Day 42: The Orthodontist.

Strobe lights and neon illuminate the inside of an orthodontist office. It is 10:00 p.m. The windows are mostly covered but an occasional laser finds the gaps and skips across the street.

This orthodontist, I discover, moonlights as a disk jockey. DJ Dentes* (pronounced "dainchs"). Braces by day, parties by night. If I ever need braces, I'm going to DJ Teeth.




*DJ Teeth, a doctor of dentistry, has no relation to Electric Mayhem frontman Dr. Teeth.

Day 41: You're Killing Me, Smalls

Last week the class discussion was on food. How do you translate "smores"? You don't. Portuguese has no word for smores and Brazil has no concept of such a food. This was to be rectified immediately, but Brazil does not have marshmallows or graham crackers.

Today, we have finally imported our exotic ingredients. We build a fire on the roof and I lecture on the two schools of mallow roasting.

Black mallow enthusiasts insist on a fully flamin mallow, whereas Brown mallow purists enjoy the art of evenly rotisserie browning their mallows. Brown mallowists have better tasting smoors, but burnt hands. Black mallowists get to play with fire.

Are you a Brown mallowist or a Black mallowist? Comment below.

Day 40: Trees

Strolling down the street I am taken by the beauty of a tree in bloom. A branch reaches well into the street, weighed down to eye level with bright orange flowers on every twig. I put my stroll on hold to admire the bouquet before me.

Two days ago I finally decided to abandon my camera. Poor timing. To go home and back for my camera would add an hour to my day. It's just one picture.

While calculating the time against value of this potential picture I realize people are staring at me. I return the favor to discover a look of distaste on their faces. What is wrong with admiring some flowers on a tree? If these savages cant appreciate natural beauty then I don't care what they think of me. I decide to go back for my camera if for nothing more than to make a statement.

Yes this may be ordinary to you, but where I come from such things are rarely seen on public streets. If only I had my camera now to defiantly make my point. I return my gaze to the tree. This time, on the other side of my picture perfect branch, I notice a scared little boy zipping up his pants next to a wet tree trunk.

Two days ago I abandoned my camera. Providential timing. I'm not going back for it. Ever. 

Observation #54: Jingles

Brazilian ice cream trucks do not play the standard weasle merigoround jingles. Instead they play K-Ci & JOJO's "All My Life"

Day 39: Grape Flavor

Artificial grape flavoring taste nothing like grapes. A side by side comparison of Grape Drink and Grape Juice demonstrates this principle well.

Today, at a fruit market, I discover grapes that taste exactly like grape flavoring.

Day 38: Photography

Waiting for food at my neighborhood Lebanese sandwich and pizzeria I discover the bathroom. Their toilet is the kind with an overhead water tank and a pull string flusher. Full of excitement, I grab my camera and run back into the bathroom.

I return to a restaurant of stares. Uncomfortable, confused, staring.

Any explanation here would be a tightrope walk. I may well insult the restaurant if I'm unable to explain exactly what I mean by "interesting". A safer, more vague approach will likely end up with me looking crazier than I already do.

Also I don't know how to say 'toilet' in Portuguese. What I can say is "I saw something interesting in your restroom. I can't remember the word for it, but its the thing you have when you go to the bathroom". This is more ambiguous in Portuguese than it is in English.

There's no salvation in this one. I take the low road. Staring? What? Who's staring? I don't see anything out of the ordinary here. I sit down and hum tunelessly to myself until food arrives. I take it to go.

Yesterday I tried to take a picture of the storage container shops at the Sao Miguel market. They thought I was an investigator. They didn't like it.

Perhaps it's time to give up on my photographical aspirations for this blog. My pictures tend to be worth negative 1000 words anyway. I could spend all day describing the size and beauty of Sao Paulo Cathedral. With a single picture I would convince you that its actually small and dull. It is not small and dull.

Day 37: São Miguel

Robert hit himself in the face with a window. His glasses didn't make it.

São Miguel market has butchers who specialize in Northern Brazilian foods, specialty barbershops, and more than one squeegee shop. Robert spends his afternoon troubling over the fashions of his prospective new glasses while I explore São Miguel. Vehicles are prohibited so the street is just one giant sidewalk. The giant sidewalk is completely clogged with portable storage containers. Most of which are chained, pad locked, and sometimes even have a human guard.

These storage containers were once shops. The police shut them down because they were ruining the aesthetic of this quaint little shopping district. Because they had a fantastic sense of humor, and nothing better to do, the container-shop keeps closed up, but kept their containers in the middle of everyone's way. Some of them are open to show off all their lovely jeans, or toys, or selection of squeegees, but if you ask to buy anything they chase you off with a stick.

Day 36: Cleaning

After work is done, I clean. Every inch of my apartment is thoroughly scrubbed. The underside of the refrigerator is scrubbed. My appliances are all dismantled and each individual piece is scrubbed before reassembly. All of my clothes, clean or not, are put to the laundry.

I mop my walls. I mop my ceiling. I douse my mattress in every toxic chemical I can find, then wrap it in plastic and put a mattress protector on it. There is no possibility that a single microscopic life form has survived anywhere in my apartment. 

Tonight seems like a good night to not sleep on the roof.

Day 35: Glasses and Guests

I wear my glasses sometimes. Today is sometimes. During lunch I notice small bumpies on the ceiling. Closer inspection reveals my ceiling and upper walls to contain forty five cocoons.

I'm ok with bugs. If they look nice I shoo them. If they look mean I shoo them with a newspaper. Cocoons are different. They're probably harmless, but they don't weight enough to fall straight. The first one I knock down flutters all over before landing. I'm not ok with the chance of "probably harmless" fluttering into my hair. As far as I'm concerned my ceiling is coated in a brood of aliens waiting to pounce.

I decide to consult the internet. I decide to consult the internet somewhere else. They look entirely different from any pictures or descriptions I find. Four hours later I have no better idea of their identity. Four hours and five minutes later I am resolved to defend my cave from the 44 remaining invaders. Armed with a broom, a bucket, a mask and a hairnet, I enter the cave.

There are five cocoons in my apartment.

Terrified.

I remove five cocoons. Perhaps tonight is a good night to camp on the roof.