A Word or Two on Culture
MOTEL.
In Brazil, is not a place where you'd stop over with your family on a long journey.
MOTEL.
In Brazil, is for SEX!
Individual rooms, not in an apartment or hotel block type building, but in individual cells, though joined like mini terraced houses, with private parking for each one. You drive into the garage, very discreet, walk up the stairs straight into the suite.
The motels themselves vary in style, sometimes with a particular theme, Greek, Egyptian, Roman or whatever, and the suites vary in luxury, sometimes with fountains, most have ceiling mirrors and jacuzzis - the size depends on how much you pay (they even have suites with huge beds and jacuzzis for groups - invite your friends! Let's swing together!) Other facilities include a mini-fridge with refreshments, champagne or beer (Ultra expensive of course - I recommend you take yer own), room service for lunch, dinner or breakfast, depending on what time of day you stay (yes they are open 24 hours, you can pop in at 3 am, for a quickie). Ah, yes, they usually charge minimum 2 or 3 hours, and it's between about R$30 and R$200 for that, depending on the luxurity, let's convert that to pounds sterling - about 6 quid to 40 quid. For 40 quid you'll get a large jacuzzi, mirrors all over, 29" TV with porn channel, even mini heated swimming pool and open air solarium in some places.
Per night, motels are actually cheaper than HOTELS and a lot more fun, so if you come to Brazil as a couple with no kids, I recommend you stay in motels, not hotels!
As I Walked Out On a Summer's Day
I WUZ IN THE supermarket today, buying lunch - beer and meat, when at the beer shelves an old lady was a little indecisive in her choice and seeing me without hesitation directly grabbing a slab of my preferred Fine Brazilian Ale asked, "What is the beer we have to drink in the Winter, Kaiser Gold?", "No dear" I replied, "That would be Kaiser Bock". What the hell, drink any figgin' beer you want in the Winter. The wonders of modern advertizing.
AS MY REGULAR READERS (all 3 of 'em) know, I don't have a TV but occasionally my son brings his over for the weekend and I regress to vegetal state watching Sunday afternoon programmes. The other day on click went the box and what! I was instantly transported back to my wee childhood days a few million years ago - "BILL AND BEN THE FLOWER POT MEN" !!! Only it like wasn't the Bill and Ben that I used to know, there were no strings holding them up, though they still said "FLOBALOBALOB" only in Portuguese, and Weed also said "WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED" also dubbed. Perhaps "regress" wasn't the right verb to use there, implies I was a vegetable before, well maybe I was.
The Actual Day
THE ACTUAL DAY. was 3rd May. Spent a few wonderful hours in a jacuzzi with Angie and a bottle of champers.
Want photos?
Fuck Off!
AND a Good Time was Had by ALL
NO COMMENTS since my "Where the FUCK is Waldo" post. I offended loads of people with the word FUCK and with a photo of naked people I suppose.
FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!
etc.
now yer all waiting for the photo of naked people again eh? well fuck off.
THE ANNUAL BIRTHDAY BASH went well. Barbie on the terrace with the best of friends, Victor YES! He made an appearance, only after calling him about 5 times. So at some time during the afternoon I was over the road buying more charcoal for phase 4 when V walked past speaking on his mobile "So where's Alan's flat then? I'm now walking past a corner shop..." , "HEY VICTOR you fuck!" (that fucking word again) so then as we're coming into the gate, Bardo arrives by car.
PHASE FOUR started with some fine slices of picanha mal passado of course there are always those that want it bem passado but tough shit, they have to wait until phase six at least. By phase six I was well pissed so I don't remember much but I still managed to serve the meat - that is after branding the palm of my hand with a U shape because of grabbing the red hot grill handle and consequently - I think, or it may have been another moment of relapse caused by BEER - dropping the picanha into the coals. I managed to fish it out with a skewer, nobody noticed the ashy taste.
SOMEWHERE / TIME BETWEEN phase six and seven we were dancing to THE KINKS, la-la-la-la-Lola, la-la-la-la-Lola, I know what I am, and I know I'm a man, and so is LOLA, in the 1 x 5m space between the computer and bookshelves. Also somewhere/time between phase 6 and 7 Angie threw up and went to have a "lie down".
MIRIAM OR VICTOR had brought a joint - we smoked. It was brown, I've never seen a brown joint before. I think it was the brown joint that induced the Kinks dancing scene and the vomiting Angie scene.
PEOPLE I HAVEN'T MENTIONED. Those present apart from Victor, Miriam, Bardo, Angie. Simone, insisting that next time the barbie must be in her place. Ian, without Carmen, trying to enjoy himself. Sergio and Lucinha, also trying to enjoy themselves, but with two super dooper kids anxious to discover everything and anything in a shorter time possible, quite tense.
SOMETIME / WHERE after phase seven myself, Victor and Bardo went out in the latter's car to get more beer in the supermarket, don't remember much from this only that we were breaking all the normal drinking and driving laws.
Just now I googled "Alan's 43rd birthday party" for images and it didn't find anything, none of my guests took a digital camera. Google found "Robert's 43rd birthday party" so there's a tiny photo up there on the right somewhere. I don't know who the figgins Robert is or where he's from but I guess one 43rd birthday party is pretty much the same as any other though Robert doesn't seem to be having as much fun as I had.
PEOPLE WHO WEREN'T there that maybe should have been or I would have liked to have seen there. Clara Northfleet, whom one day I shall meet. Albert Einstien also was not there.
KIDS are important, Sergio's and Lucinhas dynamites and Andreas, WHAT a combination. aNanda is no longer classified as a kid, next day she was asking why I kept saying that she is amazing. Well it's because she IS amazing.
NEXT DAY, the usual stomach like a washing machine full of liquified parmesan cheese, diced carrots and tomato skins. But I held it in folks!
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.
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