WHERE THE FUCK IS WALDO?
Look out of any window, any morning, any evening, any day,
MAYBE THE SUN IS SHINING...
Haven't got time for Jack Shit nowadays, you may have noticed - haven't been blogging.
Now there's a semantic puzzle, I HAVEN'T got time for Jack Shit OR I've GOT time for Jack Shit? What it means is I'm fucking BUSY-O. Especially with reading, I'm still ploughing through Aristotle (who was, as we know, a bugger for the bottle, Emanuel Kant was a real pissant and René Descartes was a drunken fart - I Drink Therefore I AM!)
THE NIGHTS are arriving earlier down here in the South of Brazil, right now it's 18.30 and dark already and a chill in the air.
Reading Narn i Hîn Húrin for the umpth time, after 8 years or so, I've noticed a huge gap in the story; one moment he's living with Mîm the Dwarf in Bar-en-Danwedh next he's back at Dor-lómin, searching for his mum and sister. The complete text can be found in The Silmarillion, though the Unfinished Tales version is longer and more detailed, The Silmarillion version has the whole story and doesn't leave any doubts such as the killing of Beleg Strongbow.
LOTS OF harmatia and peripeteia I can extract from that to get my final paper done.
TERRIBLY EXCITING blogging tonight what?
I have to go out and drink beer.
BY ZEUS! I've been reading Aristotle and Sophocles 'till it's been coming out of me bum (not ears) (I knew I shouldn't have eaten that curried shish kebab) for I have chosen (Fanfares please) to write as my Final Paper : "The Tragedy in Tolkien", (roars from the crowd) and who is the Tragic Hero one asks? Yes, HE - Turin Turambar (my faithful readers will remember March 2004 post, If I were really smart, or could be bothered, I'd make a link right HERE, but you can just click over there --------> ).
ME AND THE GOOD LADY celebrated one year together, March 16th (which also by the way is my big bruv's birthday), in a hot tub with a bottle of Spanish bubbly, followed by hot gratuitous sex.
YOU MAY DEDUCE from the first paragraph that I'm back at PUC after an absence of half a year. Lots of reading to do this term. Apart from the stuff I'm reading for researching the final paper, obligatory reading is Edith Wharton's "The Age of Innocence", beautifully written, but excruciatingly boring descriptions of New York's "society" of the late 19th Century; there are some wonderful pie-in-the-face ironies: "...an unalterable and unquestioned law of the musical world required that the German text of French operas sung by Swedish artists should be translated into Italian for the clearer understanding of English-speaking audiences."
MY LOO has a flusch (it's a German loo) problem, there always seems to be one of Churchill's (or maybe Fidell's - but I heard he gave up years ago) favourite Havanna's floating around, reluctant to depart from this world. Just thought I'd share that with you.
DYDD GWYL DEWI HAPUS!
To everyone back in The Land of My Fathers (and my mothers and grandparents too actually), and to any of the Cymraeg ex-pats all over the world and even that bunch of Argentinian Welsh in Patagonia - Feliz Dia de Santa Davi (Okay, I can't speak Spanish, but Portuguese is close enough)
I think I'll go and drink a few beers and eat raw leek to celebrate.
I'm a Jiggly Tits Man
I THINK I ACTUALLY transformed into vegetable state today. My boy, here for a few days during carnival, has brought his TV over, a 14inch wee colour jobby, and I watched TV for hours s'afternoon, "Faustão" followed by "Fantastico" and then the Samba parades in Rio. It's taken me a while and a few beers to revert to human form.
GOT A MESSAGE below from one Rafael,for some reason I couldn't get an e-mail to you Raffa but if you send me your e-mail address I'll write something, meanwhile, and this also applies to anyone interested, if you want to know about my personal history with regards to being Welsh and the Welsh language follow the link on the right "Y Ddraig Goch Fiction", there's something I wrote a few years ago ("The Search for the Red Dragon" is not fiction).
FROM NOW ON it's Samba samba samba all the way, naked painted girls with quaking bums and jiggly tits, it's samba, and there's four or five days of continuous naked painted girls with quaking bums and jiggly tits on TV this week. I only have a borrowed 14inch for a few days. Imagine if I had a 50inch plasma jobby.
Wasn't it Kafka who wrote "I'm a Jiggly Tits Man"?
I woke up in the morning with an arrow through my nose
IT'S CARNIVAL TIME AGAIN! Naked women and 24 hour samba! PHWOAR!
Discovered on Saturday night that Mick Jagger speaks fucking awful Portuguese, at least he mentioned Porto Alegre along with São Paulo, Rio and Bahia. Mighty fine show,couldn't afford the bus / plane fair to get to Rio meself to squeeze on the beach alongside million and half sweating South Americans but almost got the same effect in my spare room with the window shut, some sand sprinkled on the floor, stereo speakers with gentle surf sounds and TV up full volume. Now I need to work on something for the Rio carnival,wonder how many naked women I can fit into my spare room.
(I've been instructed to write (by Nanda)that Bono Vox also speaks crap Portuguese)
There was an Indian in the corner trying on my fucking clothes!
The Dickwick Papers OR A Tale of Two Titties OR...
I TYPED "fucking weird stuff" in the address bar of my Mozilla Firefox navigator and it came back with a page on the Wizard of Oz!
HERE ARE SOME BEAUTIFUL LINES:
"She touched his organ, and from that bright epoch, even it, the old companion of his happiest hours, incapable as he had thought of elevation, began a new and deified existence.".
None other than Charles Dickens! Move over D.H. Lawrence.
SO WHILE ON CHARLES I did some delving and found some other gems:
"The sergeant was describing a military life. It was all drinking, he said, except that there were frequent intervals of eating and love making."
I, having served 11 years in Her Majesties Daft and Barmy, couldn't agree more.
"A person who can't pay gets another person who can't pay to guarantee that he can pay. Like a person with two wooden legs getting another person with two wooden legs to guarantee that he has got two natural legs. It don't make either of them able to do a walking-match."
Sounds like Brazilian negociations.
"Bring in the bottled lightning, a clean tumbler, and a corkscrew."
At once!
"Well, then, when you tumbled upstairs, I was romping with the girls. In point of fact, we were playing at Puss in the Corner."
This followed by Hide the Sausage no doubt.
Victorian London was such larks!
I wonder if my organ will begin a new and deified existence tonight.
Barkis is Willing!
An inspireutron (that's one of them quantum physics particles that come from outa there somewhence, this one inspires) hit me yesternight, it pierced right through my brain lobes, or it may have been the beer, anyways check this out, as I observed the end of day potential storm:
the wind sucked with a mighty force (for who are we to question whether wind sucks or blows, if you've ever been out on a really windy day, you will conclude - wind SUCKS!), SUCKED with such a might force that the two fig palms, silhouetted black-gray against the blackgray night (OH Please!) undulated together like two gigantenormous starfish SHAGGING, do starfish shag? on a blackgray beach.
Try as it might, it didn't rain, the blackgray (OKAY THAT'S IT!) night Zipped and Zapped like some huge great Zippy Zappy thing; when I looked down it seemed to Zip and Zap more as if to try and attract my attention though I saw but one big Zap right infront. Not one Zip did I see.
Accompanying the Zipping and Zapping were rumblings that sounded like my innards an hour or so after curried beans.
AT THIS POINT I went to bed. And still it didn't rain. When does the next Nobel for Literature come up?
HEY, IF SHAKESPEARE was so brilliant, how come he didn't win a Nobel for Literature EH?
BONUS POINTS if anyone can recognise my posting titles.
JUST LEAVE a message.
Summer Time and the Living is
IESU GRIST! but it's friggin' hot today.
So what's been going on...
SUNDAY 2006 1st JAN, had a relationship crisis. The Good Lady asked for some "time off", I took that as a message but since then (principally because of a wonderful conversation with the GL herself) I've realized that our relationship is in fact stronger than ever and the "time off" is just that. We all need our time off.
I'VE TAKEN UP my Irish Tin Whisle and started to blow and PEEEEEP away again, it's a beautiful little instrument - in fact I've got three of them, each one has a distinct sound - at the mo I'm trying to learn "A Fig for a Kiss", an Irish jiggy reely thing. I can't help wondering if my neighbours are getting pissed off but according to my friend Sergio, a professional musician and Highland Pipes player, in order to practice and perfect one shouldn't be concerned about neighbours. I wonder what HIS neighbours think of him and the bagpipes?!
AS I MENTIONED right there at the top, it's been jolly hot today, a marvelous build up to a summer storm which happened just now. I couldn't resist going out onto the terrace into the pouring rain, dressed only in a pair of short shorts, wonderful feeling - didn't quite have the courage to strip completely though I would've loved too, if the GL had been here she would've perhaps encouraged such outrageous behavior.
I'VE JUST RUN OUT OF BEER!!
I'm away down the corner shop
FUCKING HOT AND STUFFY.
and a ice cold beer helps
WHEN SHE SMILES, IS THERE DIMPLES?
FOUR DAYS OF ABJECT POVERTY! Having spent all my well earned dosh on Christmas prezzies, my Coffers were distinctly diminished. I had placed all hope on a deposited cheque, Thursday last week - it only cleared this morning - a complete FRIGGING WEEK! Consequently I had NOODLES for Christmas lunch, not even a beer! Okay so I had had a sumptuous Christmas dinner on the Eve, as is Brazilian's want.
WHAT IS IT BRAZILIANS LOVE ABOUT LOUD BANGS? Where's the fun in hearing a loud banging noise? A lot of fun apparently, judging from Christmas Eve and Day. Don't get me wrong, I like fireworks as much as yer next man, when it's at night and a wonderful display of lights and exploding stars and whirly things. But just a loud bang, during the day, and throughout the day and NIGHT, actually it's no fun at all, it is, in fact, VERY FUCKING ANNOYING!! It goes on during the year too as the neighbourhood drug pushers send up rockets for varying reasons from "Here come the fucking pigs, run for it!" to "Got a new batch of Havana Gold in, get it fresh!".
A SMALL PIGEON, powerless to fly for some reason, had alighted on my terrace and stayed for a few days, I had thought of capturing it and eating it for Christmas lunch, but Good Will to all Men and Creatures and all that...Instead I put out a small dish of water and grains of rice, do small pigeons eat rice? Anyway, it's disappeared now, either learned to fly or some cat's got it. Maybe it was a message from some god or another - "Stop looking at Internet Porn!" Or maybe it was actually a gift from Heaven for me to eat for Christmas Lunch. Now there's a god somewhere is saying "Fuck you then you ungrateful bugger, I'll fly the thing to the nearest favela."
What's the smell of parsley?
HWYL FAWR and praise the Lord!
Make sure you fart well in the mornings.
Progress Report
NADOLIG LLAWEN
BLWYDDYN NEWYDD DDA!
"I say, the sun's well over the Yard Arm, Sarn' Major, how about a G & T"
"Right Away Sah!"
Actually, an ice cold FBA. I've been working all morning, the Fiesta is prepared, just need to shove it in't' oven.
STUFFING!
'no it's true I say!'
No, I mean stuffing, Christmas stuffing, I've been preparing that too. I'm a chop and plop, slice and dump chef. "one teaspoon of.." BOLLOOX! chop a whole bunch up and shove it in. Here's the recipe:
Dry bread, chop it up and shove it in a big bowl thingy.
A whole bunch of sage, fresh, - you must take it from the plant barefooted and only with your left hand, don't forget to thank the Earth Mother, AND the Green Man and the spirit of the plant itself.
Chop and plop it in.
Onions, chop and plop.
In fact just chop and plop this stuff:
nuts (any sort)
parsley
yucky bits from the inside of yer turkey (or Fiesta), cooked of course, you'll use this soup.
garlic (loads)
chives
salt and pepper, yes really!
just for fun I added a bit of curry powder.
pour in yer Fiesta soup, goo it all up in a big mess, then make cakes like the mud pies we used to make when we were kids, remember? Shove it in the oven for some time and Robert's yer Father's Brother!
Whose turn is it for the washing up?
JINGLE ALL THE WAY.
THE DAY is almost upon us - in fact the day IS upon us, for in Brazil Christmas is celebrated on Christmas Eve, mid-night dinner, opening pressies etc. Once again I've been charged with the task of preparing the Turkey. In fact it's not a turkey, it's a 'Fiesta', whoever heard of a bird called a Fiesta??! What'smore, according to the bumf, the thing is 'brought to us from the highlands of Scotland'. So the Jocks have Fiesta farms? Can anyone enlighten me?
STILL ON THE SAME festive theme, went through HELL the past couple of days. I'm talking about Shopping Centres. SCs I abhor at any normal time, SCs at Chrismas are something akin to Torquemada's methods from the Inquisition. The only alternative is to brave the smelly thronging masses in the city centre. In fact the SCs are the same, except with air conditioning. In children's toy shops, I can't understand why a few pieces of plastic cost R$80, it's ludicrous. (OOps am I starting to lament about the cost of living again - YES!) okay, stop.
MORE LATER, it's time for me to prepare the Fiesta. A few FBAs and I'll be jingling all the way.
The Sun Has Got His Fuggin' Hat On
A COUPLE OF MATES just phoned my mobile from England! Aparently there's a cheapy scheme where you can phone for about 1p for 10 minutes. Anyway they are there quaffing Abbot's and London's Pride in the Old Vic it's 4c outside and probably icy; and I'm here quaffing ice cold FBAs (Polar) and it's 35c outside, can't go out, I'll roast. Guess where I'd rather be?
CONTRARY TO POPULAR belief (more freeking clichés??!) "BRAHMA" is not the god of beer. I hear it's hitting Britain in a big way "...effortless flair" (one expat here was quoted as saying "more like 'effortless flatulence'". ) And in Brazil Brahma sucks; here's an urban myth proven true: during the summer here there's a real neccessity to produce huge quantities of beer in a short time, in order to speed up the fermentation process Brahma uses other 'non malted cerials', that's marketing speak- it's cabbage! Yup they ferment cabbage in the brewing process. Hence effortless flatulence.
FOUND MY DAD'S house on Google Earth, and I'm sure that's my old man in the back garden doing a barbie.
JUST READ on the BBC site, there a bunch of rogue "Bad Santas" running amok in New Zealand, protesting against the commercialization of Christmas, go for it! Spend less money this Christmas! Actually, I have to spend less money 'coz I ain't got the frigging money to spend anyway, probably these Bad Santas don't either and they're using it as an excuse to get free beer and food.
RIGHT NOW at the mo, there's some kind of street party going on outside and their playing fucking awful 'funk' music at high volume, I'm trying to drown it out with Welsh Bagpipe music at a few thousand decibels. My neighbours love me.
HIP HIP HIP HOORAY!
HWYL FAWR!
CHRISTMAS AT 35c (that's frickin' hot)
PHEW! It's taken me almost a complete month to recover from that last whinge, but really! One struggles to keep in cold beers.
What's been going on?
I GOT a call from a guy wanting a translation - now normally I get lots of translation work that deals with technical stuff, I've done facial surgery, water and sewage treatment, Bion's concept of "truth", literacy teaching, lots of aeroplaney things - but this was (sounds of trumpets blaring) - FICTION! What's more - SCIENCE FICTION! Check this title out: Alpha-Orionis: A Journey to the Centre of the Galaxy. Man, pure cliché; if there are any English Literature teachers out there who want to give their students a fine example of what 'cliché' is, check this out.
Well you can't check it out anyways because after the first two chapters I'd translated, the guy gave up, I think he realized it was crap in English. It may have sounded fine to him (he wrote it after all) in Portuguese, but in English.... Pulp Fiction (isn't that a cliché?)
INVASION of teenage mutant cupim: cupim, is Portuguese for - TERMITES! Not those sort that David Attenborough talks about as he climbs through their giant mounds somewhere in the wilds of Africa far from any metropolis; no siree, these buggers fly and they're right here in the big city and they eat wood and books, and the fuckers are in my flat eating my wood and books. They look like long ants and the first indication that you got cupim invasion is hundreds of tiny gossamer wings on the floor, they shed 'em before they start crawling into yer wood and books. Next indication is sawdust. They start flying in between 8pm - 9pm, then they change shift with the mosquitos.
PAST COUPLE of weeks I've been teaching a guy whose going to the States on Saturday; complete beginner, wants to know 'survival English', so I gave him a few basic phrases: "I would like..."; "Can I have...."; "How much is...?"
Then you can add:
a room
a beer
a woman
a Big Mac
IN MY ROLE as Welsh consulate and Cultural Attaché, I felt it my duty to divulge and teach the fine gentleman's sport of Rugby. To tell the truth rugby arrived in Porto Alegre a few years ago via Australian exchange students; and thus the PoA Rugby Club was formed, called Charrua (pronounced SHA-HOO-AH) ; when they heard about me (being Welsh and the year was that we won the 6 Nations) they begged me to be the coach! Really! Jeezus, I haven't played rugby since I wuz in comp. in 1978. So I just opted to be Official Team Beer Drinker. Actually Brazilian rugby is terrible but it's wonderful to watch because it appears that they do everything by the rule book; it seems that they read about scrums, rucks, passes, line-outs etc. and do it exactly how it's described in the book; it's classic rugby.
ON A PERSONAL NOTE (that got yer attention din' it?) Angie's thigh's are swelling up like something incredibly swelly. What the figgin's is going on? We're asking: too much beer and barbies? No dudes, apparently it's those blasted hormones - injectable anticonceptionals! I give her a jab in the bum once a month (now, gentlemen please! this is a medical term!), to stop the babies (better than those dam rubber thingies), and her thighs start to balloon, "water retention" apparently; I have a student who is an obstetrician / gynecologist, who told me this. This same student gets me the jabs for free, only I have to do the job, I'm now a trained hyperdermic needleist! A change of substance and the thighs shrink, the gyne doc says we just have to wait for 3 months to see. Meanwhile Angie's starting to mention that I should get the snip, "too much messing around with my hormones" , she says. Argh! Anyone got any advice for me?
IS IT Christmas already? I'd better get to the shopping centre. HO HO friggin' HO.
HWYL FAWR!
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