I have a lot of admirers. Having blue eyes and being "exotic," this is to be expected.

Thankfully, most of them don't talk to me. And my girlfriends weed them out by reminding people that I don't date:

pot-smokers
crack addicts
anyone connected to the drug trade
alcoholics
the by-choice-unemployed
talentless losers
anyone still in high school
anyone under age 20
guys that already have kids, girlfriends, or wives
non-Christians
loony Christians


That usually takes care of the majority of my wanna-be boyfriends. But there are a few that either slipped through the cracks or had the guts to come straight to me instead of through my girlfriends...

It's a good thing cellphones show who's calling. I'm going to start blocking numbers if a few of these guys don't get the hint. :)

There are some funny stories to come about this week, but I'm a bit exhausted from my late night...and I made the mistake of booking two "dates" today, both of which happened to be churrascos. If I plan on eating again tonight, I need to do some serious exercise to work up an appetite!

Stay tuned...there will be more to come.

Where are you?

My last 100 visitors came from the following locations...I want to know who is Belgium and the two Malaysias...!

Brazil Belo Horizonte, Minas Gerais

United States Marion, Indiana

United States Leeton, Missouri

United States Muncie, Indiana

United States Indianapolis, Indiana

Peru Lima

United States Austin, Texas

Brazil Rio De Janeiro, Rio de Janeiro

United States Danbury, Connecticut

United States La Fontaine, Indiana

United States Purchase, New York

United States Bruceville, Indiana

United States Leeds Point, New Jersey

United States Bloomington, Indiana

Belgium Leuven, Vlaams-Brabant

United States Troy, Michigan

Malaysia Petaling Jaya, Wilayah Persekutuan

United States Frankton, Indiana

United States Washington, District of Columbia

United States Islandia, New York

United States Sunnyvale, California

United States Minneapolis, Minnesota

United States Longwood, Florida

United States Grandville, Michigan

United States Mountain View, California

United States Springfield, Illinois

United States Mount Laurel, New Jersey

United States Portland, Maine

United States South Bend, Indiana

United States Upland, Indiana

United States Bruceville, Indiana

United Kingdom Lancaster, Blackpool

Belgium Brussels, Brussels Hoofdstedelijk Gewest

Malaysia Kampong Bukit Mati, Wilayah Persekutuan

Canada Winnipeg, Manitoba

United States Radford, Virginia

Spain Madrid

United States Meriden, Connecticut

United States Grandville, Michigan

What made me smile today...

1. Rayito de Sol, the nickname of this sparkling little girl at Timonis, whose bleached hair is drier than straw and sticks straight up in tufts all around her head, giving her the appearance of an angelic Troll doll. "Little ray of sun," as her name suggests, really does look like she dropped out of space...

2. Pablo, a five year old with perfect malted-milk ball eyes and lashes longer than Cindy Crawford's, who runs around the yard in his oversized clothes and shouts, "Boys against girls! Girls against boys!" in an attempt to get anyone to chase him.

3. Walking home and having a three-year old who has never really liked me before reprimand me because I only said "hi" to her mother and not to her. And then when I apologize, she throws her curly self into my arms and gives me a monkey hug.

4. Orange and acerola juice after a long, hot, sweaty day. Did you know that one acerola cherry has more vitamin C than a bag of oranges? According to some internet journal, 2% of the fruit is vitamin C, compared to .05% in an unpeeled orange. That's your fun Amazonian fruit factoid for the day.

5. A street girl passing up a sandwich because it wasn't accompanied by "suco," juice. So much for hunger...

There are days when you wonder how 24 hours covers it all...

Like today. I woke several times during the night to gunshots and sticky heat, and had to be out of the house by 9:15. So I was a little groggy and sans coffee when I arrived at Timonis. The fun thing about Timonis, besides the strong pig smell, rabid chickens, mango trees wired up with little lights housed in old plastic soda cans, animal poop everywhere, and the staring neighbors, is that you can see a main drug point and the walled soccer field through the trees and the walls of the shack next door, but no one out there can really see you. So I always take my time surveying the scene, picking up tidbits of gossip, and so forth. Today the tidbits were pieces of concrete the size of Brazilian avocados. For the uninitiated, that would be like a pineapple. Concrete chunks and a two holes in the soccer wall the size of a tank. Yes, that's right. The brilliant minds driving the police tank decided it would be faster to go through the local soccer field than to go around. So they did.

The cops decided to make a presence again today, which might have accounted for the smaller numbers of kids that showed up this afternoon. I saw one policeman, in his fatigues and bulletproof vest, walking past this enormous gaping hole, a machine gun in one hand, a two-liter of coke in the other. It was so very ironic. A bit like the fact that the only intact graffiti on that side of the wall now just reads: VIDAS. Lives. It's hard to tell if it's a plea, a threat, or defiant affirmation.

After Timonis, the staff and I went to the streets. Since my WMF colleagues are kind of out on maternity leave, I've been desperate to find others who share this love for the street kids. We went to Rodoviaria, where I got in touch with a number of kids I haven't seen for weeks, months, or even years. There were several kids I knew from my Servant Team days. It was fun to catch up with them, hear their stories, color, play Bingo...It really makes me proud the way they care about us. I was sitting with Diego and a new boy came up to me, gave me a hug and went straight for my neck even as I'm getting out the words:
"Só beijos de respeito. Only respectful kisses..."
Super, obnoxiously sexual, he didn't get the message right away. So Diego landed him a nice one on the arm, "Cut it out! Respect her, dude!" Then he was denouncing this kid to someone else and saying, "He tried to kiss Jenna on the lips, didn't he Jenna? Dude, where's the respect? You gotta respect them...." Diego's all of what, fourteen years old? When you have eight year olds trying to look down your shirt, this is a nice change of pace.

One of the older boys grabbed my arm near the end of the night and started dragging me towards the other end of the little field they were hanging out at. My first thought was,
"Oh great. Another wanna-be-lover-boy...," and I was preparing to put him off, when he wheeled me around to a group of kids I didn't know well and said, "Sing that Titanic song, tia...They've gotta hear it!" So I serenaded them before I left...

There's something much more valuable about the look of pure glee on a street kids face after an impromptu concert than any kind of applause you receive anywhere else. I don't know why. It just is.

I promised them all free tickets if I ever became a professional singer. It's published now, so if I get snobby in the future and forget, you can all remind me.

Falcão

Next to the live feed cameras for BigBrotherBrasil, a lame reality show that is all the rage, every night, you can also watch Falcão: Meninos de Tráfico. Too bad there aren't English subtitles. Not yet. This was one of the times I wished I had a television set, because everyone, and I mean everyone, was talking about how good this documentary was. But it will come out on DVD, eventually.

I forget you guys don't speak Portuguese. The documentary is about kids involved in the drug business. "Falcão" is a slang that refers to the kids, from what I'm hearing on the soundtrack...they're predatory birds that don't sleep at night...and a direct translation goes something like "Big Bird." Ironic.

(It's harder than I thought to pay attention to the feed in Portuguese and type in English...sometimes I'm amazed at how NOT a superwoman I am.)


Last night I hit a new low: I saw my first bandito that I knew from pre-criminal days. He can't be more than fifteen, a sweet faced youth named Nando. I have, obviously, changed the name to protect his privacy and my skin in case any dealers:
a. read English
b. read English-language blogs
c. find this site!

He was out on the streets last night, learning to handle a motorcycle, his speed slow and wobbly, like a kid on a tricycle. It’s sad. A year ago, he was a curious card playing neighbor who asked a million and one questions. Today he’s part of the mafia. Today he’s a contributing part of a social scheme that will keep his children and their children in perpetual poverty and violence, in spite of what he might think with his new steady income, nice clothes, motorcycle, and attempts at gangster attitude. Learning the ropes around here will eventually get you killed...and he doesn’t strike me as the kind who is in it for the short haul. There are people who get involved just long enough to make enough money to leave, to buy a place out of the favela, get a nice, middle-class existence going. It’s the only way you’re going to get out, to be quite frank. The scales are tilted against the young, the poor, the black. But it’s like prostitution. The people who start and leave while still young and healthy and without serious problems are the minority. Famous, perhaps, and used as recruitment examples, but the minority.

But I can see the attraction.

Play with guns, earn a good salary, have lots of women and nice clothes *or* work long, hot hours hauling bricks or fixing sewers or sweeping trash, make a pittance salary that barely pays the rent, never have mad money, and never see an option out because you couldn't even finish high school, let alone think about college when you started working at 15...

Brazil has to come up with something that's more appealing than the video game shoot-em-up lifestyle. And they've got to do something about their police. The SUV that drove by with a gun hanging out the window today actually caused me to turn around on the bus and stare; I have never in my life seen a gun that large. You could have put a grapefruit in the barrel. I was glad I went home the back way and avoided even the thought of running into them. The afternoon shootout was unpleasantly loud...though right on time...

I'm beginning to figure out what area of Manguinhos the shots are coming from, just from the sound. Is this unnerving to anyone else? And just a little bit cool? It's like, "Hey look, I live in a war zone and we don't have to interrupt dinner to hide, because those shots you hear are a good three hundred feet away!"

Ha.

Separation

I received an email today from some acquaintances, people who appreciate me being "apart of their lives."

Thanks. Maybe that was just their gentle way of informing me of their glee that I am out out of their lives and hair down here in South America...or maybe they're just falling prey to lazy English.

"Apart" is not the same thing as "a part," people! In fact, it gives the exact opposite meaning.

This irritates me. It's a plague on the English language and I am exposed to it about twice a week: blogs, emails, letters, etc...

Let's practice: When you tell your girlfriend you want to be "apart" of her life, you are not giving her confidence you're here for the long haul. You want to be "a part." See, that wasn't so hard.

Sex slavery, organ stealing, and the dangers of waiting in line...

So a few weeks ago, I was at the Federal Police Building, waiting in line with all the other foreigners to renew my tourist visa. And there was this one couple that needed help with their paperwork, and we started talking, and she was an American...and well, in Rio, you only need the slightest connection to exchange cell phone numbers. So a few days ago, we called each other and set up a lunch date. It’s been a while since I spent time in English with anyone other than Rich and Rebecca.

Yesterday, I mentioned this to Junior’s mom, Marizete, as we were eating lunch together after choir practice. Small talk, interesting tidbits, just keeping the conversation going. Now I should explain, I guess, that Brazilians have a flair for the dramatic. And novellas don’t really help with a realistic perspective: my current favorite, Belíssima, includes a man who married both Erica and her mother, several love triangles, a teenager dating his ex-girlfriend’s aunt, and falsified photos to break up a marriage so the father of the bride’s son can have a second chance to prove his love for her. Oh, and a sex-slavery ring involving fake modeling jobs and some stupid girls. Got all that? Anyhow, back to the story.

Marizete is horrified that I would go to lunch with “a complete and utter stranger! You met her in line at the Federal Police? Who knows what kind of person she is? Don’t you watch Belíssima? Jenna, you’re so innocent. Let me tell you about sex slavery and organ stealing...this kind of stuff happens all the time. They kidnap you and blahblahblahblahblah...” Ooh, are you still talking? I’m sitting here with an amused grin on my face, listening to her take a casual get-to-know-you lunch date and turn it into a modeling offer that will inevitably lead to my being kidnapped to offer “services” to Japanese executives on holiday in Brazil...I’m astounded by the scope of her imagination. It might actually exceed my own! At the same time, you can’t help but feel sorry for people that think like this: how do they ever meet new friends?

If I based my perceptions of reality on novellas and Brazilian news reports, I’m not sure that I’d ever leave my house...

Perhaps I should call Marizete and let her know that it went fine. And we ate Chinese food, so there’s the Oriental connection...which was, by the way, some of the tastiest, most American Chinese food I’ve had here. No small accomplishment there.

A history lesson

Mangue means swamp or wetland, the place where some saltwater fish go to lay their eggs before returning to the ocean. Manguinhos therefore, means little swamps. This whole area was once water. In fact, they say that if you dig down just below the road surface, you’ll hit water. Jacare means alligator...Jacarezinho, little alligator. I always wondered why. But most of Jacare was underwater until about sixty years ago, and it teemed with alligators. People used to fish where my house now stands, use boats to get around the neighborhood I now walk through. Nayra was explaining this to me the other day; apparently this was all within recent memory (i.e. grandparents). Oh, the things you don't know until you ask!

Just imagine:

Alligators on my daily commute.

Water under my house.

Putrid swamp smell in the summer heat.

City life. Ha!

Alice In Wonderland

I've passed this house half a dozen times this year. Like something out of a fairy tale, it's this one story slapstick building set up in an empty space between two favela "high-rises." It looks like a child's drawing: heavily angled roof, the door so low and squatty that it can't even accomodate a child standing up straight, with just a sheet hanging for a door. When I went visiting with Janneke the other day, to meet with some of the families of the kids who go to the after-school program, we stopped by. And got invited inside.

I'm not kidding, people. I felt like Alice. You crawl through the front door, and there's a whole world under this roof. Three or four rooms that just keep on going back and back, a lofted kitchen and bedroom near the rear, and I could stand up without any trouble. It was eerie.

There are five people who live there permanently, but from the looks of it, there were a whole lot more grandchildren who made it a temporary resting place. The grandmother is the matriarch, caring for her netos who have lost parents or simply weren't wanted...

She has a beautiful smile. And one of the coolest, Escher-esque homes in Manguinhos.

I am convinced...

that no one actually reads my blog. If they did, I would receive some sort of commentary, some snide or anxious remarks about the photos of the occupation, the scandal at the consulate, etc...but there is nothing. Speaking of the occupation, the guns were returned, dropped off in an abandoned house a ways from here...even though all the serial numbers were scratched off, the army swears they're the same guns. Personally, I'd guess that every favela donated a gun...or at least, it would make a nice story. And as you know, I love stories.

Today's is the following, courtesy of Fernando at Timonis:

A kid is flying a kite in January, 104 F heat, in his suit and tie. This is profoundly odd.
Fernando: "Why are you flying a kite in that outfit?"
Kid: My pastor says Christians need to be modest and appropriately dressed. Good men wear suits." Period. End of discussion.
Fernando: "But aren't you hot???"
Kid, proudly: "Jesus keeps me cool...Jesus me refrigera!"

Jesus does a lot of things, but I'm not sure that's one of them...but who knows?

Newsworthy?

We made CNN!
It's fairly accurate, but then again, it leaves out all the corruption and puts the traditional spin on favela life: everyone who lives here is a drug dealer, right? And why am I offended by the word "shantytown?" Maybe it's because I find it hard to see how three and four story buildings qualify as shanties. Anyhow, CNN is late. They soldiers already left two days ago...and they didn't find anything. Maybe they should have interviewed some favelados instead of just army officers. We have stories to tell too and they're much more interesting than the official line...

The pictures are from Democráticos, the main street running in front of Manguinhos, and somewhere near the entrance to Jacarezinho. Thanks, CNN, for risking your neck to take these shots so I didn't have to!

The movies are wrong...

What is a U.S. Consulate for? Well, one would think that their prime reason for being is to serve U.S. citizens. I should have known...this happened to us before, in Lima. The U.S. Embassy there is a fortress, and they wouldn't let us in either. But this is Brazil, and the building is downtown, no real security, just lines of Brazilians waiting to get rejected for their tourist visas and weepy tourists who've had their passports stolen.

We arrive at the front of the line at 10:18 on a Monday morning. According to the signs, they have been open since 8:30 am. Passports in hand, we show them to an physically daunting female guard, standing a good six foot and then some, who gives us a bored once-over, and says, in Portuguese, "Do you have an appointment?" An appointment? To get pages put in my passport? To apply for a passport for an American citizen (little Anna)? No, we don't have appointments. They've never been required before. I'm a bit snippy; after all, I'm an American, trying to get into the American consulate. Aren't there countries where people go there just to read English newspapers? I thought I had a free pass in...that's what all the movies show us: Run to front door, announce nationality while waving passport, doors open and you're served coffe and biscuits in the air conditioning...

But not in Rio. And I'm spicy today.
"You mean that we have to make an appointment to enter our own consulate? They have a three-week old baby with them, can't you make an exception?"
"No."
"Well, fine. Can you make us an appointment?"
"No."
"Well...how do we make one?"
"You have to call."
"What's the number?" She gives us the number and we call the consulate, while standing in the hot sun in front of the consulate. The ensuing conversation is immensely amusing: Rich, on my cellphone, in Portuguese: Hi, I want to make an appointment to apply for a passport for an American citizen. Hi, I want to...(she's not getting it)...American citizen...passport...(still getting nowhere). Today, I want an appointment for today. (Switching to English) Look, I am standing outside the building. The guards won't let me in unless I have an appointment. For a passport application. Yes. Thanks." The guard is fuming as we turn to her: "Appointment for 10:30. Oh, that's now." She was furious but scrupulously polite with us...after all, it is her job.

We might have had an appointment for 10:30, but what that meant was we filled out our paperwork and they waited until to noon to tell us that we'd have to come back, because the consulate, as in the person, needed to talk to Rich and Rebecca personally. And by the time that we waited for all the Brazilians to go up to the little window and get rejected, he'd already sneaked out for his lunch.

I wouldn't be upset if they were just doing their jobs. But they're not. For starters, the consulate is only open from 8:30 am to 3:00 pm. Two hours, officially, for lunch, but as we noted today, he left earlier, which means probably two and a half. That leaves a grand total of about 4 hours in their working day. And they take all American AND Brazilian holidays...which means they could theoretically take about fifty vacation days plus the required one month paid vacation under Brazilian law. That's almost four months NOT working. And to top it off, they don't give preference to Americans, which in any other situation I would understand...but it's the AMERICAN CONSULATE!!! Their main job is to help US! And to add insult to injury, there wasn't any toilet paper in the women's bathroom.

I don't feel sorry for the guards anymore. I hope they enjoy standing in the sun with their polyester suits. Grr.

Financial Info as Promised

I uploaded my budget file to the Yahoo! Groups for those of you who are interested in looking at that info.

That's all for now.

Festa

Hitching rides is such a nice way to get from place to place...after the party, we hopped in with some other guests who dropped us off closer to home so we wouldn't have to take two busses. We passed the bus we wanted to take and raced to the next bus stop just in time to jump out of the car and flag it down...when you're walking around in three-inch heels, anything that avoids walking on cobblestones is welcome! Even more so when you're in heels plus a bag plus a shopping bag plus a huge flower arrangement you snagged off the party table, something exploding with bamboo shoots and daisies and biird-of-paradise. I'm thrilled; I've been craving flowers for ages. So here I am at 12:53 at home, with my feet up and listening to loud music from the street and thinking about maybe going to bed. But as Brazilian parties run late and I only just ate dinner about 45 minutes ago, maybe that's not such a good idea...

Backup. Today was Cristina Mel's birthday and the girls threw a surprise party for her. About fifty guests ranging from family, other singers, friends, and one crazy fan that was just kicked out of the U.S. last Tuesday...Rich people's parties are never quite the occasion, because for one, as Ana Paula remarked to me, you can't fill your plate up with the finger foods. They have waiters passing them around, which means you're really limited to one, two if you're gutsy, and even then the waiter will still give you a raised eyebrow. The second reason is because everyone is all out to impress everyone else and comment on who is who and what they're wearing and what's new in their life or career...and no one really mingles. They just watch each other and give polite comments and smile fakely and eat cake. Okay, that's harsh, because this party was a ton more lively. But it made me miss Souphous flings. It was great fun...though there was that one awkward moment in which Erica introduced me to the "single members of the band" after announcing I was now available, then running off and leaving me surrounded by five medium-aged men all at least a head shorter than me, looking simultaneously interested and embarassed...they mean well, my friends, but it's a little soon. And anyhow, I'm certainly not on the prowl. A good man, he needs to come to ME.

This week was eaten up in running around doing visa stuff at the Federal Police and then trying to figure out how to get my student visa. Rule number one: when calling a consulate from overseas, you will only get a real person after the fifth state you call, and that's mostly because you chose the Portuguese language option, snagged an operator, and told her that you were calling from Brazil. Rule number two: Brazilians love circular reasoning. And catch-22's. For instance: I cannot get a CPF card according to clerk #1 because I do not have a Brazilian identity card. I cannot get a Brazilian identity card without a different visa, preferably a student visa. I cannot get a student visa without being enrolled in university. I cannot enroll in university without a CPF card or Brazilian ID card...repeat as necessary.

So next week I get to go find a clerk that will give me a CPF card because that's what his job is, and because it's perfectly legal. Which means dressing up and makeup and flirting. Gag.

And tomorrow night is little Matheus' birthday. He will be 2. He calls me, via his grandmother, about twice a week, just to chat a little in baby Portuguese. This little boy is beyond words! So I'm going to the festa because if I don't, his feelings will be hurt...Tia Jenna will be there rain or shine, even if she has to avoid Tio Junior for the half-hour she'll stay....

Ah, my life.

Birthday Surprise

Erica’s been acting strangely for weeks, so I knew something was up...but I was really quite pleasantly surprised at the production they threw together for me...

-The most elegant cake I’ve ever had, even including the ones Mom used to make with Barbie dolls in the center:
-An eccentric mix of ladies from church, Junior and his parents, and a bunch of girlfriends...
-an excess of food from tiny finger sandwiches, brigadeiros and beijinhos (those candies arranged around the cake: pure sugar and sweetened condensed milk and not much else) to salgados and 12 liters of soda...

The battery on my camera died as we started cutting the cake, so I don’t have any pictures or video of the crazy dance/karaoke party that ensued after the sugar was consumed...

I had a great birthday. I talked to family on the phone...I received lots of great emails...I laughed and danced and got more than my 11 hug-a-day minimum.

Now if I could only find more room in my freezer for the leftovers...

?

http://www.oriononline.org/images/om/06_2om/Menuez/Title_image.jpg

Naked men in vats of blue agave? Will I ever drink tequila? Ever? I think not.

Mel, Volunteers, Things that make me smile

Stopped by church to return a cd and caught the end of the night service...stayed around to talk to Nayra, who just got back from Carnaval vaction and is tanned to a crisp. She was eager to hear all the details about the recent breakup which of course I couldn't give because even the pews have ears in Manguinhos, so we talked about other things instead. And then my phone rang with an unidentified/blocked number. Normally, I wouldn't answer that, but I'm dying for phone calls, so I picked up. And who's on the other line? Cristina Mel, wishing me happy birthday! Nayra teases me for the rest of the night, telling everyone about my "special relationship" with the stars...and Fernando and Joás and Joachim all give me the, "who are you and where did you come from and jeeze, you reallly DO know her?" look. It was kind of fun. To me, Mel is just a friend. She's famous, yeah, but for me, it's less of a big deal. Maybe because I pretty much heard her name for the first time when I was being introduced, so there's not this glamor surroundiing "my friend, the Christian superstar." Ah, whatever. I like Mel. And she speaks English!

This week in Manguinhos has been full of snapshots that leave me laughing or smiling to myself...a little blond girl swinging in the field, on a makeshift swingset created from an old campaign sign tied up between two poles...young boys wearing enormously over-sized motorcycle helmets and riding bikes too small for them, their legs banging against their chests as the helmets sway back and forth...pigs and horses grazing in the field as police vehicles race by...

I haven't spent even one night at home this whole week, between church services and going out with the girls, and watching novellas at Vivianne's house. The result of all this running around? New friends, new contacts, a host of new phone numbers, and the possibility of volunteers on the streets. It happened like this: Making dinner at Vivianne's with Erica and Noadia, I mentioned casually that I was missing the kids on the street and would anyone want to come with me sometime soon? Figuring that they would say no, I wasn't really all that serious. But all three of the girls spun around and practically shouted, "YES!" So there are three...and then when I went to a birthday party at the other Baptist church Noadia attends, I was introduced to some more interested parties...who invited me to their church the next night, where I was introduced to the missions coordinator who was interested...oh, and I also agreed to sing at their church one of these Sundays...so my schedule is full and I have help and I won't be all that alone once the Nichols' go back to the States for maternity leave. Possible volunteers from three different churches, two different denominations, in Manguinhos? That's a God thing.

Oh, and I'm going to the Trofeu awards show, kind of like the Brazilian Dove awards, which are like the Grammys for Christian musicians. Got that? I'm excited. Mel's rented a bus to take us to São Paulo, and I'm going to look for a dress in the coming weeks. Now this is something to look forward to...

More Narcissism

There was this great tree...which I climbed...because it was hollow and on the beach and overlooking the ocean and I wanted to. So there. I don't care if they think it's childish...

Complete Narcissism, part one

So Erica went crazy with the camera today. And it was fun being a model. So here are a bunch of pictures of me, and some of the girls, after our double birthday party in Ilha de Governador...

Running on the beach because I didn't get the chance in Cabo Frio...


Making scenes on the sidewalk:


Some dude that was practicing on the beach...he actually got lifted off just a little bit...


Another beach shot...


My turn with the birthday cake...

Were they sleeping on the job?

Some gang members broke into the army barracks, held the soldiers at gunpoint (presumably) and stole, according to the Globo newspaper, ten machine guns and a pistol. Doesn't sound like a lot to me...but the army is pissed off...talk about a loss of face! So they're out in force looking for their missing weapons. Tanks, helicopters, putting the army out on the streets. There were four soldiers just standing around on the main road in Manguinhos when I went out to get my Sunday snack after church...check out some of the pictures: www.oglobo.com.br, look for the picture of the soldier, and click on the link that says "imagens."

In other news, my birthday is tomorrow...!

Maybe the soldiers will come say hi when they search my house...

Resolutions are flexible things...

Since Wednesday, I've managed to break or begin four of my resolutions...

00. Stop drinking Coke? What was I thinking? Besides, most people don't offer water when you visit and it simply isn't polite to refuse.
06. Painting attempted. I think I destroyed a canvas. Thank goodness they're cheap...maybe my artistic side is much more latent than I realized.
08. Accepted an invitation to Noadia's church for an acquaintance's birthday party. Had fun...got invited to another service on Saturday night. Note: I am intimidating to young Brazilian girls who think that the tall American is going to steal their boyfriends away with her blue eyes. I will have to work hard to overcome their insecurities and gain some friends...or at least, avoid making enemies!
09. Spruced up the house this morning, cleaned my room, cleaned the bathroom, washed clothes and dishes, all before 10:00 am. Not bad. Not bad at all.

Not for post-lunch reading

So a couple weeks ago I ate a whole cheesecake, more or less. My cholesterol went up, I’m sure, but I didn’t gain an ounce. In fact, I’ve lost even more weight. Ten to fifteen pounds since Christmas. Without trying. Now, I’m lazy. I hate exercise. And I like eating. So that leaves me just one option:

Hello, parasites!

I’ve wondered for a while, but didn’t have what I assumed were typical worm symptoms. Until this morning when I found a pink wiggly on the shower floor. I had a mild panic attack, which brought back nasty memories of cleaning pig pens at the county fair...and then killed the offending creature. With shower cleaner, which must have hurt. Then I did some research. Of course. According to the “Where There is No Doctor” book, I have either whip or hookworms.

Sidenote: How do people live without this necessary tome? It covers everything from parasite infections to treating leprosy, nutrition, and informational tips like: “If you have a little money and want to help your child grow strong: do not buy him a soft drink or sweets-buy him 2 eggs or a handful of nuts.” To the side of this gem are hand drawn pictures of a NO CocaCola bottle and a YES egg and potato. Another one of my favorites is a cartoon with two frames. The first frame is of a graveyard with fifty crosses. The second frame is blank except for one cross. The text reads:
“Of 15,000 women who become pregnant, this many are likely to die from problems of pregnancy or childbirth (frame one). Of 15,000 women who take birth control pills, only 1 is likely to die from problems related to having taken the pills (frame 2). Conclusion: IT IS MUCH SAFER TO TAKE THE PILL THAN TO BECOME PREGNANT.”

Why do I think that somehow the message isn’t quite what they were going for???


Anyhow, when you’re sure you have worms, what’s the best thing to do? Well, I tried the mom approach and called a general practitioner. It seems all the doctors are on Carnaval vacation or recovering from hangovers...so that option is out. I’m losing weight because of the little buggers, so I might as well take advantage of them.

I’m baking cookies today. Chocolate chip batter (sans chocolate chips; I’m saving them for a special day) with pecans and cranberries. And maybe, if I feel nice, I’ll share them. But maybe I’ll just eat the whole batch myself.

Dang it, I deserve at least that much :)

So you want to work in Brazil...

but you don't want to work? Not a problem. You can only be fired for "abandoment of job" after 30 consecutive days of not appearing for work. Since outside of maybe stealing from the company there don't seem to be any other dismissal reasons that warrant you not receiviing all your worker's benefits, people like my friend can go to work two or three days a month. Skip a week, go a day, skip a week...She's trying to get fired. But they don't want to pay her severance pay, which is significant since she's worked there for about three years. So she goes to work just enough to keep within the bounds of the law, and eventually they'll get tired of paying her and fire her outright. And then she can collect the same salary for six months on unemployment. And then maybe, what? Look for another job?

Now I know why no one seems to work around here.

In other news, I woke up to a string of teddy bears and monkeys hung up outside my bedroom window. A much more welcome sight than the dolls hanging by stringy doll-hair the other day...I took a picture:



Somehow it's slightly unnerving.
It's 1:29. I'm going to bed. There are some good stories to come tomorrow...