk of solidified sauce. It is so delcious. The maple sauce is something that I would drink through a straw any day. The white chocolate and the walnuts are just the happiest pair in the world, and the letter *w* should be proud to have produced two such agreeable ingredients.

Epilogue:

There are two eating styles in my family when it comes to desserts. Or anything really. There is my mom, who likes to eat her brownies in dime-sized chunks. Any woman watching my mother eat would die of envy witnessing the will-power manifested in her portion sizes. But what the mere observer doesnt know, but what my mom certainly does, is that she will return to the pan of brownies time and time again, sometimes adding ice-cream to her brownie chunk, some times a glass of milk, a spoonful of peanut butter, sometimes she will whip of a batch of frosting to put on top, or she will blend the chunk into a milkshake, but she will not stop until that pan of brownies is gone. My dad on the other hand takes a much more utilitarian approach. He cuts himself an generous slice (and we girls, who all take after my mom and will end up eating three times as much as he, scoff) and goes off into a corner to eat his dessert in piece. So today, in order to honor my parents I mixed their two styles and, returning to the kitchen five times during the day to load my plate (dinner sized) I was able to eat an entire pan of blondies and the 2 and a half cups of melted butter/syrup/brown sugar sauce that comes with the recipe.

They say that the problem with people who get extremely thin is that they lose sense of what a correct portion size is, and start thinking that a banana is a meal and surely only an olympic athlete or a prize-winning pork could eat a bagel, but Im pretty sure that, by any standards, eating a pan of brownies and a quart of sauce is something noteworthy.

For anyone who has read this far I have three things to say:

1. Make this dessert, and wait until you have a pint of vanilla ice-cream to do it.

2. These pictures arent mine, I figured it wouldnt do any good for you guys to suffer with me.

3. Taking me to Applebees when I home might just be that way to increase world peace that youve been looking for.

How To Make a Hamburger Without any Meat

2009-03-05T15:10:00.000-08:00

American Answer:
*Boca
Brazillian Answer:
*Mozerella
*Fried egg
*Katchup
*Fried potatoes
*Lettuce
*Corn
*Tomato
*Mayo

P.S. Ive been going through a frustrating time in my life using this computer that has no question mark. Ive tried to use it as a time to take more authority in my writing, to state what questions I do have blandly, for artistic flare. But Im sick of it. Does anyone have any idea where a question mark might be hiding on a foreign keyboard #$%¨&&*(()_

Fear is totally normal.

Karina and Sarah, we ate these right before belly dancing, to help with the belly.

This isnt the end, but a new beginning. Once you get past the chrunchy potato layer, its a whole new burger. Im still digesting.

Persimmons and Martial Arts: Why didnt anyone tell me.

2009-03-04T08:20:00.000-08:00

Persimmons and Capoeira. Those are the things that are rocking my life right now. I saw Capoeira in the Northeast and got a little bit enchanted, and this week I located a club in Barbacena. After the first class I felt great, all of my talents (yelling, flexibility, back-walkovers) that I had never been able to place before fit right in, I was a natural, euphoria. The second class however, I had to skip because I was almost to sore to cry. The problem with warming up, is that when you cool down again you realize that you arent made of rubber, even if you were acting like it.

Persimmons, for those of you who havent met them yet, look like tomatoes but have four times the charm. Their stem pops right off and their texture is more consistent and they would never, ever squirt you in the eye or irritate your tounge with acid. I decided to make waffles for my first day back in school (its now been almost a week and I havent made it through even half the batter, its hard to eat your way through a batch of waffles alone, especially when you have a reputation as an anorexic person to uphold). The decision to put persimmons in waffles was one of the best ones ever made. These suckers are moist, tender and taste like fall-time.

Persimmon Waffles with Cinnamon Honey Butter and Sweetened Condensed Milk

I used this recipe, http://sweetcakesbakeshop.blogspot.com/2008/11/persimmon-waffles-with-cinnamon-honey.html with the following adjustments:

1)I substituted one fourth of a cup of flour for corn starch, because my iron needs a little push to churn out crunchy waffles, especially at 6 a.m.

2)I used almost double the amount of persimmon mush and I didnt peel mine because my grandmother told me not to waste and because chunks equal power in my book.

3)I added a half of a cup of sugar, which you can and should feel good about doing because note, the fruit takes the place of vegetable oil/melted butter in this recipie. Completely revolutionary. I have been around the block, I was the eggos first agent when he was just a frozen piece of carboard with a dream and nowhere to go. I know a waffle advancement when I see one.

4)I added nutmeg, and almost curry powder too, because it was late at night and I was feeling daring.

5)I covered them in Sweetened Condensed Milk, to be more Brazillian

*note: if your waffles come out super gooey and are taking FOREVER to cook and you have to scrape the iron clean with a tooth pick in between rounds, you are probably using a 110 outlet instead of a 220 one.

Guaruja: The Making of a Miracle,

2009-02-24T15:24:00.001-08:00

The Cast:

Emily: Part-time Yoga instructor, part time peanut salesman, girlfriend of Junior

Os Gemios (the boy twins): Felipe and Flavio, beautiful, evenly tanned twelve-year-olds from Sao Paulo that come to Guaruja to surf on the weekend. They are better than I am. At surfing.

As Gemias (the girl twins): Also twelve, for a total of 4 sun kissed twelve-year-olds

Paulo, the owner of the surf school and the all-brazillian champion of surfing in his glory days. Which I think were in the 80s. He doesnt like to mention dates.

Micheal: Lifeguard.

Knees a la parafin.
I was really dissoriented. At that bikini bottom is not mine, its Brazillian, my friend lent me it so that I could show my host family my surfing skills when they finally showed up on the beach the last day of carnaval. They are sort of home-bodies, so we had to improvise. The lycra is from the surf school. I would never wear that, at least not without knowing that I would had a chance to justify my actions later on in a picture caption.

As close to snow as I am going to get this winter, spray foam drifting down upon the happy Carnavalers.
Me, my friend Emily, and Paulo.

Lucy. She loved the foam. This was Tuesday night, when we were dancing on the street. Every car that drove down the road got covered in (and filled with, if the windows were open) spray foam and confetti and jumped on by the more daring of the dancers. One car got mad and came back to attack the crowd with a fire extinguisher. Then a fight started and Denisia said we had to go home because there could be gun fire. I thought that was a little dramatic.

Junior is my favorite. Obama is his favorite. I'm not sure he knows why.

Still life with horse and wig.
Action shot with cheese pastel.

To show you the variation in skin tones. For some perspective, my skin makes Flavio (on the left) look like a black panther and your skin tone makes mine look like a freshly brewed pot of coffee (before the milk and cream).

Carnaval (!) (?)Cheese Pastel (the only food that can even come close to combating the calories burned while surfing)
This is what happens when you try to pose a picture, the bad karma results in blistering hot sand and you end up looking really concerned. Attempt number one.
Attempt number two. We never did get happy people and a surfboard in the same picture.

Attempt number three. I calculate that the sand was about 400 degrees that day. Celcius (so times that by nine fifths and add 32).Either Filipe or Flavio waxing his board.

The Surfing Clan. (I don't know who that kid in the red is)
The Surfing Clan number two, just in case anyone was blinking.

Will and Alessandra, teacher and fellow student.

These pictures are all out of order.

Junior, "Juninho": Surfing instructor in Guaruja on the weekends/Peanut salesman in Sao Paulo during the week/Boyfriend of Emily

Inho-nho (nee-nyoh-nyoh): Gives surfing lessons/does bear impressions

Hamilton: Owns a buisness between me and the beach where you can play wii for 10 reais and hour. He lets me use his internet, is learning English, and is the only Brazillian computer savvy enough to have found this blog as of yet. His walls are lime green.

Ceasar: In his natural environment, playing video games.
Isabele: cousin
Cleberson: cousin
Mackenzie: Main character, that's why there are lots of me.

This is my friend teaching me how to take pictures of myself in the mirror. It's a mania in Brazil but it had me extremely confused because I didnt know whether to look at the camera or my reflection. Im learning lots here.
Camille, Louisa and I at 3 am after we had gotten back from bouncing behind the trio-eletrico. We are all shiny becaue of the evaporated foam on our skin. Those are the shirts that they threw to people who were dancing enthusiastically. I wish I could say they were shot out of canons but, unfortunately, canons were the only things that carnaval lacked.
Im still looking for a friend that is my same height. But until I find one these gnome people will have to do, at least they are energetic.
Me with the twins. Im the one who doesnt have brown eyes and long, straight, black hair. Dissapointing, I know.
Denisia and Issabelle and Kitchen! This keyboard doesnt have any punctuation marks besides exclamation. Not even colons. I love colons.
The face (and the hair!) you've all been missing.

So that is what I was doing for the month of January, but not all in the same shirt. You guys asked for pictures.

I Accidentally Deleted The Other Pictures.

2009-02-24T11:06:00.000-08:00

This picture, though taken from a cell-phone, sort of shows the gravity of the situation which is the Samboromo. Its basically a road encircled by bleachers where you pay anywhere from 100 to 20,000 reais to watch the schools of samba perform. It is besically the most incredible parade ever. It is what makes Brazillian carnaval Brazillian carnaval. I wouldnt know how to punctuate that last sentence, even if I had punctuation marks.

I will try to get some better pictures, the parade started at 7 pm and ended the next morning at 9 am, but this was taken at dawn while the cell battery lasted. Stay tuned for pictures of the the lady who was completely naked save pictures of Obama painted on her thighs. Just kidding, Im not even going to try to find her in a Google image search. But there really was on such lady.

It really was an amazing spectacle. The costumes were breath-taking. And small. If you were to average out the amount of clothing per person in that space, each spectator would probably recieve a tea-cloth. Or a tissue. But it would have many sequins and glitter on it.

What Do You Do When You Finally Find the Pillow of Your Life and it Belongs to Another Person?

2009-02-20T07:51:00.000-08:00

The day before yesterday three important things happened in my life:
1. I talked to my sister Taylor
2. I went to the Temple
3. I came home and ate squash and then fell asleep trying to remember the last time I had eaten a vegetable.

During the night, the spirituality combined with the complex carbohydrates and the advice from Taylor formed a potion in my belly (which is what controls my body) and when I woke up the next day, everything was magical. The sun was shining, the maid was singing, I don't know where it came from, but all of the sudden São Paulo looked like a Disney movie; colorful and polished and even slightly animated around the edges.

I left the house at 9am and didn't come pack until 10pm that night. Walking to the bus stop I passed the bakery that I pass about 4 times every day (depending on how many times I have to return home for essencial items) and I thought, "we don't even have bakeries in Provo." Then I saw a lizard the size of my thumbnail. I took the bus to the district called "Liberdade," which is home to the plentiful Japanese community of São Paulo. I sat next to a 93 year old man who talked the entire way there, starting with the most irrelevant subjects and moving toward more relevant ones as the ride progressed, a delightfully different approach than the one most people take. He told me the colors of his past rental cars and the meanings of the names of his family members, and when he ran out of details about his life he read aloud the street signs as we passed or commented on the buisnesses. Example: "Bradesco," (name of a Brazillian bank) "started out with 10,000 dollars, now that's luck! (dissolves in a cackling fit)"

He seemed impressed that I could read the fine print of my dictionary. "They say people with blue eyes don't see as well as us." he said. "Who says that?" I asked. But he just looked ahead and his eyes teared up, before changing the subject. (?)

I had an excellent day. I walked around 6 districts of São Paulo, winning an impressive amount of free food along the way, with my charm and wit and tucking in to churches (7 total) when it got too hot (it's 93 degrees here). Some things I didn't pay for:

1. Vegetable gyoza in Liberdade, from a cute Japanese lady who's eyes dissapeared into her head when she laughed, just like Ingy.

2. Caramelized sweet potatoes with sesame seeds.

3. Pumkin coconut ice cream

4. "Pavê Italiano,"
Layers of pastry, coffee cream, and dark chocolate.

5. Jaca.
Jaca: The friendly flem ball, don't complain, it probably cures cancer.

Let's talk about Jaca. The texture is nauseating. Like a giant flem ball-probably somebody else's flem ball-in your mouth. It's very dissorienting, you don't know weather to chew or suck or swallow, so you do all three, knowing that none of them are going to get you to where you need to be. But the flavor is lovely, like a banana. But unlike bananas, which fit nicely in your hand, come with a natural napkin (the peel) and are the perfect portion size for humans, Jaca pulp is excavated from a big, prickly yellow tumor that grows high up on trees. Overall a very worthwhile experience. The juice would probably be more consumer-friendly.

6. "Mil e Uma Noites"

Cake of semolina (kind of like polenta?) soaked in orange water and honey, covered in a rose infused cream (triangulated happily between whipped, sour and clotted) and covered in pistachios and "a sauce with Arabic origin."

I found this restaraunt fueled by the need to see again the loved dessert that I lost in Turkey. Lost because I couldn't speak Turkish and have never managed to find or create it again. I've followed it's shadow around the world, eating things that look similar or have the name of an Arabic ingredient that I thought I remembered. This dessert was not what I ate in Turkey, but lucky for me, it was the dessert that had won the award for "best dessert in São Paulo," and lucky for me, the maker of the dessert just happened to be there when I arrived and made one especially for me "so that you don't leave Brazil without trying my dessert" and gave it to me for free even though it normally costed 17 dollars and was the size of a cake plate. She talked to me about her life in Lebanon while I ate it and called me "Habib" which means "honey" in Arabic.

7. Lot's of candied almonds and macadamia nuts

8. Another kind of ice-cream that, being Arabic, I didn't manage to remember the name of. Blast delicious things of Arabic origin.

Three Thoughts About Food.

2009-02-18T04:51:00.000-08:00

It might just be time for a completely new template. This switching back and forth between ochre and ebony, just isn't completing me the way it once did.

Gaining weight on purpose and not as a result of getting older or as a means to squash bigger obstacles but just to "fatten up" in itself, has been an experience and then some. I've always felt like there wasn't enough good food in the world concentrated in one geographical location, to get fat. In other words, in my book, only people who travel have the right to be obese and those who are and don't, probably aren't eating high-quality stuff. It's always been my theory, and now it's been proven, at least when you don't have access to a kitchen to cook things for yourself. Basically I've been eating lot's and lot's of white bread with this cheese spread called "requeijão" which looks like the inner-coating of a smokers' lung and which I couldn't stomach when I got here but which now seems pretty delicious.

The other day we went to the mall and ate in the food court. Credit cards were dolled out and representatives from the four corners of the earth were brought to the table, the japanese sushis arriving in a bamboo ship with billowing sails made of shave cucumber, the french were present in a fruit-adorned fondue tower, the burger king just came on a normal plastic tray, and we arranged it all around a cauldron of brazillian shrimp stew. Things just kept arriving and between bites I switched off between reflecting on wealth and choosing what to eat next. And then, all of the sudden Ceasar, the youngest of the clan, turned to his aunt (who, with ninja-like speed offered him a plate) and threw up an enormous amount of food. It was incredible. His eyes stayed completely glazed and unaffected as we passed empty plates around the table in a trythmic fashion, always arriving at his mouth just in time. 4 plates of vomit in one little 8 year old. And he didn't even look phazed, but just to be sure he wasn't traumatized, his parents bought him a banana split to make him feel better.

Zoom past two days of normal life and we are back in the food court again. But this time the mall is different. I saw a Mexican restaurant and just about laid an egg. I galloped to it, my willowy limbs carrying me, feeling that they wouldn't be willowy much longer. The rest of the clan was drawn to my confidence and everyone ordered mexican food. "Fa-jee-tuhs" and "Buh-ree-toos" and "Tapos" (the "c" got lost in translation) and everything else on the menu were ordered blindly. I wisely advised them that all Mexican food is the same, it just comes in different shells and some times it is rolled and sometimes it is folded. Which is completely true in the form that Mexican food arrives in Brazil. Anyway, everybody ended up hating it and I ate everything, moving from dish to dish, eating spoonfuls of sour cream, to me a celestial cloud harnessed in the world of my dreams and teathered to plates of my stunned Brazillian family members. I ate until the quacamole threatened to come back and give the Brazillians another scare "savory avocado?!?!?!"

Then we went and saw "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button." Watching Brad Pitt get younger (and learn Portuguese) was the perfect ending to a good night.

I definitely feel like those three experiences mean something. Wordy things usually do. When I get back Lara Asplund will help me cut out 75% of the text and what's left will be the secret that links money, health, happiness and good food. I'll let you all know when that happens.

Gather 'Round My Fire.

2009-02-12T07:42:00.000-08:00

Halfway through. It's about time this blog had some culture. I'll now organize my most brilliant observations from my first six months into a neat format for easy digestion and reading pleasure.

Things Brazilians Believe:

1. That during a lightning storm, everything you touch or step on or look at (pots, sinks, computers, floors, spoons), will kill you via electric shock.

2. That tearing out the inside of french bread, rolling it into a little ball, and leaving it on your plate or feeding it to the skinniest person in the vacinity, is the secret to becoming thin.

3. That flipflops are for homeless people only.

Trash Kills

2009-02-09T14:10:00.000-08:00

This is what is happening in São Paulo. It's madness, six people died yesterday, drowned in the streets. How does this happen? Trash and global warming. This is how is works: people throw trash all over the streets and then torrential rainstorms come, carrying the candy wrappers and soda cans and small puppies with short legs and the wrath of god rushing down the streets and into the gutters until they clog up and then in the blink of an eye the sky-scrapers of São Paulo are little cement islands and people are drowning in their very own homes and local fruit stands. Killing themselves with litter. Moral of the story.

I Thought It Was Funny.

2009-01-28T13:04:00.000-08:00

There is nothing like being in a city with 10 million people who don't know you to lower your personal grooming standards. That is what I was thinking as I pulled the frizz cloud that hovers around my head into a high pontytail and set out on to the rainy streets of São Paulo this morning. I was wearing a tan dress with orange, yellow and indigo flowers and a grey jacket with green, purple and blue dinosaurs, toting a patchwork bag and a red, ruffly umbrella. Outfit-wise it was totally unacceptable, and just as I reflected on how much I didn't care, a man approached me and said:
"Have you ever considered a career as a model?"
I laughed and said,
"No, have you?"
He smiled as much as buisness men do and then started explaining how he represented Vogue and that he would like to set up a time to talk to my parents and blah, blah, blah. I was mostly only interested in the hot drink that he was holding in his hand. It was a nice chesnut color with lot's of whipped cream on top. I ended the conversation as quickly as I could (I said I didn't have any parents but that I would take the card to use as fuel in the comunal fire that I would share with the other street urchins later on, and yes, tall skinny orphans are more common than you would think--it's due to their dietary habits) and I went and bought a hot chocolate. And as are all days that start with ho-cho, January 28th was excellent. I walked up and down (actually just down--it's really long) Avenida Paulista and, found lots of small museums and churches that let me in despite my appearance. Jewels of the day included a swan made out of a cleaning-product bottle, an Orthodox church that was huge and completely empty, a burrito shop that had sour cream and a huge exhibition on dolls made out of trash.

I left at 9 am this morning. When I staggered in at 7 pm, Dona Voldete, the maid who works in the house and is always trying to feed me, looked at me said, "Are you hungry?"
"Yes," I said.
And then, in a scolding tone she explained to me that it isn't good for our stomachs to eat when we are starving.
"If you are hungry," she said, "You've already let it go to far, you need to eat before you get hungry. Once your stomach starts to growl, feeding it damages the organism."
I looked at her dismayed and asked,
"Well what do you do if you accidentally get hungry before you get a chance to eat? Do you just wait to die?"
She turned around, fried three eggs, and made me eat them all.
Which was fine because I love eggs. I like being full of potentcial chickens, it makes me feel powerful.

Harvesting the Fruits of my Labor

2009-01-27T16:15:00.001-08:00

WOAH! I have back muscles! This morning I was sitting on the counter top flossing and I turned around and THERE THEY WERE. Thin little strips of surfing strength. It looks like a series of dehydrated Costco mango strips were sewn in under my skin. So cool. I'm sad that they will probably go away before anyone who I really want to impress (like my sisters or Barack Obama or the blonde actor who plays Peter Pan) gets to see them, but I am counting having them in the first place as a blessing.

Last Day In Beach Town

2009-01-23T13:15:00.000-08:00

I know that we as Americans don't do this anymore, after the election of Obama and all, but if you were to judge me by the color of my skin, you would call me a caramelized banana. I am a lovely shade of brown. And that is really all I have to say, the other day I had such a strong realization that my brain short-circuited and my nuerons fried like eggs and in the three days between then and now I haven't thought a single productive thought, that's how strong a realization it was. The realization was this: My mother, Kindra Kay Jacoby, is the most beautiful woman in the whole world. With her straight teeth and straight hair and her perfectly sculpted deltoids, and her soymilk skin specked with floating bacon bits.
So beautiful.
I miss her so much.
And that was the last thought I thought. I've been starting slowly to nurse my head back to health, using stress-free mental exercises like making up pancake combinations (first one for each of my family members The Big Sister: Buttermilk pancakes with banana slices and chocolate chips laced with peanut butter and honey, then one for every country The Japan Pancake: Rice batter with salmon and sesame seeds served with wasabi cream cheese, then one for every political party The Republican pancake: tax-free if you earn over 250,000 a year), but it's been a slow process.
I love my mother.

The Fundamental Difference

2009-01-11T14:53:00.000-08:00

"Is there anybody alive out there?"

QUICK

Does that make you think of "The Titanic" (at the end with the icy water) or Bruce Springsteen ("Radio Nowhere")

Mackenzie's status at the dawn of 2009:

2009-01-01T12:51:00.000-08:00

On an island, the color of a honey baked ham (my body, not the island, keep up with me folks), due to the powerful Brazilian sun. With a chest cavity full of bruised ribs and a river of endorphins flowing behind them, due to SURFING. Which I learned how to do. In a way. I spend my days here eating papaya and walking up and down the beach, talking to surfers. Some of them teach me things, and keep me from drowning and show me sea turtles, others just lend me their boards and watch me get pummeled. God bless surfers. The beach that I live by is called "Praia do Tombo" which roughly translates to "Fall on your face...beach," translation is an in-exact science. But the beach is brutal. Good for exfoiliating and humbling, bad for learning to surf and staying alive. Last night the New Years Eve program included a feast (for deliciousness), eating 7 fruits (for luck), jumping over 7 waves (and making a wish for each one), throwing roses into the sea (for the goddess of the ocean, and watching fireworks on the beach. Happy New Year everybody.

The Balancing of Powers

2008-12-26T17:03:00.000-08:00

Something that always satisfies: flourless chocolate cake, the one you've eyed countless times and saved up your pocket change for, watching the exchange rate rise and fall, waiting to have both the wind and the economy at your back, on a rainy day in São Paulo. Something that never satisfies: the color scheme of this blog. But then, for every wrong there is always a right. For every polished tap-dance, a muddled clogging performance. For every pinky fingernail perfectly painted, there exists a piranna ready to bite it's tip off.

Opposition in all things.

I am so tired right now. That is because my host family thinks that 2 o' clock in the morning is when you start activities. I don't have the heart to tell them that humans are not nocturnal, they just look like they are having so much fun.

I finished reading my first self-help book in Portuguese today. It was also my first self-help book. I've had to shave down my life experiences to ones that count for double (read a self-help book, read a book in Portuguese). There just isn't enough time for the frivolity of focusing. Except for when I read food blogs. They are the vice that I re-discovered during the Christmas season and will destroy again come January first. December 26th-31st, however, I will be spent drooling over the computer screen while eating celery dipped in sweetened-condensed milk.

Opposition in all things.

Speaking of Fruit...

2008-12-25T15:57:00.001-08:00

And spying. The neighbors have a pool that changes colors and exudes music, it distracts me when I am trying to write. So it's really the pool's fault, because once I'm already distracted I start looking through the big, glass windows, that distinguish the classy houses in Brazil (because who would ever let a stray bullet marr something so lovely), at their biscuit tray. And I see something that looks like a Mexican wedding cookie.

And I want it.

But then, the biscuits are always more farmiliar on the other side. But the bisuits on this side are not bad. Christmas in Brazil:

Out with the Santa Claus, out with the religion, in with the family, in with the fruit.

I have discovered that I have a knack for condensing large concepts into small phrases and italicizing them. I'm thinking about teaming up with Nike when I get back.

But let's talk about culture. As is the Brazilian way, Christmas starts late at night, on the 24th with a giant feast. Our's included a managerie of cooked animals, happy to lie on their buttered backs and give up their lives to be part of such an extravagant feast. Except the shrimp. The shrimp looked mad. But nobody likes to endure a bath in boiling water only to be covered up by an eggy batter. There was also a pyramid of fruit. Which you need to visualize in your mind and then increase the size by about four to begin to imagine the gravity of the situation. There was a whole room dediated to the display and eating of exotic fruits, on which my aunt and I spent 600 dollars, the day before. And 600 dollars buys a lot more fruit here than it does in the United States. There must have been 30 kinds of fruit, seven of which you have to choose and eat at midnight for good luck. After that the present opening starts and everybody drops into their beds, sleepy and satisfied, at around 4am, shortly after all of the children have gotten fed up trying on their new jeans and showing them to the extended family.

I chose apple crisp as my representative dessert. But then I got excited about the fruit abundance and made plum, nectarine, peach crisp instead. There was also one cherry in there, and some patriotism.

Merry Christmas world. I love you all and I hope that you sleep soundly covered in your blankets of snow. Mackenzie's advice for the holiday season:

Add almond extract when you can.

Book Review

2008-12-25T15:36:00.000-08:00

Today I opened the package from my family (for my birthday) for Christmas (Brazilian postal system= slow but steady wins the race) and I read the book "Clementine" that Taylor sent me. It's about a third grader named Clementine who cuts all of her hair off, colors her head lime green and then gets sent to her room to "think about the consequences of her actions." And then I realized that I hadn't gotten in trouble for at least 4 months. Quickly my thought process spiralled out of control and I got to thinking that maybe when I went back I would be so mature that I would rarely do things wrong, would exhale rose petals and hiccup daisies, would turn 18 and I would never get in trouble again.

And I was sad.

I don't want the sole responsibility of improving myself.

Even though "Clementine" gave me scary thoughts, I loved it. Afterall, great literature makes you think. It's now my favorite book, narrowly taking the place of "A Brief History of Time," because it has better illustrations. I highly recommend it to anyone who needs life's questions answered or who wants to feel the tingly and proud senstation of finishing a "novel" in about 20 minutes.

So You Think You Can Prance.

2008-12-20T16:20:00.000-08:00

Coconut flan, smooth and creamy, that is the taste of the depression that comes when it's eleven at night and you didn't manage to get into the Madonna concert and now you are waiting for your family to get online so that you can tell them about how Santa here would prefer a fruit cocktail to a hot chocolate and how Brazilians open all of their presents on the 24 of December.

And now, something of universal interest, a cultural touch to a self-indulgent post.

Things Brazilians don't use:

1. Saran-wrap

2. Cream Cheese

3. Hourly wages

4. Waffle Irons

If you guys were going to represent American culinary Christmas fare...what would you bake? Bear in mind that they don't know which things are Christmasy, and which things are just good. I'm thinking:

1. Apple Crisp

2. Macaroni and Cheese

3. Cinnamon Rolls

My Scars Are All Sandy, For Those of You Who Asked

2008-12-19T06:29:00.000-08:00

100 reais....50 dollars.

Digital camera and memory card....500 dollars.

Being robbed in Rio de Janeiro....priceless.

That is how zen my state of mind is after a month of beaches and aqua-de-coco. Unfortunately, I have no pictures to show you guys, but my mind is calm thinking about that person less fortunate than myself, contentedly leafing through my photos in a favela somwhere in Rio de Janeiro.

So we will just have to work with google images. Start with your index finger in the lower region of Minas Gerais, the big yellow state. This is Belo Horizonte, where I live and where the trip started one month ago. Minas is a state full of wealthy farmers and excellent cheese. Now drift northward into the state of Goiás. The "Distrito Federal" or, Brasília, was our second destination. Brasília is the third capital of Brazil, they've had a hard time making up their minds historically, but I think they'll stick with this one now because the city is designed in the shape of an airplane and that is just cool. After that we crossed through the Bahia, up to Ceará, and descended through Rio Grande do Norte, Paraiba, Pernambuco, Alagoas, Sergipe, Bahia, Espirito Santo, Rio de Janeiro and yesterday, touched down in São Paulo with a lot of dirty clothes and skin, though approximately the same color (blast) definitely harboring some mutated skin cancer cells.

Top Five Foods:

1. Acaí. A misterious little berry that, even when you are eating it, you have doubts about. Where does it come from? What does it look like in it's raw form? It arrives at your palette ground into a cold, purple paste and mixed with things like strawberries, bananas and granola. They hand you this pot or colors and temperatures and they say, "that is acaí, don't ask questions." And once you've taken a bite, you don't. The stuff packs a punch to, in accordance with it's allusive nature, nutritional information is impossible to find, but everyone says that one serving includes "a day's worth of energy."

2. Pizza Doce. Only after you've totally let go of any notion that salty and sweet should be kept seperate can you really begin to enjoy these pizzas, and life. Banana, Cinnamon and Cheese, Dark Chocolate, Mozerella and Vanilla Ice-Cream, Guava and Mozerella and Squirty Cheese Sauce, and the King of them all: Pizza de Chocolate Branco. The white chocolate turns grainy, the cheese molten, and a creme bruleé-like crust forms on top, in other words, the biggest textural revolution since beaten egg whites. With a scoop of ice-cream, the temperature difference makes it an other-worldly experience.

3. Castanha do Caju. Never has such a heavenly nut grown atop such a mediocre fruit enrobed by an oil that is offensive to human skin. The fruit makes your tounge feel like a felt blanket, but the nut makes your soul soar. In the northeast they (cashews-for those of you who still don't play the cognate game) come carmelized with cinnamon, coconut, chocolate, chile pepper, pixie dust, sunscreen, anything you can imagine. Nora (an excellent Swiss person, whom I hand-selected personally out of 58 exchange students) were absolute MASTERS at getting our fill of cashews from street vendors using our charm, feigning ignorance, and when necessary, threatening people with our impressive combined hieghts. We never, ever paid for lunch.

4. Suco do Abacaxi ao Leite. Pineapple juice with milk. Should not be as good as it is.

5. Mandioca. Everything that you try in the Northeast can be traced back to it, which is appropriate, it being a root and all. The problem is that it goes by different names in every region of the country, and the biscuits and cakes to which it contributes come in rustic, blank packages and are made by old ladies who, though very cute and enthusiastic, thick accents and trying to get reliable information out of them is like trying to discuss politics with someone in Pig-Latin. But. There are millions of things, salty and sweet and pulverised and baked that come from the happy root, and I will discover it's secret.

Tapioca (looks like a crepe made out of lightly toasted styrofoam--made out of mandioca powder) with eggplant, basil and parmesean.

Top Five Most Exhilerating.

1. Passeau de Boogie: driving at high speeds over white sand dunes in a little jeep-like car.

2. Being the personal favorite of the Forró professor at the Pirata Bar. The party at this huge bar, shaped like a pirate ship, was voted "the craziest Monday night in the world." By time magazine. And it was.

3. Insano: The biggest water slide in Latin America, or maybe in the world.

4. Capoeira: Makes my blood boil with happiness. We saw lot's of Capoeira in the Northeast, and participated in even more, I was always the first person with my hand up to be the audience volunteer. I was confident because I have a wicked cartwheel, but also sufficiently humbled by everything that came afterwards.

5. Canoa Quebrada. A little hippie village where the sand is colored and the coconut is flavored and being offered marajuana periodically keeps things exciting.

Top Five Most Beautiful:

1. Cristo: Rio gave us a day so cloudy that you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. But the city was so beautiful that it was like being in heaven. And then when the clouds parted a bit and we noticed the 30 meter christ statue behind us, it solidified the image.

2. Angra dos Reis: a group of 365 islands, some owned by movie stars, others by ill-tempered, giant, black birds.

3. Icaro. A very attractive surfer that gave Nora and I surfing lessons for free because we didn't have any money. Because where do you put money when you are wearing a bikini. It's actually a proven fact that the Brazillian real note is bigger in area than any given Brazilian bikini. He said I had disposition for surfing, the secret was that he let me use one of those special wet suit shirts that give even the least coordinated of persons the confidence of a ballerina.

4. Porto De Galinhas. Ocean the temperature of the bath water that you are the second person to use and the color of....turquoise. Beaches full of young, bronze men toting surf boards and old, bronze men giving Nora and I free snowies. And the ice was shaved by hand. With a modified razor blade. Sheesh. Flavor: all of them.

5. Chapada de Diamantina. A magical land full of waterfalls and caves and bats.

That is my summary for now, until I can high-jack some real pictures from the other exchange students and do some pondering.

Happy Birthday Mackenzie: From, The Unexpected Monster

2008-11-19T11:14:00.000-08:00

Waste not, want not. That is a phrase that I made up today. It's really clever when you think about it. And it can be applied to all sorts of things, like health insurance!

My shower, which I loved so dearly, which I dedicated blog posts to and spent lonely afternoons in, turned on me all of the sudden at 2:45 this afternoon when the sliding door broke, shattering into millions of pieces, the largest of which gauged my foot. It was really scary. I didn't know what to do, and naturally, since I was in shock and my foot didn't hurt LIKE HELL yet, by biggest concern was keeping the floor clean. But all that did was made me stay in the bathroom, thinking, for about five minutes, while a kiddie-pool quantity of blood accumulated around my heels.

Eight stitches! I have never had stitches before. The hospital was good, everyone was really helpful. A stranger held my foot in place while the male nurse (nervous because he has never cleaned the foot of an American before) poured the alcohol. Marli read Catholic prayers, another stranger held my shoulders down, the doctor sewed and the intern squoze (the past tense verb of squeeze?) my hand and pressed on my forhead (I think it helped). It was chaotic, but I remained calm, passing in and out of consciousness and arguing with the doctor about when I could enter the ocean.

I travel tonight at 2:30 am. Which is actually tomorrow morning, I'm starting my birthday out early! With less blood! There was seriously so much of it. I didn't need it all anyway.

The coolest part: all of the little glass particles stuck in my arm hair made me glitter.

Third time I've cried in Brazil.

There is Meat in the Beans; and Other Things that Big Kids Deal With

2008-11-14T07:38:00.001-08:00

I went to Imaculada today and asked them to take me back--for free. I said, "Look how good I am at Portuguese, plus I already have the uniform." and surprisingly, it worked. They waved the three-hundred-real-a-month-fee and welcomed me back with open arms. Apparenly my old physics teacher has been canvassing for me. I'll have to take a picture of him and post a cyber-shrine on Monday. He really is a gem. He's bald and fat (but firm, still young), and we hit it off right away. Who knew that imitating Stephen Hawking's computer voice was funny in any language? I did. Well, I guessed, but it was an educated guess.

Also, this week I have met with the Federal Police three times and have given them all of my money. I also ate some sushi made out of kiwi. Does that count as sushi?

Do I sound more mature? Goodness, I hope not, but I can't see how I wouldn't be....and the world thinks that they're the ones dealing with the financial crisis. Ha. What nonesense. And now I have to buy new jeans too. Leave it to the Mackenzie's myterious metabolism to loose 10 pounds while eating six meals a day consisting of beans infused with pork fat and fried eggs. That's right, minus 10 pounds. Bodywise, these days I pretty much just stick to the basics: heart, kidneys (still have both), pancreas, the only thing I'm really holding on to is a little back fat, to avoid the mary-kate olsen look. (This is all false, I'm completely average, seeing someone half my size carrying a heavy load or leading a horse and cart is a normal, everyday occurance.) BUT I bought my jeans big because somebody (read: everybody) told me I would gain weight, and now all my jeans are good for are late-night reinactments of Subway commercials. And making forts.

You Have One More Chance Before I Turn You Into A Goon

2008-11-09T14:06:00.001-08:00

I'm having camera problems. But it's giving me a good oppotunity to post pictures that I never got around to posting.

And speaking of the abundance of pictures: Guess who is taking belly dancing lessons, getting lost in Southern America and not being camera shy? "INGRID ASPLUND IS CLEARLY THE CORRECT ANSWER!" the crowd shouts. Wrong. Mackenzie Lee Jacoby.

I am a changed woman. So is she, probably.

My Bellydancing class at the presentation, minus me because I was in São Paulo.

Albino snake nodding in approval of the name I gave him. Which was, "Snakey Pakey"

Water Park in São Paulo. Two DIFFERENT ice-cream cones, and I needed them both.

Festival of the Roses. Barbacena is "The City of Roses, " they produce millions of them and they are the best in the world, the only reason that you haven't heard of Barbacena, in fact, is because they use all of their roses to decorate tractors instead of exporting them. And look how much happiness it brings. Plus Holland needed a self-esteem boost.

Obama and Trauma

2008-11-09T14:04:00.001-08:00

Sploosh. That is the sound that your heart makes when you are world weary. Reasons that I am five years older than I was last Monday:

1. Money, and having to sit down in Portuguese and talk about it. I think most of the problems are resolved now, but I couldn't help but thinking, throughout the trauma of it all, "if only every person who read my blog donated one dollar...I would have four dollars." It's thoughts like that that keep you going.

2. Climate, Brazil decided to turn into the inferno that normally only lives in the far-fetched fantasies of children in Greenland and Denmark and is not actually realized here on earth. And since it all happened so rapidly, I was without the proper sun protection, so now my skin is tight and I am constantly deciding if opening my mouth is worth it because it will surely mean another premature wrinkle later in life. But not that much later in life. Probably in my late twenties.

3. The Brazilian school system, Estadual is a crazy, crazy place. It goes like this: there are 45 kids in my class, the desks are stacked together like tetris pieces and fill the entire room, the stronger students shove the frailer ones lovingly into their spots before shimmying their way into their own. It's a beautiful demonstration of teamwork. There are thousands of students and not one of them drinks liquid before school, lest he should have to use the bathroom, which is a dark cement chamber underneath the school with a steady stream of brown water and a bad smell leaking out from underneath the door. If there is an emergency and someone has to go to the bathroom for some reason, they usually just skip the rest of the day of school and go home. Because school is only four hours, and usually the teachers just come in, get really upset because of the noise, and leave. Except for the Portuguese teacher, who I have heard practices corporal punishment and spends a lot of time defending literature that critics have deemd "pornographic." He commands respect. I like him.

4. I saw someone crack their head open. And she was over 90 years old. Location: Stairs 1-7 of the marble staircase on the way out of this charity tea party. Turned a perfectly lovely afternoon of drinking hot chocolate and eating bon bons (one of which turned out to be filled with ham), into quite and episode. The image of a stampede of high-society Brazilian women fleeing the fancy dining hall, trying to avoid the blood on the staircase, it still a little haunting. It was very sad. I think she is okay.

Good news: as of November 5th, being an American outside of America just got a whole lot easier.

The fact the Brazilian newspapers were publishing articles referring to him as "the president" at least a week before the election didn't make his success any less amazing. Receiving the news that Obama won marks the second time that I have cried as an exchange student.

New Horizons and Amazing Banana Cake

2008-10-30T17:31:00.000-07:00

So I came back from São Paulo, sunburned, sore, full of churros, and ready to return to my life of rigrous catholic school, vitamins, minerals and piano lessons. But then I was informed that I would be switching schools because my parents here are no longer inclined to pay for Imaculada. And that next week I would be starting at "Estadual."

Estadual, and I hope this isn't too many popular TV refrences for one post, seems to be the Chino (of the OC) of Barbacena. For example, today I went to Imaculada when my friends had their recess, to return a calculator and bid my old life farewell. When I said that I would from now on be attending Estadual, the whole lot of them gasped and crossed themselves, the females fainted and the weakest ones are still there, writhing on the ground. Imaculada is the most expensive school in Barbacena, so it's going to be quite a switch.

So I was having sort of a sulky week, thinking about making friends all over again, watching peoples expressions, and whatever they are holding in their hands, drop when I mentioned what will soon be my learning environment.

And then when I went to bellydancing that night, things completely changed. I mentioned that I was going to start at Esdatual and two girls who I had never met before lit up and distinguished themselves as Estadualians... and then they put in a hip-hop CD, turned it up really loud, and started dancing. And then the whole room joined in. And there was coreography. All of the sudden my life turned into step-up, except minus the male and with even more rain. I was the girl from the private school, entering the ghetto and the ghetto was there to recieve me with a syncronized dance which they then taught me, saying that I was pretty good, for a white girl.

We'll see how it goes on Monday.

Cow intestines. Mercado Municipal São Paulo, I forgot to show you guys.

I got so excited that I forgot to talk about the banana cake. I ate 9 pieces in the first round. Finally a chance to show my true colors.

The Day That Kendall Was Born

2008-10-28T14:34:00.000-07:00

The best replacement rooster I've found.

Her Birthday happened 23 days before mine and she still turned out six years younger. Just goes to show she's the savoring type, digesting life slowly with a cup of milk and a buttery biscuit. Here's to a kid who's caused more trouble in 11 years than the rest of us could ever hope to cause in the rest of our lives.

The best chocolate cake in the WORLD.
Is what it says in Portuguese.
I didn't try it.
Because I'm a complete idiot.

Something I know Kendall will love.

Brazilians and Their Green Corn

2008-10-27T17:16:00.000-07:00

Eva schmeeva pudding and pie
Ate a tamale and it made me cry

Well, I thought it was a tamale. I just read "green corn," saw the corn husk package, bought the little parcel and kept walking because I was in a sketchy neightborhood. It ended up being filled with SWEETENED CONDENSED MILK. No harm done. Just a little startling. Actually it was great because it was warm and it was raining and it made me think of you (eva).

Green corn Ice-cream with rum raisins. (featuring red wristband from Kanye West concert allowing me to drink freely--but don't worry, I was tipsy enough from the rum raisins)

São Paulo Adventure: Day I (Really Long--Probably Don't Want To Read If You Have A Limited Life-Span)

2008-10-27T16:11:00.000-07:00

Local activists put life-jackets on all the monuments to draw attention to them. Thus saving them from the indifference of the buisness culture around them. Cute.
That guy is coming to tell me that I can't take a picture of his carpentry shop that was crumbly and purple and that I thought Taylor would like.

"Santos dos ultimos dias" translates to "Saints of the last days" not just the latter days--I think the Brazilians are getting and overall more urgent message than we are.

Ridiculous. São Paulo is ridiculous.
ly BIG.

The family that I'm staying with is too busy defining the word "homebodies" to kick around São Paulo. So I realized, after wasting one day, that I would have to go out on my own. I looked up the LDS temple online and walked there. I always get a little empowered after going to a temple and drinking from a good-old American drinking fountain, and so, I caught a bus in the direction of Moroni's trumpet. Which was downtown. Cool.

Well. Whoever built São Paulo was not thinking about people who might potentially try to cross it, and at least 20 minutes after we (according to my mental map) should have arrived in Paraguay, I saw the MASP, the art museum, and jumped off the bus. I ended up having to walk around a lot because the museum opened at eleven and I had gotten a little excited and left the house at 8. I walked for hours, found a forest, talked to skateboarders, talked to British people, talked to a magazine stand owner, developed those legs that are all jittery from a day of walking around a city, and then returned home, extremely satisfied and sweaty. I hadn't eaten or drinkin, (which is the past tense of to drink), all day because of a promise that I made to my sister never to be someone eating alone in a café, lest I make a passing stranger like her feel unextinguishable guilt. And so, famished, I stumbled into the bakery closest to my house, even though I was almost home, and bought the MOTHER of all ecclairs.

São Paulo is dangerous, and since the Brazilians don’t like to waste, they have a tradition of creating baked goods that, if not eaten, can double as weapons. It gives the frugal consumer twice the satisfaction because, if allowed to go stale, and ecclair can always be transformed into a baseball bat to fend of barbarians. Very resourceful. I stuck my head inside the thing and slurped. And when I emerged, there was a storm going on.

I mentioned this before but, for those of you who missed it, Brazil floats right in the prime acustic region of the globe, such that when it thunders here, the sound bounces of the beaks of the nearby penguins down south, sails right throught the gap in the distribution of wealth, echoes off of the northern hempisphere and is redirected down, with a boom unlike any other boom you have ever heard. So it started to Brazilian thunder.

Which brought me even more happiness as I, not having eaten in eight hours, buried my face in the pillow of coco and thought about how, if a lightning bolt struck me down now, all they would find in my stomach was an ecclair the size of my forearm. And they would say, “what a kid.” And when they cremated me I would give off a nice, toasty smell that reminded everyone of Christmas.

Even after the rain I arrived home piping hot. So I went straight home and jumped in the pool with all of my clothes on and museum brochures in my pockets. And I swam in the rain storm. Which earned me major points with the children, who are now letting me use thier computer instead of taking a quiz to find out if they are Hannah Montana or Miley Cyrus. I’m Miley Cyrus. It hás a lot to do with what type of formal footwear you prefer. And is also linked, complex scientific research shows, to what breed of dog you are.

These are my fingernails, which I think are full of cheese, Just like everything else in Brazil, but everyone else in my life loves them, loves them. Roses on a fingernail, who would have thought.

OH! And I had a run-in with an admirer that day, it went like this:
I was sitting on the bus when he boarded, stopped and exclaimed, "you have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen." and, getting no reaction, sat down. But then, when I got off the bus, he followed me, right into the Museum of the Portuguese language, paying and entrance fee and everything and started talking to me.

I got rid of the guy using a fool-proof, three-step process of anti-seduction, which I developed as I went along (it came very naturally), summoning the help of my ancestors and crossing my toes:

Step 1: Said I was 14.

Step 2: Said that I had a boyfriend, and talked about him a lot, and how he was coming to São Paulo next month, and what do you think I should show him? I can't take him here because, well, you have to come here on the bus, and his muscles are too big to fit through the door, so we'll have to go everywhere by foot...

Step 3: Read every. single. plaque. in that museum. twice sometimes because, I would say with an apologetic smile, "I don't speak very good Portuguese, so it takes me a while."

I LEARNED THAT TRICK FROM MY DAD!

He left after four hours in the museum, saying that he had to go to his interview at Pizza Hut, and leaving me his number. I will definitely call him if I want Pizza Hut.

"Tonight: Bare my manly arms or sport a thug hoodie?...I know! Both!" -Kanye West's Brain

2008-10-23T14:14:00.000-07:00

I WENT TO THE KANYE WEST CONCERT.

In São Paulo.

I don't know how it happened.

But it was amazing.

Except when he said, "Everybody Jump!" Nobody jumped. But all that was made-up for by the presence of a real DINOSAUR on stage and also a 15 minute rendition of "Stronger." I am the luckiest girl in the world.

The tickets were 250R. Good thing I didn't buy one.

High Society: Where Everyone is Wearing Less Clothing Than They Would Like To Be Wearing.

2008-10-12T08:41:00.000-07:00

We went to the craziest wedding in the world last night. It started at 8:00pm, we left at 3:00am. This girl spent 40,000 on her wedding party. Just the party. That tab doesn't include the dress or the church or the emotional burden or the stress-induced ulcers. It pretty much only includes fancy food and whisky. So let me tell you about that part.

I ate, among so many things that I couldn't identify:
1. CHEESE ice-cream (not wimp cheese, not cream cheese or marscapone or ricotta, but grated, man cheese, salty and still moo-ing) with guava sauce.
2. Something that combined green olives and frosting into one little dough ball.
3. A grape bon bon! (Anatomy of a grape bon bon can be likened unto that of the earth we stand on: Core: green grape, Molten lava layer: Something gooey and white, Crust: Chocolate, People and buildings: White chocolate drizzles and lime zest.

There were thousands of bite-sized ramekins housing mini soufflés and individual-size brie tarts laced with strawberry sauce and fruits filled with other fruits, filled with a purée of your ancestors deepest, darkest secrets and little pastry cones filled with salmon and lime cream, the limes being from a specific region in Italy of course. It was awesome.

Boys vs.
Girls.

By far the least elaborate of the chocolate trays, but these ones were filled with sweetened-condensed unicorn blood so I was like, "heck, why not take a photo."
If you didn't keep moving you would just sink, sink, sink. Into the crowd. And never return. There were waiters scurrying about in the crowd, pouring whiskey into glasses at the beggining of the evening, and on to people's heads later on.
They changed the lighting in the room to go with my dress.
The guy who taught me how to Samba. Is Samba a verb? I don't know his name.
Me. Before I let my hair down. Ha.

"Beber, Cair, Levantar." Translation: Drink, fall down, get up. That was the entire chorus to a song that the band played probably 4 times. I think I was the only one who noticed the repetition. The room was soggy with Champagne.

Marli still hasn't done the "levantar" part yet. She's in bed with a headache and it's 7:30 pm the next day. Radical. Best host mom ever.

Things that rocked about this wedding:
1. Cimino knocked an electrical post over with his car in the parking lot on the way in, and then he rested it against a Eucalyptus tree and pretended nothing had happened.
2. All of the spoons made my pinky look like a bloated manatee. Tiny.
3. You know that artisan handicraft where you bend wires and cover them in nylon to make otherwise impossible shapes for halloween cotumes? Well, every one of the thousands of truffles at this wedding came inside a nylon rose. Inedible roses with chocolate centers, a specialty plant imported from the fertile fields of polyester-land. There was enough nylon in that Ballroom to provide a nation of young women with a decent pair of tights. A third-world nation where everyone had skinny legs maybe, but still.
4. There were Petits Fours! Yay. I love life.
5. We got to throw rice on their heads. The people who got married. Except Marli forgot to throw hers so she took it home and cooked it.

I learned so many things last night. Like that eye make-up does not come off. Ever. Long after the party is over, long after I and my people are gone, a new civilization will uncover my corpse and their scientists will analyze the thick carpet of green and gold eye shadow on my upper lid. And they will draw conclusions about our society. And there will be nothing I can do about it because I wash and I wash...

And I still look Egyptian.

And now I am going to São Paulo, where I will meet my first Brazilian beach and also (fingers crossed) finally get to use my rape whistle, which has been gathering dust at the bottom of my purse. Dust, yes. I asked my mom for one of the high-quality, metal rape whistles, that rust instead of gather dust, the ones that all the kids with "cool" paranoid moms have, but she said that my plastic one would work fine. Send me to the 4th grade with a Paddington Bear lunchbox why don't you.

Wilted.

How Spam Was Made: A Breif History of Modern De-Sensitization

2008-10-10T14:00:00.000-07:00

I had the most disturbing day of my life yesterday. If the threshold of post-traumatic-stress disorder type stuff is here:
The things that happened yesterday are just a stones throw away. Almost to the point where my brain protects me from remembering them, but not quite.

So I just spend a lot of time wincing.

So I was with my friend Karen, who is a registered nurse, 24 years of age and sports a set of skin the color of a cinnamon-sugar toast only less mottled and even more lusturous. We were sitting on her bed, she telling me about her sister's wedding, I translating Backstreet Boy's lyrics into Portuguese for her listening-pleasure, when her grandmother came in. She is a very short woman but her presence is commanding and after saying some complex things in a hurry, Karen and I followed her out the door and into the rainy streets of Barbacena. Grandma set the pace, cruising up and down hills at a rapid pace and the fog was so thick that if we didn't keep up with her, we would surely lose our way. So we kept up.

And arrived in the bedroom of a woman who had just given birth. And then all of the sudden things started moving very quickly. I was handed a baby, still purple and screaming, with black hair all over it's forhead and goo on the corners of its mouth. I looked around me and quickly realized that I was in the best situation of all, Grandma was cooing over the face of the mother, which was twisted with pain and Karen was busy doing something in areas where I wasn't comfortable leaving my eyes what with the lack of clothing in the neighboring regions. But then, as I glanced around the room, it turned out that there weren't many places that I felt comfortable leaving my eyes and so I looked down at the baby, who had his eyes squinched shut and his mouth wide open and I thought, "that's the right idea."

Things calmed down after a while. Grandma mummified the mother with a good half-mile of gauze, I handed the baby over to nurse and we all just sort of sat there thinking about how great it was that life wasn't a miracle all of the time. And then the mom looked at me said, "Do you want to try some breast milk?" And I said,
"No"
by which I meant,
"Absolutely not"
Usually, I give pretty ambivalent answers to questions in Portuguese, just in case I've understood the person wrong and they were really asking me if I would like a cookie and not how I felt about George Bush. But in this case I said no.
And then they asked me again, saying "just try it," and I started banging my shoulder blades against the wardrobe behind me and wondering how offensive it was to turn down someone's breast milk. In any culture. Ever. I knew nothing about the subject. How much did breast milk fetch on the black market? I never said yes, but the maid was sent to the kitchen to fetch a spoon and then the spoon was given to the mother to...fill and then the spoon was given to me.

It was sweet.

We went back to Karen's house and her mom offered me a cup of hot chocolate. I saw the box of shelf milk sitting on the stove and thought about turning it down as that stuff gives me the heebie-jeebies (and milk that's too hard-core for the refridgerator is too hard-core for me). And then I laughed and thought about how I could hardly call myself a real milk snob now and I said, "I'd love some."

Later that night at home I was eating cake soaked in room-temperature milk from a cup with a spoon. I tried to imagine myself just two months ago doing the same thing. Taylor's upset ghost filled the kitchen and I remembered how personally offended milk that was not cozying up to it's freezing point made her and how sometimes she would pour the milk for her cereal in two rounds in order to guarantee that her Cap'n Crunch was accompanied by a liquid the temperature of a melting ice-cap. And then I thought about Mary's words of wisdom when lovingly but firmly counseled her son by saying, "Kit, if you leave the milk out, nobody will ever love you."

They leave the milk out all day here. At breakfast they heat it up, and it's temperature at other times just depends on the temperature of the environment and also how long it's been since breafst time. Then I slurpped up some more soggy cake bits and thought about whether or not this whole Brazil thing might end up effecting me after all.

I Laughed, I Cried...

2008-10-05T15:21:00.002-07:00

She's shy. Shy, shy, shy. Otherwise I would fill my blog with her Brazilian-Japanese face, smashing into the music scene on a stage near you. She does Hannah Montana, Slim Shady and themes from Titanic too, the girl is brilliant. Her name is Isabelle, and don't you forget it if you want to be able to say, "I've been rocking to Isabelle since before she could pronounce the word stardom." Camille is her sister at the beggining, also very saucy. She says, "And now, Isabelle will sing "Smack That" for you." And then she points at the crowd (me)--I could eat them for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Ochre Is The New Black.

2008-10-03T14:18:00.000-07:00

I changed my blog to Ochre.
For why?
Cuz Ochre is hip.

It's Like When Someone Says The Word "Anvil."

2008-10-03T13:45:00.000-07:00

And you think, "Yeah I'm pretty sure I know what anvil means."
And everyone around you is watching to see if you stop the conversation and ask what "anvil" means. And you're feverishly trying to conjure up the definition for "anvil" glaring and daring the others to challenge you.

As if they know what it means.

This is where I'm at on the language front.

Every word that people say in Portuguese, I feel I've heard before. But in a dream where there were other things to distract me, like green fog and Russian dancers and now I can't exactly recall the definition. It's also like someone is finger painting on my face: They're only an arms' length away and the emotions are coming through loud and clear, but I can't actually see the painting, so I'm just watching their face, getting more and more nervous, wondering what they could possibly be so passionate about and feeling a little bit physically abused and then they stand back and say,

"Well, what do you think?"

And I'm like,

"How am I supposed to respond to that?"

These are pictures from a Gay Parade that I bumped into. Note: the one wearing pants is the only one who is really a girl.

Anvil: a heavy block of iron or steel on which hot metals are shaped by hammering.

But then, you probably already knew that.

The Caveman Next Door

2008-09-28T17:00:00.000-07:00

Also, my dad brought home the bacon, the bacon of a 5-point elk, which he speared with a candy-cane that had been sucked to a fine-point over the course of four or five hours and which he threw with precision into the vulnerable spot (approximately the diameter of a gypsy's tear drop) in the left cranial cavity of the elk, precisely in between the two brain-regions where these beasts store their pet peeves and their memories of home. Give him a pat on the back if you see him. But you probably won't see him because he's still wearing camo under the encouragement of his family and friends. That's how proud of him we are.

I love you Dad.

Bananas and Cheese in a Deep Fried Shell the Size of Your Head and the Heads of Your Friends, Depending on How Popular You Are. One Size Fits Most.

2008-09-28T15:56:00.000-07:00

This week I went to Juiz de Fora to meet the other exchange students in my district. There are seven of them, and...there was not a lot of Portuguese spoken. Most of them have been here for about two months and all of us are at various stages of not-speaking-Portuguese-at-all. Which really surprised me. My problem is my adjective defiecit. I just know "interesting" and "different." But you would be surprised by how many things you can describe with just the two. It is not the worst of the linguistic cancers that torment the group.

The Belgian and the German (in the blue and the green) are standing as far away from eachother as possible. There was a lot of western-europe competition going on. The rest of us (from, Canada, The Philipines, New Zealand, Denmark and Mexcio) are scattered in between.

Cultural immersion? Who needs it? Daphne and I is who. Thats us in the front, eating border-nuetral ice-cream. Thats the rest of them in the back, eating McDonald's.

We all cooked together, one plate from every country. Canada and I made pancakes, to demonstrate the unity of our great nations. It would have been more of a statement had the pancakes worked out better. But there were raw chicken parts around creating a bad atmosphere so they sort of failed to thrive. We just deep-fried them in the end, because things that are deep-fried are inherently likeable. And so are bananas.

(This is Signe, of Denmark, looking really unhappy about the state of her Danish rice-pudding. She just ended up adding tons of butter to make it tasty, which had the same effect as the deep-frying.)

(We love culture and pork parts--Phillipino cuisine.)

(Surely if you all lie in a circle you will be cute...the big frog said to the little frogs...in Portuguese. And so we resisted by making terrible facial expressions.)

We also went and saw Mama Mia together.
Note to Eva Asplund:
I CRIED TOO. Not really, my nose just stung. But I was still taken completely off-guard. "Dancing Queen" came on and they started prancing down the dock and there I was, completely swamped with emotion. I don't know if it was because of your non-proximity or because of the profundity of ABBA, or because of the divinity of Greek fashion or because of the eternity of youth. Could be a number of things.

Barbacena is Flooding.

2008-09-28T15:39:00.000-07:00

"It's just rain, we get a lot of it here."

"That's what the people of Atlantis thought too."

Holy crap dear reader. TORRENTIAL DOWNPOUR. You know how the Eskimos have 37,000 words for snow because of the environment they live in? Well, the Brazilians have 37,000 words for rain due to their environment as well. Or they should. I don't know yet because I don't speak good enough Portuguese. I have a functioning vocabulary of about 13 words--but boy do they function.

I thought our car was going to slide down the hill, that the current would lift the wheels off the ground and sweet up into the gutter with the candy wrappers and empty spray-paint bottles.

(view from the bus window--a mean, nasty bugger, clinging to the palm trees)

Water is just in the air here all the time. Like on the way home from Juiz de Fora, we drove for and hour through a cloud. Everything around me was white. It was very ominous. But then I remembered that Bill Bryson taught me that an average cumulous cloud only contains about a bath-tub's worth of water and I looked out the window and sneered, "what are you gonna do, wash me?" Thank goodness for good literature.

SPEAKING OF WHICH.
I'm reading "A Brief History of Time" in Portuguese. Cocky? I think so. I also went to listen to Cimino give a talk about the conection between the body and the soul at the Academy of Philosophy yesterday. I spent most of the time thinking about paper machê. I didn't want to redirect my thoughts in case I was receiving divine inspiration. But there are only so many good conclusions that you can come to involving paper machê. And Plato arrived at all of them long ago.

2008-09-21T04:52:00.000-07:00

One month on Alien planet today folks. Thats 31 days, the numer of grains of rice that fit in a teaspoon. Times when I think about my family and friends:
1. When I am stuck in my shower, a chic contraption with a heavy sliding glass door who's handle often falls off from the OUTSIDE. Slippery.
2. When the people at school ask me what my highlighter says and I try to explain that, "Oh it's a drug company...you see my mom...they come to her office and they give her post-it notes and chocolate-covered strawberries and highlighters."
3. When people ask me if my house was damaged by the hurricane (and during the brief moment of panic that I experience before remembering that I'm from Utah).
4. During every single period of school, here are some excerpts summarizing America's presence in each material:
Chemistry, "And now we're going to look at where America stands in the field of alternative fuels! And then after we'll do a case study on DDT to look at how chemistry can be used the wrong way, get out your highlighters people."
Portuguese, "Today we are going to learn about the argumentative writing by studying an editorial about Bush's presidency."
History, "Now we are going to study the Imerialism of North America."
Physics, "The USA, for example, makes up 5% of the world's population and accounts for 23% of the energy consumed world-wide. So don't blow dry your hair and have a good weekend. Oh also, the reason that none of our physics symbols make sense is because they all stand for something in English...class dismissed."

My one emotional teddy-bear is that we got rid of slavery before they did. And that we claim Miley Cyrus.

And here is another list, Where the Brazilians brazenly mix sweet and savory:
1. On bread: think pesto, cheese and blackberry jam all on one slice
2. In casseroles: Line the bottom of the dish with carmelized bananas and then and then and then (!) cover them in tomato sauce, whipping cream and oregano.
3. Fruit: Here are the exact proportions of the avocado thing if you want to try it out: half of an avocado (but they're about the size of an infant's head here), maybe half of a cup of whole milk (whatever temperature it happens to be-I like it warm, think green oatmeal) and two tablespoons of honey. Mash.
4. Baked goods: Chocolate cake with cheese in the batter. Not cream cheese, just cheese straight up, the rough-an'-tumble grated sort. And then strawberry jam on Pão de Queijo (Bread of CHEESE)

Looks Like a Flying Saucer, Tastes Like A Cheeto.

2008-09-18T11:56:00.000-07:00

Dictionary.com just sent me this as the word of the day:

tintinnabulation \tin-tih-nab-yuh-LAY-shuhn\, noun: A tinkling sound, as of a bell or bells.

I'm terminating our relationship immediately, as I do with all of my relationships that are no longer feeding me worthy information--watch your backs people. Brazil! It's going well. The weather here is absurd, which is why I haven't been writing very much, most of the time it's too cold to sit at the computer, extremeties exposed, typing takes more blood flow than you might think. In fact, yesterday I spent most of my time weaving a covering out of the tanktops that I had brought for the warm climate and then studying inside my little cocoon, waiting to be metamorphisised into something more resilient to the cold. Now I have to go take a shower, which unfortunately won't do good things for my body temperature either. What with the air being composed of almost the same amount of hydrogen as the water here, it takes a very long time to dry off. After showering, it's usually a good day-and-a-half before you can really call your hair "dry," but usually what happens is you miss that 15-minute threshold because you're watching the simpsons in Portguese, and when the commercial break is over, your hair has moved on to being greasy, which is how it will remain until you decide to wash it again. Or until it rains, which it does pretty frequently and in laughable volumes. I thought that the heavens were kidding me. It rains so hard. I was walking home from my first piano lesson yesterday, watching my sheet music slowly leak into Arabic script, and some thunder happened (cracked? what is the correct verb here?). I screamed, it was so startling. You've never heard thunder this loud in your life. And a single lraindrop, when it lands on your jeans, makes a wet spot the size of a walnut.

It's a terrifying climate. Luckily, I returned home to a smoothie, made out of avocados, bananas, and apples. AVOCADOS. They eat them sweet here. Mashed up with a fork and mixed with milk and honey. Try it, you will not only feel like you are abandoning your true self and everything you've been taught, but also that you are leaving it all for something better! Leaving to a world where green liquids don't strive to be homogenous and where smoothies turn brown as you're drinking them. It's all good in the Southern Hemisphere.

Oh also, saw a religious procession. The local saint had a day, and none of us had to go to school. So to return the favor, we watched her ride by on the back of a VW bus. She had a big plastic sheet over her though, because it was raining.

Eat It And Weep.

2008-09-15T07:14:00.000-07:00

Psyche. This is not a picture from Brazil, and this is not a Blog post for you, it´s for Taylor and Little D. But you guys can read it anyway.

I´ll just open by saying that I did my very best. I spent the weekend in Juiz de Fora, which is a big city close by where my host family has an apartment so I said to myself, "the time is now." Which was certainly true. I felt to sheepish to ask for directions to a McDonald´s, so I just walked around and, in the third hour, found a McDonald´s ice-cream stand and followed my lead from there. The person told me that there was a McDonald´s with food, but that it was on the edge of the city by the university, and that I would have to take a bus. So I started walking. Since all she told me was the bus route, I just headed the direction that she had been waving her hands and I arrived, with clouds parting and cherubs singing, at McDonalds, almost 4 hours later. I never would have made it had it not been for the creepy man who started following me, motivating me to move faster and reach my destination before nightfall. I know that city much better than anyone who has ever been there, or who lives there, only it´s patron saint knows it better than I do. Like I should have anticipated, McDonald´s is a respectable eating-place here, and I actually felt underdressed as I walked in and the couple (means two people) in line in front of me dropped 73.00R.

And now I will just get right to it. The pie was banana, the ice cream came in a cone and had to be dumped into a cup, they haven´t had caramel in this region since the bees of the Amazon stopped producing it, and the tab was 4.25R. But it was enough calories to walk me home and I thought about you two the whole way. Except for when I saw a snake on the road and I thought about how sad it would be to die in the outfit I was wearing.

And Then I Tried To Add Protein Powder...

2008-09-10T12:53:00.000-07:00

I did my first abominable thing as an exchange student today and took the rest of the milk. There were probably two, maybe three, tablespoons left and I took them all becuase I was in a granola mood. And then, lo and behold, the bad-Karma fairy had nothing else to keep her busy and cursed me, right then-and-there-on-the-spot with the worst case of cereal-mood ever. I had to have cereal, and those three tablespoons of milk just did not do the trick. SO. Right after my first abominable act as an exchange student I commited my first abominable act as a human being and tried to eat cereal with water. Because. BECAUSE. Just listen please. People are always saying, "skim milk is just white water." and I say, "I think it´s the elixer of life." and the conversation ends there. But since I was so desperate, I decided to try it out. But the moment I poured the water on I wanted to punch myself in the face, and I knew that both of my sisters would have done so, had they been there. It was really a low point for me. But instead of just punching myself like I wanted to, I punched myself and ate it.

And now I offer up my cyber-hand for you all to slap.

I did make these cupcakes a couple days ago so that´s kind of--
cool?
They didn´t have red food-coloring so I used strawberries, and that substitution, if you were interested, went really well. I´m not saying it justifies what I did with the cereal, I´m just saying, you can see why my head was in the clouds.

Hell Yes.

2008-09-10T12:06:00.000-07:00

http://blog.wired.com/wiredscience/2008/09/first-beam-circ.html

I´ve been pacing around my room for 15 minutes in a flurry of excitement--I wish I had a pedometer.

Home-made Pasta And A Heart-Breaking Story

2008-09-06T13:50:00.000-07:00

Every once and a while life just blows you away. I expected to stumble upon natural beauty here in Brazil, but such a spectacle as this I never hoped to see in all my time on this planet. I was just sitting in my room when out of the corner of my eye I saw a spot of black. Upon closer inspection, I saw that the spot of black was acutally two ants, one healthy, the other badly hurt. The healthy one was carrying the wounded soldier across my green expanse of carpet, back home to nurture him out of post-traumatic-stress-disorder, the kind of disease that can totally ruin a brain the size of an ant's. It was so beautiful that I had to take a picture, and if I knew how to create an email forward that would really curse the people who didn´t send it on, I would.

By that same token, the kindess among the bugs of Brazil is as un-evenly distributed as the wealth in the human population. That is to say, this touching tale can be combatted by another which is as follows: There are bugs in my room. Nasty ones that bite me on the face while I sleep. At first I thought my body had just decided that now was the time to get acne, and then I realized that these new red bumps itched and were present everywhere that was not covered by a blanket while I slept. Like my knuckles. And then I started to hear them in the night. I would wake up to crazy scary buzzing that would get louder and louder and then go away, like the Jumanjii soundtrack. Absolutely terrifying. At first I thought I was hallucinating, that no bug besides one created by a deranged mind, could be that loud. And when I finally realized what was going on I was too tired to do anything about it so I just swaddled myself in my blanket and tried to enjoy the feeling of my breath condensating and rolling down my cheeks. My cheeks which are now studded with bug-bites. Tonight though, since I don´t have school tomorrow, I´m sitting up in bed with a fly swatter, (and also a baseball bat since I´m still not sure what kind of enemy I´m dealing with) and finding the demons.

But the pasta.

Cimino and I are sort of huge Jamie Oliver fans. There isn't much else to say really. We had an enormous lunch today though, including Japanese/Brazilian (i.e. very attractive) and other assorted relatives, this pasta, and a cake that was drowning in sweetened-condensed milk. But drowning in the sense that it was whistling and writing limericks on the way down--a very happy sort of drowning. There were stawberries too. And we didn't eat the relatives. I just re-read that paragraph and the grammar is off.

The Story of The Three Breads.

2008-09-04T15:10:00.000-07:00

It was a hot and sunny day in Brabacena, like all of the days in Barbacena, when Valerie and I looked at eachother and, with out special non-verbal communication, agreed to teach and be taught, respectively, to cook something Brazilian. We had to try three times before finally tasting success (it was kind of like cheesy cornbread), but the journey was well worth it. Here are the Pictures of Valerie and I attempting to make "Pão de Queijo," a specialty of Minas Gerais. Warning: Like 45 eggs were harmed in the making and taking of these photos.

"There may only be one of me, but if dropped from an altitude of 15 feet, I could penetrate your skull."

Round 1: Incredibly hard, and dense. Holds up well under temperature and pressure changes, strong gales, and fervent chewing.

"I´m not slouching, this is just how tall I am"

2: Demonstrates and uncommon level of elasticity for a baked-good. Could chew for hours if bored. Would also be fun with cookie cutters.

"We are so cute that you don´t even need a blur-free image to want to lick us."

Round 3: Light, fluffy and, what´s this?, hollow inside! A burst of warm cheesy air to clear your sinuses guaranteed.

Popsicles and Popcorn.

2008-09-04T11:43:00.000-07:00

I have had two visions. One is more pertinent than the other but both I will divulge. The first was that my uncle (Troy if you ever read this, this isn´t the only dream I´ve had about you). became the CEO of SeaWorld and got me a job there as a dolphin trainer along with many other perks. The second was that everyone in the world was asleep AT THE SAME TIME. And all of us, had never been happier. I´ve already gotten to work making both dreams a reality, but any assistance that any of you can give would be great. Brazil (I´m going to start intermittently calling in Brasil so that you guys can all learn a little Portuguese with me):

The issue of my not understanding Portuguese grammar is so complex and multifaceted. I haven´t even come close to reachign the full depths of this well of dispair, but I am sure that when I do, it will be apbrupt and I will smack my head on the bottom. It can be likened unto a tiered cake, with three layers of succulent suckiness and one of frosting:
1. I don´t know what the teacher is saying
2. I can´t read the teacher´s handwriting
3. I wouldn´t know the words in English if I could decipher them in Portuguese, and anyway, to me all of the terms sound like fine cheeses.
4. I wouldn´t know how to apply the terms in English and use that as a cross-reference
5. I don´t know the rules of Portuguese grammar.
6. I don´t understand why any of it matters. (This is the candle embedded in the frosting that everybody wants to eat until the reallize that the wax is still very, very hot.)

(I have exactly on year to develop a picture smile.)

(The girl next to me is demonstrating the Brazilian trend of cutting up shirts and then wearing them.)

Soccer games are fun though. I´ve been to four since I´ve been here. The school is competing in a bloodthirsty tournament right now. The first game was the most engaging, because the star player scored a goal and immediately after started running around the field, with his hands in the shape of a heart, screaming "Mackenzie," which he also had painted on a shirt underneath his jersey. I smiled and waved. I had met him earlier that day, and he had told me his plans to show his devotion then, but I didn´t really understand what he was saying so I just gave him a thumbs-up. We´re better at communicating now. That is actually him, on my immediate left, looking up and pondering the world. He was in the audience this time because he got disqualified because of his behavior at the last game. It´s a bit of a stressful crowd, and a hard one to get a picture of because there is a lot of screaming and jumping and dancing to be done, but a good time is had by all. Everyone is very, very agreeable. Last night for isntance, about 25 people walked me home, which is all the way across the city, and then back to their respective houses which are really close the the soccer field. They also see popcorn on the streets here and you pour sweetened-condensed milk on top of it. Good idea? I think so.

You Try Googling, "Metanoato de Metila," See How it Goes. Use Dial-up Too...

2008-09-03T14:07:00.000-07:00

I found two great quotes, one while I was researching organic chemistry for class, and the other when I got distracted by the tantalizing history of rubber erasers. I will post something real soon, I´m just a bit busy.

Buckminsterfullerenes, also known as Buckyballs...

It makes me laugh everytime I read it. I´ve read it twice now.

On April 15, 1770, Joseph Priestley described a vegetable gum which had the ability to rub out pencil marks: "I have seen a substance excellently adapted to the purpose of wiping from paper the mark of black lead pencil." He dubbed the substance "rubber". ^{He just sounds so stoked you know? And everything was charming in 1770. It is really my era of choice.}

School.

2008-09-01T10:22:00.000-07:00

The prettiest building in Barbacena. Around since 1895, the school administrators have long since trained the fluffy clouds to stay in the exact position for the duration of the school day.

Hall monitor, hate that guy.

Chapel.

Where the students do all of their bathing.

This entry way is paved with a little piece of every students´forearm skin, which they take just after you sign up for classes. You can see what a diverse environment it is.

Advertisement for the new Kindergarten Program.

Just one of the professors. Arriving a few minutes late but making up for it in style points.

College of Immaculate Conception. Lovingly nicknamed, "Imaculada"

I Finally Remembered to Take Pictures of my Uniform.

2008-09-01T09:48:00.000-07:00

I ate an enormous amount yesterday. Everyone in Brazil goes out for lunch on Sundays, because none of the maids work. So we went to this restaurant that was a mix between Tucanos, Whole Foods and Chuck-a-rama. I know right, what could be better? You just stood in a line and served yourself whatever you wanted while the men working the grill threw Chorizo and (in my case) flaming balls of Mozerella your way. And then at the end you weighed it. The only problem with self service is that you rarely know exactly what you´re eating and, me being a vegetarian and this being Brazil, there could very well be flank steak in your fruit salad or a pork sausage masquerading as a carmelized banana. But we all have our crosses to bear.

I don´t know the people in the second uniform picture, they just came up to me and asked if they could take a picture of me. I felt awkward because I was a good foot taller than the rest of them. People ask me for my autograph a lot. That statement is, unfortunately, not a joke. I also get requests to draw little flowers on people´s notebooks. Actually the first uniform picture is the notebook crew, my drawings appeal to a younger audience. The third uniform picture is of bits and pieces of my people--the ones that pretend to love me for more than just my Americanism.

I figured out what had been going ON in school today. Get this: the Brazilians use periods instead of commas and commas instead of periods when dealing with mathematics (the subject where you definitely don´t want to be toyed with). So all this time when I thought I had 2,365 to work with, i really only had 2.365. They also only have 23 letters in their alphabet. I´m gathering info as we speak on what kind of damage that does to their alphabet song.

The picture in the mirror is of us entertaining ourselves in the mall while it rained outside. Why didn´t we just walk home you ask? Pray tell? Okay, so one of the girls was not allowed to walk in the rain because of her mother´s fear of lightening. It was awesome.

Oh yeah, Juno goes tropical. It reads, "A film that will change the way you see life."

Fried Eggs Solve All

2008-08-31T08:11:00.000-07:00

On Friday night, as I was getting ready to go to a soccer tournament between all the schools in Barbacena, an intervention was staged. Cimino came up to my room, knocked on my door and launched into a very sober speech beginning and ending with the phrase, "Anorexia e´uma coisa grava." Or, "anorexia is a grave thing." And then he marched me downstairs, where the maid was waiting over a hot frying pan, and made me watch as she poured half of a cup of oil into the pan and cracked and egg inside. The egg slurped up the oil and I, in due course, slurped up the egg. But not before the egg was accompanied by two slices of cheese filled bread, also fried, and a piece of chocolate cake. And not before all of these things, accompanied by my host family and the maid, were arranged around me and I was told to, "Eat everything if I wanted to go to my soccer game."

This is what I was thinking: This is a lot of parenting in one week. But there were people waiting for me at the game, so I ate. And while I did Cimino told me about Anemia, a disease which is absolutely no news to me, but I let him explain its intricacies just for their linguistic value. At the end of his explanation he pulled a bottle of coke out of the fridge and I said, "No thanks, I’ll just have water." and he said, "No, this is for the anemia" and I’m thinking, "If coke was the cure to anemia I think I would have heard about it by now." But then he got out a bowl and poured the coke, which (it became apparent) was not coke at all because it had about 70 times the viscosity, into it. I wanted to cry. Then he got out a wheel of cheese, cut off a wedge, submerged it in the black liquid, and slid it over to me.

I still don’t know what it was, I tried Googling, "black, cane sugar, syrup, Brazil" but all I could find was information on Biofuels, I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what it was. All I know is that it was somehow related to sugar cane, the evil cousin maybe, and it was very high in iron. Cimino watched me eat it (look at it, lick the spoon) and told me an anecdote about an old woman in his town who had eaten this mixture everyday and lived to be one hundred and five years old. I had been looking down at my bowl, making up a dialogue between the floating cheese and the stuff trying to drown it despite its obvious buoyancy. But when he finished his story I looked up and said, "I don’t want to be one hundred and five--ever" and then, to be polite, I added, "do you?"

This isn’t a new thing. The Anemia especially has been happening all my life. I’ve had it up to here with all of you who have at some point diagnosed me with anemia. For those of you that haven’t, it’s basically a disease that makes you weak, and pale. It is like calling someone a wimp and pretending that the whole medical community is behind you. And getting it from the Brazilians is an especial slap in the face because, I don’t need a legitimate medical diagnosis from Cimino and his olive-toned army to understand that everyone in my immediate vicinity looks like they were dunked in honey-colored glaze. Note the freckles people. I´m not sick.

Rotary Meeting.

2008-08-28T17:19:00.000-07:00

My new crew.

The Place Where My Soap Lives.

2008-08-28T11:52:00.000-07:00

Brazilians are just so accommodating. And this is a perfect example of that. We all think of soap as this impenetrable thing. We expect it to live in an incredibly humid environment with (usually at least three) white walls, all alone, and at the same time bear no feelings of resentmen toward us and certainly never, ever, make us slip and endure some kind of terrible head injury. Really, we are the ones who should be making sure that our bars of soap endure no head injuries. And the Brazilians do just that. Pictured is the half-open door to the kind of getaway that every Dove-bar dreams of. It’s just a little nook in the side of my shower, but it protects my soap from drastic temperature and lighting changes, and you can really tell. I’ve been here for a week and my soap doesn’t look a day older than a day old.

This Brazilian courteousness permeates everything. Including me. Because I have made friends here. Obvioiusly, they are not my old friends, but they are pretty rad and I now realize that if they were my old friends, I would be screwed. Because, awesome people though we may be (us Utahns), we do not kiss strangers or invite them to barbeques or teach them how to play volley ball or untangle their Ipod headphones for them. We just don’t. Brazil is different than America, it turns out. Today the students in my class presented their end-of-term projects for their Portuguese class. From what I can piece together they were visual accompaniments (slideshows) to songs about the world’s problems. It was a very confusing time for me, there were lyrics (Portuguese) blaring accompanied by pictures (huge) of starving people (not huge) and skulls, and then of George Bush. Everyone did a slideshow. Some of them were really disturbing, and they all had pictures of Bush. I tried out a different facial expression every time he appeared on the screen, the first said, "I had nothing to do with it" and the second said, "I’m really sorry" and the third said, "Why is that guy in here? He looks healthy." I feel like there should be some deep thoughts, some poetry in motion here, but I haven`t got anything to give you.

It´s a very exciting time to be an American abroad.

I`ve also been working my way through this newspaper, with an entire issue devoted to the American election. It’s a more comprehensive summary of our political system than any I’ve ever seen. Unfortunately it´s in Portuguese so my understanding is still a little muddled though. The headline though, directly translated says, "Everybody Wants to Not be Bush."

I got hungry today! But, being the squabbling, preoccupied, narrow-minded little filth that I am I got excited and ate an apple. In retrospect, I don’t even know if it was "real hunger," a feeling so foreign to me these days that we’re not even on a first name basis. My school gets out at twelve, and today Cimino packed me two apples, a banana, and a grilled cheese sandwich to eat for a snack at school. Our break is at 9:30 in the morning, so between breakfast and lunch (which was hardboiled eggs with curried apples, carrot soufflé, eggplant lasagna, fried cheese balls, mango smoothies, beans and rice) I was supposed to eat all of the aforementioned items. The man is crazy. But anyway, the bananas here are delicious. I’m going to play dead at dinner-time. I’ll tell you how it goes.

Is that Mayonaise?

2008-08-26T15:50:00.001-07:00

My school is a baby-blue castle, but instead of turrets, there are small painted statues of Mary and Jesus standing atop its regal roof at intervals of about 15 feet. I keep forgetting to take pictures of it, and of me in my uniform, but here are some of my friends, and the incredible foodstuff that we ate today. School is nigh-on impossible cirriculum-wise, but luckily, it is social bliss. I`m taking Chemistry, Physics one, Physics two, Mathematics one, Mathematics two, Biology, History, Geography, Portuguese, Religion, and English. These people spend too much time studying and not enough time thinking of creative names for their classes. Granted, I didn`t pu in any of the accents which makes it more fun. The people are pretty rad though, today we spent about a half of and hour trying to figure out what the Portuguese word for "gangster" was. We figured it out, but not before I did some rather (I thought) embarrassing but (they thought) fantastic hand-actions. The word, in the end it was "gangster," and if that doesnt give you a clue about Portuguese pronunciation I don`t know what will. So that picture is a shout-out to that whole fiasco. But, school is hard. On the downside, even if I knew the material, I wouldn`t be able to translate it, understand what the teachers were saying, or read their handwriting. On the upside, I can get people to stop congregating around me, offering me chocolate wafers, touching my hair, and refilling my pencils with lead. And when all that goes away, there is a very nice courtyard. My favorite teacher is that of physics, but he speaks really fast and i feel like a nap afte three minutes of talking to him. We had a very un-eloquent, as you can imagine, conversation about Stephen Hawking even. My first day in his class he grilled me in Portuguese about where I was from and what it was like, and by the end, when he asked me how big my city was, I was so mentally exhausted that I held my hands about two feet apart and held them up. Brazilians laugh easily. I love them all. The second picture is of this monstrosity of a pile of french-fries. We went to a pizza place to, I though, get pizza. But no, no, no, you-silly-American-girl-who-we-get-a-laugh-out-of-but-cannot-tolerate-the-crazy-assumtions-of, we are here to get french fries. This is how it went: A girl who I call "Hi" because, well, just because that is what I say everytime I see her, said to me, "Do you like potatoes?" As I sat, trying to think of how to say, "Is the pope Catholic?" in Portuguese, the fries are ordered and arrived (at this point I`m thinking a pizza with potatoes on it). But no, they come on a sizzling metal slab, so hot that fries are flying due to the boiling cheese beneath them, there are two different colors of something that appears to be silly string, strewn about the top of the mound and cheese coming out the sides. They handed me a fork and left me to my dismay while they poured on ketchup. And then we ate it. Oh yeah there was bacon. P.S. Anyone who has been introduced to Newton`s binomial, degrees of freedom, the triangle of pascal, a matrix, or factorials, feel free to contaact me by email. Anyone who loves me, feel free to contact me by email.

Oh and those aren`t my glasses. I try to blend in. But they call me chic a lot. Which they pronounce "chic-ee," so I`m fine with it.

I Want It.

2008-08-25T16:15:00.000-07:00

I saw someone with the most beautiful skin in the world yesterday. I would have shrieked with delight, but I was in a Cathedral, and already pretty out of place, so I just squirmed. It was like ebony silk though. Unfortunately, there wasn`t very much of it. It was being paraded around on the back of a very small person, and it looked like barely enough to cover her, otherwise I would have asked for a scrap to put between my eyes or something. The cathedral here is beautiful, but not as beautiful as my school, which I went to today and will write about tomorrow. The area that the church is called "The square of the monkeys," I will update you all on the acuracy of that statement as soon as possible. I swear it. It gets dark here at 5:30. The things they deal with in the second world--incredible.

Its This Underground Band, Im Sure You Havent Heard Of Them, Theyre Called "Sum 41"...

2008-08-23T13:46:00.000-07:00

My brother, William, arrived from Juiz de Fora yesterday. He goes to school there, and two hours away and lives by himself in an apartment, to learn independence. He comes home every two weeks. Its sort of like giving your kids allowance but different. 23 minutes (thanks for the watch mom) after I met him we were singing "Linkin Park" and walking down the streets of Barbacena. He has a minor Avril Lavigne fetish and really likes cake, both things I can sympathise with. After we picked him up from the bus station we went and bought my uniform, and event which transformed pretty quickly into something straight out of "My Big Fat Greek Wedding," with store attendents, relatives that had just seen us in the shop window, strangers who had heard the commotion and William and Marli, all shouting their input as I strutted around the store in garmets embroidered with the words, "College of Immaculate Conception." After I (we) finally decided on the sizes, we followed the whole flock down a block into a luggage store to help someone I had never met negotiate the price of a suitcase. Barbacena has a lot of hills. Also.

2008-08-22T19:21:00.000-07:00

The view from my window.
Where all the eating takes place.
The Parentals, Marli and Cimino.
My very own hallway.

Tastes Like Chicken

2008-08-22T19:16:00.000-07:00

Oh, so today I was saying something to Marli. And concentrating hard. Because it was in Portuguese. And she sarted laughing, and I said "what?" and she said, "You have a beautiful nose"

The Princess and Her Castle

2008-08-22T11:31:00.000-07:00

I cannot eat anymore. Just when I recover from a meal--and by recover I dont mean get hungry, I mean become able to stand and smile--I am fed again. Yesterday I almost died, my mom thinks it was food-poisoning but it might have been just sheer calorie overload. Watch this:

When I got to the airport I was greeted by Cimino (the Dad), his brother Luiz, and the moms sister Angelica. They all look like names that you should be able to say, right? Wrong. The first thing they asked me was if I was hungry, I gave them a firm no, because a firm no was all I knew how to say, and also because I wasnt hungry.

So, naturally, we stopped at mall in Belo Horizonte to eat. Cimino led the way to a counter with bowls of ingredients and a man who snapped to attention when Cimino began to instruct him, throwing ingredients into a wok. It was some kind of make-you-own-pasta place. Cimino kept looking at me, reading my face to find the various vegetables and spices that I would need. At one point he said, "Spaghetti?" Frightened by the sudden reposibility, I shot him a look of sheer terror, so he turned to the man and said, "Ravioli." That was the point at which I realized I was going to be expected to all of the pasta-a portion so big that I had assumed it was for everyone-by myself. I cant even decribe how intense of an experience this was. I was eating as fast as I could from the outset, but in what seemed like two minutes (but could have been even less) all three of the adults were done eating and I had finished maybe three noodles. So they watched me eat. Saying nothing, and doing nothing except filling my juice glass.

The men went to get coffee, and Angelica and I wandered around the mall. After a couple of minutes she turned to me and, looking me straight in the eye said, "Do you want to swim with the fishes?" and Im thinking, "In a Brazillian shopping center? Why yes, I would love nothing more." So, to simplify that sentiment I turned to her and, with the same intensity said, "Sim."
As my excitement escalated, she took me by the hand and led me to McDonalds, where she got me an ice-cream cone. I wanted to cry, but instead I stuck out my tounge and rubbed the ice-cream all over it, which was the closest I could come to eating at that point. I still dont know how I got swimming with the fishes and getting and ice-cream mixed up, but it was one of the biggest mistakes of my life.

Minas Gerais, the name of the state, means "General Mines" in Portuguese. This area is the worlds largest exporter of iron. I thought I was coming from the land of red rocks, but the dirt here puts our pale, dare-I-say-salmon-colored-stones to shame. The ground is just so red, and all the cars and the street signs are by association. It made me feel sheepish about the "Red Rocks of Utah" coffee-table book I brought the family, like perhaps the colors that looked vibrant to me would just look black-and-white to them. Angelica and I talked about trees on the way home, its my best subject in Portuguese. I practically sound like a native. Except when I try to say "eucalyptus."

Anyway, a mining landscape means hills and mining tucks mean potholes, combined with the incredible speed of our car...I got really sick. My organs were tearing each other apart. As we climbed and plunged, what I had eaten, began eating me. I wanted to scream the whole way home. But instead, I turned a pale shade of green and calmly endured the 5 hour car ride. When we arrived at the house I kissed Marli, the mother of the family, promptly ran upstairs, and wretched. The above is a picture of me brushing my teeth afterward. When I went back downstairs, Cimino was making lasagne, which we ate about 20 minutes later.

So the eating has been hard but the environment is extremely pleasant. The house is beautiful. Its like a hotel (including the pillow-mint aspect) but the furniture is older. I have the whole upstairs to myself(save for a golden cherub that lives on the wall outside my door), including but not limited to my own room and bathroom which are both impecably orginized and wont stay that way for long, so Im trying to post pictures now.

There is also a good deal of closet space. I love you all. Thanks for commenting.

Reading launguage books at 600mph: Cramming in the modern era.

2008-08-21T20:55:00.000-07:00

For everyone who wanted to know, and for those who didnt so that they can get in on a bit of the suffering as well, the total travel time ended up being 35 hours, door to door. But Im here now, in Barbacena with most of my wits about me though I am unable to locate the apostrophe key. Deep sigh.

Flight number one, Salt Lake to Dallas:
Sat next to two musicians from Miami. They commented on my accordion, I commented on their violin and guitar and we all sat, rubbing the places on our shoulders where the straps of our cases hit while we talked about the wildlife in Miami vs. Utah. Apparently manatees are not an everyday sighting in Florida, especially the urban areas. I had imagined them as not unlike the quail population in Provo, constantly underfoot and scurrying around--minus the scurrying. Anyway, I was having a hard time concentrating on the conversation because:
1. There was a flight attendant with legs so long that her waist was at my eye level, me being in a seated position, her head was not far above that. And I was wondering what she would do if i lost it, right here on the tarmac, and started screaming at her pelvis to let me off the plane.
2. I was leaving Utah, and apparently looking a bit too wistfully out the window because male Miami musician said, "Are you from Salt Lake?" and I said, "No, Im from Provo," in the apologetic tone that I always pair with that phrase. But apparently, you only have to apologize for Provo in Provo, because he just sort of looked confused and said, "Is that bad?" and I said "No, Its the most beautiful place in the world" and he said, "Beauty makes me sad sometimes too"
And I looked at the ground real-meaningful-like, as though the thoughts I was having were eloquent enough to be a song. But what I was really thinking was, "My that is a lot of Salt." And that was the last thing I thought in Utah.

Flight number two, Dallas to Sao Paulo:

When I got off the plane in Dallas I thought I might be drowning because the air tasted distinctly like water, but everyone else seemed to be doing fine (except a woman caught in the door of the Skylink train-who I helped) so I resumed breathing.
I was the only one who walked on the escalators in all of Texas.
I had a four-hour layover. You wouldnt think it would be that hard to entertain yourself in a airport the size of Manhattan, but when youre toting an accordion, a laptop case with a broken strap and a navy blazer shedding pins like a cat in the spring-time, you lose some of your freedom to discreetly look at magazines.
So I just went to the gate D23 where, what do you know, every single person was speaking Portuguese. I always assumed most flights were 50/50, my country always holding up their side of the bargain--not so.
The clouds were excellent on the way there. They would have been the defining experience of my life had they not been experienced by millions. Also true of the cold in New York.
I brushed my teeth a lot on that flight.

Flight number three, Sao Paulo to Bello Horizonte:

Everyone is speaking Portuguese at this point, go figure. Here is the thing about flying over Brazil, you look down and think, "what nice moss," but then you start to descend and you realize that what you are looking at is not in fact moss made of small microbes of green but that it is a forest and the little green florets are acutally 10 times the height that you could ever hope to be and more lush than you are as well.

This is way too long. And none of it is important, but I will write important things tomorrow. What this is the result of is fatigue. But get excited for the next one. Its going to be called, "The Princess and her Castle."

Title:

2008-08-07T12:20:00.000-07:00

It's funny, provided by David Christenson. And none of you had any better ideas.