The vagabond is still daily routineless, wandering, constantly hunting with the hounds (who by now have blood on all paws), researching, reading, and eating way too much meat and drinking pools full of the irresistible Guarana.
News:
-Have reached my 30th Portuguese class. Gettin' there. Would say I can understand about 40% of what's in the newspaper. Speaking it and making the correct pronunciations is at about 20%, which encouragingly gives me enough to ask for and describe things in kinder garden argot. What's "super legal", or really cool, as they'd say down here is that Portuguese is a real back door into Spanish. I had a sneak preview of my Spanish material and talked to a few of the locals about it. To read and write, Spanish is about 75% identical, to speak about 50%. The Portuguese can understand Spanish but not visa versa. It's like killing one bird and injuring the other with the one stone. Will make it easier to converse with the Chileans and Argentians when we arrive.
-Looking at a lot of apartments. Will have moved out of Marcel's apartment by the start of June. 2 bedroom, close to the city and metro in a shared hotel, with front door security is the norm over here. I can stretch the budget to 1,200 real ( 350 euros), which should be enough. If lucky I may get access to a pool and gym, and, some cleaning services inclusive.
-Bought tickets with my friends: Lincoln and Carlos & Laura to go this Saturday morning to a "rugged, mountainous paradise", to the north of Brasil, Chamapa. We're going for a week. Will bring the camera and camcorder. The ticket to and from Salvador which is about 2,000km away cost 65 euros and the last 400km of the journey is either an 8 hour bus ride to and back, on a pot hole ridden, bumpy road that would justice to a mine field exhibition in Vietnam, for 65 euros, or, a flight for 225 euros (monopoly). We've gone for the flight. Should be great, pictures look a little like the interior of Crete (Samari Gorge) juxtaposed with something similar to the Andes. Should be plenty of cascading waterfalls, deep echoing caves, and chilly, windy, undulating mountain hikes. It should be a cerebral churning, intoxication, roller coaster, hypnotising, one-to-see, one-for-the-books, backs to your seat, hair pulled, skin pinching, eye pressing ride. Well that's what Eusebius reckons. Hope he's right. I've tried to tell him that there will be few if any other dogs there, no dicsos, no pubs to roar and bark in, ecetra, ecetra. He just turned his torso and wagged his tail nonchantly twice at me and bobbled off to bed under the table. Eusebius had a diametrical position, he'll settle for the "rugged, mountainous paradise" thing. He's looking forward to it more than Brutos. Told me he'll work on his writing there. Will give a detailed report when I get back.
-Going out with the Brazilians to see Brazil Vs France tonight. Should be a great game. It will be fun surrounded by the locals watching the World Champions.
-Gotta go get some pacanha, starving, tchau.
Thursday, May 20, 2004
Wednesday, May 12, 2004
The Ace of Spades
Day: 50
Location: Sao Paulo
Weather: 21
Books: 'Nausea' by Jean-Paul Satre; 'Lonesome Traveler' by Jack Kerouac and nearly at the end of Ron, Hermonine and Harry's adventures in 'The Goblet of Fire'.
The last few days have seen some wonderful game. Many different kills, in many different places, in many differnet ways. We've all had a productive few days.
Brutos reported that he went to a bar last night with a pack of friends of his to get an ace of spades signed by Lemmy the lead singer of Motorhead (he's goin' to their concert this Friday). At it he bumped into an up and coming Brazilian "'dark' metal band" called "The Passangers of Darkness". Supposedly, the base player, a Paulista, called Louisa took a liking too him. He spent most of the night sitting around a table with her and 3 other semi-naked chics clad in leather and metal, and three blokes, that would all look quiet comfortable on the set of "Once were Warriors 3" or "The Crow 2". All, as you can now probably imagine were decked out in your quintessential, silver, leather and arse touching wavy mullets. He spent the night drinking whiskey, cold beers, making finger signs and studying tatoos of dark masses and Conan the Barrion. Subjects breached in torn English and crumpled Portugese, with tons of head shaking, hand flapping, and a variety of ingenious clicking and whistling nosies were: the preferred height at which a base guitar should be played? if a tequila and whiskey compound could be a new world beating product? and, if Megadeath have ever played in Ireland? Sounded like a good night. He said it was one of his best experiences yet. In only the way he knows how to offend, he claimed he was 'as happy as a paedophile, in a Barney suit, on a bouncy castle.' How his mind has become infected by a lifetime of warped observations and developed into the strange lump of grey matter, he still calls a brain, i'll probably never know. Sometimes i have to sympathise with Eusebius! How he has put up with Brutos for so long? It makes me kind of understand why he accepted the challenge!
Brutos is off hunting again, just went out the door, i hope the next time I see him he's not wearing a powder white Marlin Mason face on his wrinkled mug, or a tatoo of a blood ridden celtic cross or dead scarecrow on one of his hind legs or his tail!
Eusebius on the other hand continues to hunt and kill in a different way: more calculated, more premeditated and as has become his trademark, with tons more precision.
He pounced and killed at a chic and sophisticated Pizzeria. He was invited there by one of his friends. It was a belated happy mother's day celebration. All the family were there: sisters, fathers, grandmothers, the lot. On the course were a wide variety of pizzas, with some of the most sumptuous, throat and stomach tingling cheeses known to man. All expertly cooked by white mask wearing chefs in a massive open baked furnance. Also, on show, to add to the already mouth wateringly pleasing food, and may i add fine Chilean white wine, was a four piece jazz band with a flute player that would give James Galway a run for his golden rod any day of the week. The rest of his time he told me has been spent researching pens! Not sure what he was talking about but he said he has been doing a little research on the Net at the local library he has taken a liking to. He said i'll know more when I read his entry in the competiton. He went out the door shortlly after Brutos. He borrowed the only pen I had before he left. That's the third one this week and he hasn't returned any!
He and Eusebius seem to be talking to each other again. Not as openingly and as off-the-cuff as they use to be, but, vagabonds can't be choosers- i'm thankful their at least sitting at the same table for food. The silence was deafening when they weren't talking. Well, deafening to my ears anyway, maybe in dog ear, they were still arguing? I don't think so. Anyway, it's a start. I'll take it.
As for my hunting. Spent the last few days studying my Portugese. I'm not sure if it is getting harder or easier. Yesterday, I would have said harder, today, easier. I'm presently working in a combination of ways to improve: [1]by still using my trusty 'Teach yourself Brazilian Portugese' book which i bought in the motherland, yesterdays chapter was entitled: 'como foi a viagem?' 'how was the journey' [2] Still receiving one and a half hour private lessons. Currently working on translating very basic paragraphs that I write in English to Portugese, 3 year old, pre kinder garden stuff [3] Practicing with anyone that will listen and [4] reading advertisement signs everywhere i go.
Now it's my time to go out the door!
Location: Sao Paulo
Weather: 21
Books: 'Nausea' by Jean-Paul Satre; 'Lonesome Traveler' by Jack Kerouac and nearly at the end of Ron, Hermonine and Harry's adventures in 'The Goblet of Fire'.
The last few days have seen some wonderful game. Many different kills, in many different places, in many differnet ways. We've all had a productive few days.
Brutos reported that he went to a bar last night with a pack of friends of his to get an ace of spades signed by Lemmy the lead singer of Motorhead (he's goin' to their concert this Friday). At it he bumped into an up and coming Brazilian "'dark' metal band" called "The Passangers of Darkness". Supposedly, the base player, a Paulista, called Louisa took a liking too him. He spent most of the night sitting around a table with her and 3 other semi-naked chics clad in leather and metal, and three blokes, that would all look quiet comfortable on the set of "Once were Warriors 3" or "The Crow 2". All, as you can now probably imagine were decked out in your quintessential, silver, leather and arse touching wavy mullets. He spent the night drinking whiskey, cold beers, making finger signs and studying tatoos of dark masses and Conan the Barrion. Subjects breached in torn English and crumpled Portugese, with tons of head shaking, hand flapping, and a variety of ingenious clicking and whistling nosies were: the preferred height at which a base guitar should be played? if a tequila and whiskey compound could be a new world beating product? and, if Megadeath have ever played in Ireland? Sounded like a good night. He said it was one of his best experiences yet. In only the way he knows how to offend, he claimed he was 'as happy as a paedophile, in a Barney suit, on a bouncy castle.' How his mind has become infected by a lifetime of warped observations and developed into the strange lump of grey matter, he still calls a brain, i'll probably never know. Sometimes i have to sympathise with Eusebius! How he has put up with Brutos for so long? It makes me kind of understand why he accepted the challenge!
Brutos is off hunting again, just went out the door, i hope the next time I see him he's not wearing a powder white Marlin Mason face on his wrinkled mug, or a tatoo of a blood ridden celtic cross or dead scarecrow on one of his hind legs or his tail!
Eusebius on the other hand continues to hunt and kill in a different way: more calculated, more premeditated and as has become his trademark, with tons more precision.
He pounced and killed at a chic and sophisticated Pizzeria. He was invited there by one of his friends. It was a belated happy mother's day celebration. All the family were there: sisters, fathers, grandmothers, the lot. On the course were a wide variety of pizzas, with some of the most sumptuous, throat and stomach tingling cheeses known to man. All expertly cooked by white mask wearing chefs in a massive open baked furnance. Also, on show, to add to the already mouth wateringly pleasing food, and may i add fine Chilean white wine, was a four piece jazz band with a flute player that would give James Galway a run for his golden rod any day of the week. The rest of his time he told me has been spent researching pens! Not sure what he was talking about but he said he has been doing a little research on the Net at the local library he has taken a liking to. He said i'll know more when I read his entry in the competiton. He went out the door shortlly after Brutos. He borrowed the only pen I had before he left. That's the third one this week and he hasn't returned any!
He and Eusebius seem to be talking to each other again. Not as openingly and as off-the-cuff as they use to be, but, vagabonds can't be choosers- i'm thankful their at least sitting at the same table for food. The silence was deafening when they weren't talking. Well, deafening to my ears anyway, maybe in dog ear, they were still arguing? I don't think so. Anyway, it's a start. I'll take it.
As for my hunting. Spent the last few days studying my Portugese. I'm not sure if it is getting harder or easier. Yesterday, I would have said harder, today, easier. I'm presently working in a combination of ways to improve: [1]by still using my trusty 'Teach yourself Brazilian Portugese' book which i bought in the motherland, yesterdays chapter was entitled: 'como foi a viagem?' 'how was the journey' [2] Still receiving one and a half hour private lessons. Currently working on translating very basic paragraphs that I write in English to Portugese, 3 year old, pre kinder garden stuff [3] Practicing with anyone that will listen and [4] reading advertisement signs everywhere i go.
Now it's my time to go out the door!
Tuesday, May 04, 2004
Some differences
Day: 42
Weather: 27c
Book: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
Location: Sao Paulo (will be in neighbouring Bebedor tomorrow for 3 days)
Here's a few things that are different in Brasil:
[1] Just in case you didn't know already they drive on the other side of the road. The main brands of car are: Cheverlot, Voltzwagen and Fiat. Most of the cars are small. I've only seen a handful of BMWs, Jags or Mercedes. Bikes are prominent and the drive like something out of Mad Max. Complete lunatics. They also have an excellent Metro. Why Ireland hasn't got one, here and now in the '00s still defies all logic!
[2] They don't eat vinger with their chips. They actually find it offensive when you ask for it at a restaurant. Likewise, while they have milk, which kind of tastes like ours, they don't consume it often, in fact hardly at all, and usually only at breakfast. You get a similar look of perplexion if asking for it when dining. Butter comes in two categories, with or without salt. They've never heard of hot port. They don't serve hot drinks full stop. They rarely if ever use pint glasses with their beer instead opting for a water downed glass half the size of a half point glass. With a bishops collar three times the size of one you'd get on a Guinness. Let's call it a quarter glass!
[3] When going into bars they take your name and number on entry. Each table is given a menu and a waiter. Everytime you order they tick your card and then at the end of the night, you queue up at a till and pay your bill. Much better system. Everyone usually looks after themselves, and you don't have to fight your way through a frustrated mob to get the notice of the barman.
[4] They call text messages torpedos. They rarely send them though. The big operators down here are: Tim (my one), Claro and Vivo.
[5] Poverty is rife, and kids are constantly juggling balls in front of cars when there is a red light to try scrape a few coins together. Some of the acts vary from spinning fire sticks, doing handstands and all types of dancing. There is also a fair share of crippled begging.
[6] The police carry guns.
[7] School starts at 7am.
[8] Most of the films in the cinema are in English with Portugese subtiles. Saw Kill Bill 1 this week, understood half the Japanese dialogues.....Cost about 2 euros to go.
[9] Nearly everyhouse I know has a dog.
[10] Extremely hard to borrow money in the banks. About 15% interest. Can you imagine that rate with the amount of mortgages being spitted out each day in Ireland. It would very quickly topple the property market. Inversely, and unbelieveably you can get about 15% interest on your savings. Bascially, if you have money just chuck it in the bank and live off the intereset.
[11] Most of the houses have a maid that cleans and washes everything at least once a week.
[12] Nightclubs open at about 12 and finish at 7am. Monday night can be a big night.
[13] They have excellent non-crust, sliced white bread. Good ideas. I'm sure mother's feeding their young all over Ireland would appreciate it. Makes those toasted fingers a little easier to prepare.
[14] They have big problems with their energy generation. As such, as I guess we should all do, they often just have one or two lights on in an apartment at any given time.
[15] Fridges are twice the size of ours. So are ovens and grills.
[16] In Sao Paulo women nearly all have long hair. Mostly black or brunette. Brown eyes and brown skin is the staple look in the city. To the north dark black skin is more prominent. In the far south east, Porte Alegre, etc the European influence is more pronounced with blond hair and blue eyes widespread.
[17] Most people pay with check books when paying their bill.
[18] The cans of coke come in 350ml not 330.
[19] All the taxis are white.
[20] Unemployment in SP is running at 20.7 compared to 4.4 in our entire country. Not sure what the rate of "desemprego" across the country is.
Weather: 27c
Book: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
Location: Sao Paulo (will be in neighbouring Bebedor tomorrow for 3 days)
Here's a few things that are different in Brasil:
[1] Just in case you didn't know already they drive on the other side of the road. The main brands of car are: Cheverlot, Voltzwagen and Fiat. Most of the cars are small. I've only seen a handful of BMWs, Jags or Mercedes. Bikes are prominent and the drive like something out of Mad Max. Complete lunatics. They also have an excellent Metro. Why Ireland hasn't got one, here and now in the '00s still defies all logic!
[2] They don't eat vinger with their chips. They actually find it offensive when you ask for it at a restaurant. Likewise, while they have milk, which kind of tastes like ours, they don't consume it often, in fact hardly at all, and usually only at breakfast. You get a similar look of perplexion if asking for it when dining. Butter comes in two categories, with or without salt. They've never heard of hot port. They don't serve hot drinks full stop. They rarely if ever use pint glasses with their beer instead opting for a water downed glass half the size of a half point glass. With a bishops collar three times the size of one you'd get on a Guinness. Let's call it a quarter glass!
[3] When going into bars they take your name and number on entry. Each table is given a menu and a waiter. Everytime you order they tick your card and then at the end of the night, you queue up at a till and pay your bill. Much better system. Everyone usually looks after themselves, and you don't have to fight your way through a frustrated mob to get the notice of the barman.
[4] They call text messages torpedos. They rarely send them though. The big operators down here are: Tim (my one), Claro and Vivo.
[5] Poverty is rife, and kids are constantly juggling balls in front of cars when there is a red light to try scrape a few coins together. Some of the acts vary from spinning fire sticks, doing handstands and all types of dancing. There is also a fair share of crippled begging.
[6] The police carry guns.
[7] School starts at 7am.
[8] Most of the films in the cinema are in English with Portugese subtiles. Saw Kill Bill 1 this week, understood half the Japanese dialogues.....Cost about 2 euros to go.
[9] Nearly everyhouse I know has a dog.
[10] Extremely hard to borrow money in the banks. About 15% interest. Can you imagine that rate with the amount of mortgages being spitted out each day in Ireland. It would very quickly topple the property market. Inversely, and unbelieveably you can get about 15% interest on your savings. Bascially, if you have money just chuck it in the bank and live off the intereset.
[11] Most of the houses have a maid that cleans and washes everything at least once a week.
[12] Nightclubs open at about 12 and finish at 7am. Monday night can be a big night.
[13] They have excellent non-crust, sliced white bread. Good ideas. I'm sure mother's feeding their young all over Ireland would appreciate it. Makes those toasted fingers a little easier to prepare.
[14] They have big problems with their energy generation. As such, as I guess we should all do, they often just have one or two lights on in an apartment at any given time.
[15] Fridges are twice the size of ours. So are ovens and grills.
[16] In Sao Paulo women nearly all have long hair. Mostly black or brunette. Brown eyes and brown skin is the staple look in the city. To the north dark black skin is more prominent. In the far south east, Porte Alegre, etc the European influence is more pronounced with blond hair and blue eyes widespread.
[17] Most people pay with check books when paying their bill.
[18] The cans of coke come in 350ml not 330.
[19] All the taxis are white.
[20] Unemployment in SP is running at 20.7 compared to 4.4 in our entire country. Not sure what the rate of "desemprego" across the country is.
Friday, April 30, 2004
Raining Blue and Pink Kisses
My good friend's sister, the beautiful Carolina, brought me and the dogs to a carnival gig recently. It cost about 25 euros for the day and we got to see the famous: Chiclete com Banana (Chewing Gum with Banana) play live in front of about 7,000 passionate fans all wearing, pink or blue tshirts and little or nothing else. On the day it rained very hard which created a surreal WoodStock like atmosphere. Everyone was covered in mud from the waste down and those drunk enough or maybe brave enough to dance or dive around the mud pits looked a little like semi-illuminous ministrels jumping up and down on the slippery rim of a good old fashioned cup of tea. The venue itself was very different to what I am used to when going to Slane or Landsdowne. It was in a big field, about the size of the RDS horse jumping arena. There were two stages. On one the warm up acts, on the other the main act. On either side instead of having your traditional seating arrangements, a bit like a stand at a soccer match, they had what looked to me dancing Louisiana steam boats. These areas were basically more expensive and had canopies over them. When you paid to get in there, maybe another 15 euros, you got some free drink and you got to stay dry. For me the best fun was to be had open air, getting dirty, and mudjumping to some chewing gum and Banana. The music was a bit like a combined Turskish and Spain Eurovision song entry with a cross between Johny Logan and Lenny Kravitz as the lead singer. On the night he was brillant. Great voice. Loads of passion.
Everyone was wearing either a blue or a pink sleeveless tshirt. I got in touch with my pink side. It was a great sight. As far as the eye could see people were jumping around crazyily. Shouting and roaring, punching the air and kissing each other. The constant kissing is the thing i think i will remember most. I thought when the heavens had cracked open and started to pour that it was raining heavily but it was nothing compared to the torrential downpour of kisses that seemed to be falling everywhere. Literally, people were just going up to each other, strangers, and asking for snogs. It went on all night. A man, if focused, slightly inebriated, and with a modium of gusto and a splinter of confidence could easy chalk up a snog-count in the double figures. When i quizzed some of the locals on it afterwards they said it's not untowards to kiss 20 women on the day. They also proudly told me that the real action is at the carnival in February. An occassion i am still berating myself for having missed this year and previous years. It's on my list of must do's (after a lot of biting at my laces, and running around me wildly, tail wagging at light speed I finally caved in and promised Brutos that i'll get him there some day in the future)!
Going home I wripped up the transparent raincoat i had bought for the start of the concert and dumped in my mud baked runners, socks and tshirt. When I got back to the apartment i threw them, the dogs and myself in the shower and proceeded to have one of the best showers i've had in years! And before i went to bed, on newly laid linen, cleaned up and feeling fresh I let a little smile form on my face, closed my eyes and thought once more of the excellent Chiclete com Banana and my own performance on the snogometer?????
Thursday, April 29, 2004
The Competiton (Part 2)
Day: 38
Location: Sao Paulo
Weather: 20
# of Portugese classes: 14
I'm glad I talked to Brutos. It was important that I understand what was on his mind. It's rare to see him annoyed for such a long time. He usually can flick off with his tail, fairly quickly, anything that Eusebius throws at him. But this time he let it get at him. I know he was holding back on what Eusebius said to him. Knowing Eusebius when he wants to be, his words can be more vicious than any bite Brutos could ever produce. I decided to get his side of the story this morning. The last thing I wanted was a quasi-schizophrenic bulldog and an aristocratic sausage dog at war.
Me: Eusebius, can I interrupt your reading for the moment. I have some questions?
Eusebius: Yes ,master, of course. I was just reading the sports section about Palmerias and their recent draw and defeat in the league. There getting Corinthian-itis by the looks of it. I hope not.
Me: I'm sure they'll recover. Please sit with me by the table.
Eusebius: Yes, master.
Me: Eusebius, I want to know, no I said that wrong, let me say that again, I need to know, honestly, what has been going on between you and Brutos? You don't seem as close as you've always been.
Eusebius: Has he said something master?
Me: Yes. I made him. I picked up on it myself, but I asked him some questions, and to his credit he answered them honestly.
Eusebius: What were these questions and answers master?
Master: Well, I want to hear what you have to say first Eusebius before I tell you what Brutos said........what's your side of the story?
Eusebius: We're changing master. We're no longer pups. We're adults. We are developing heterodox ideologies and I have a predilection towards a different value system that he does. You know him and so do I. He likes to react to things, he goes for things off the cuff, he likes noisy, rough, unorthodox people....so on and so forth. Not that I don't like these things you know I do, but I don't OD on them; there are other things in life. He came home at 7am last Monday night and slept to 4 in the evening. For me he wasted a beautiful Tuesday morning. It's been one of the best since we've been here. I explored the city and learned how to use the metro? I just think I'm maturing a little quicker than him.
Me: But, my dear Eusebius, that's nothing to fight over. He should be allowed to do his thing once he is not interrupting your way of living. He should be able to stay out all night if he wants. He's hunting. Just like you?
Eusebius: I know master, but here lies the epicenter of his problem. He was suppose to put out his washing Sunday night and didn't, he was suppose to go with me for a meal with a mutual dog friend on Tuesday but he stayed in bed. He is saying things and doing other things. It's a long, consistent, over trodden road and i'm tried walking it with him.
Me: Okay, Eusebius, I know he can be difficult. Just be patient. I want you both to stay good friends. I 'll talk to him when the time is right. But don't be putting him down. He told me that you were insulting his intelligence. If you did I don't want you to do it again.
Eusebius: What did he say master?
Me: You don't have to know. What he said is not important?
Eusebius: You do know he has a penchant for ostentation and beautification?
Me: I know, but if my memory serves me right you've practiced the odd bit of hyperbole yourself. Remember the time you described your second love. She didn't really have long black, undulating fur, did she? It was more like 6 different coloured moles on her neck, two wheels for back legs, a glass eye, a baldy head and a tail that looked like an s-hook.
Eusebius: Yes master. You're right. We'll get on better. Will that be it master...?
Me: No. I hear he challenged you to a dual of sorts. Both of you have to write stories and get a judge on the piece. Measuring the length of your tails and by the look of it! You know you're more adept at this kind of thing; why did you accept Eusebius?
Eusebius: First, I know that Brutos can be laconic, but acts a lot, I also know that he is much brighter than he lets onto be. But he lacks discipline. I want to see if in his rage he can give birth to his true potentials and by doing so bring something beautiful into the world. Second, he told me drunk last month that he went to a screenplay writing class, I find that hard to beleive, we'll see if he has. Three, he asked me, I didn't ask him. I don't want to turn down such a challenge and as a result have to constantly listen to his jibes. Four, it will be fun. I've been working on a few things in my head of late and this challenge will give me some laser focus. It's sometimes hard to concentrate, as you indupitably know master, with all the amazing scenery everywhere. Wouldn't you agree?
Me: Yes, okay, what is the criteria or boundaries of this competiton- which i'm still alittle dubious of?
Eusebius: Not much to it. We've both agreed on fiction, we've both agreed to take human form. I'm probably going to write a novel. He said he's writing some kind of screenplay.
Me: Be careful Eusebius, I don't want you to hurt him.
Eusebius: I ensure you that this is not my intentions. And hopefully, you can read it first before he gets a chance to. I give you full editing priveleges. If you think it will cause him harm. You may erase it. Did he tell you that we want you to judge it?
Me: Yes, I accepted.
Eusebius: Thank you master. Will that be all?
Me: For the moment. Thank you Eusebius........i'll talk to you soon, I have to go out and by some batteries for my mpeg player, want to come?
Eusebius: Sure. Give me a minute.
Me: Okay, but don't be long, and ask Brutos does he want to come? We can get some food on the way...
Location: Sao Paulo
Weather: 20
# of Portugese classes: 14
I'm glad I talked to Brutos. It was important that I understand what was on his mind. It's rare to see him annoyed for such a long time. He usually can flick off with his tail, fairly quickly, anything that Eusebius throws at him. But this time he let it get at him. I know he was holding back on what Eusebius said to him. Knowing Eusebius when he wants to be, his words can be more vicious than any bite Brutos could ever produce. I decided to get his side of the story this morning. The last thing I wanted was a quasi-schizophrenic bulldog and an aristocratic sausage dog at war.
Me: Eusebius, can I interrupt your reading for the moment. I have some questions?
Eusebius: Yes ,master, of course. I was just reading the sports section about Palmerias and their recent draw and defeat in the league. There getting Corinthian-itis by the looks of it. I hope not.
Me: I'm sure they'll recover. Please sit with me by the table.
Eusebius: Yes, master.
Me: Eusebius, I want to know, no I said that wrong, let me say that again, I need to know, honestly, what has been going on between you and Brutos? You don't seem as close as you've always been.
Eusebius: Has he said something master?
Me: Yes. I made him. I picked up on it myself, but I asked him some questions, and to his credit he answered them honestly.
Eusebius: What were these questions and answers master?
Master: Well, I want to hear what you have to say first Eusebius before I tell you what Brutos said........what's your side of the story?
Eusebius: We're changing master. We're no longer pups. We're adults. We are developing heterodox ideologies and I have a predilection towards a different value system that he does. You know him and so do I. He likes to react to things, he goes for things off the cuff, he likes noisy, rough, unorthodox people....so on and so forth. Not that I don't like these things you know I do, but I don't OD on them; there are other things in life. He came home at 7am last Monday night and slept to 4 in the evening. For me he wasted a beautiful Tuesday morning. It's been one of the best since we've been here. I explored the city and learned how to use the metro? I just think I'm maturing a little quicker than him.
Me: But, my dear Eusebius, that's nothing to fight over. He should be allowed to do his thing once he is not interrupting your way of living. He should be able to stay out all night if he wants. He's hunting. Just like you?
Eusebius: I know master, but here lies the epicenter of his problem. He was suppose to put out his washing Sunday night and didn't, he was suppose to go with me for a meal with a mutual dog friend on Tuesday but he stayed in bed. He is saying things and doing other things. It's a long, consistent, over trodden road and i'm tried walking it with him.
Me: Okay, Eusebius, I know he can be difficult. Just be patient. I want you both to stay good friends. I 'll talk to him when the time is right. But don't be putting him down. He told me that you were insulting his intelligence. If you did I don't want you to do it again.
Eusebius: What did he say master?
Me: You don't have to know. What he said is not important?
Eusebius: You do know he has a penchant for ostentation and beautification?
Me: I know, but if my memory serves me right you've practiced the odd bit of hyperbole yourself. Remember the time you described your second love. She didn't really have long black, undulating fur, did she? It was more like 6 different coloured moles on her neck, two wheels for back legs, a glass eye, a baldy head and a tail that looked like an s-hook.
Eusebius: Yes master. You're right. We'll get on better. Will that be it master...?
Me: No. I hear he challenged you to a dual of sorts. Both of you have to write stories and get a judge on the piece. Measuring the length of your tails and by the look of it! You know you're more adept at this kind of thing; why did you accept Eusebius?
Eusebius: First, I know that Brutos can be laconic, but acts a lot, I also know that he is much brighter than he lets onto be. But he lacks discipline. I want to see if in his rage he can give birth to his true potentials and by doing so bring something beautiful into the world. Second, he told me drunk last month that he went to a screenplay writing class, I find that hard to beleive, we'll see if he has. Three, he asked me, I didn't ask him. I don't want to turn down such a challenge and as a result have to constantly listen to his jibes. Four, it will be fun. I've been working on a few things in my head of late and this challenge will give me some laser focus. It's sometimes hard to concentrate, as you indupitably know master, with all the amazing scenery everywhere. Wouldn't you agree?
Me: Yes, okay, what is the criteria or boundaries of this competiton- which i'm still alittle dubious of?
Eusebius: Not much to it. We've both agreed on fiction, we've both agreed to take human form. I'm probably going to write a novel. He said he's writing some kind of screenplay.
Me: Be careful Eusebius, I don't want you to hurt him.
Eusebius: I ensure you that this is not my intentions. And hopefully, you can read it first before he gets a chance to. I give you full editing priveleges. If you think it will cause him harm. You may erase it. Did he tell you that we want you to judge it?
Me: Yes, I accepted.
Eusebius: Thank you master. Will that be all?
Me: For the moment. Thank you Eusebius........i'll talk to you soon, I have to go out and by some batteries for my mpeg player, want to come?
Eusebius: Sure. Give me a minute.
Me: Okay, but don't be long, and ask Brutos does he want to come? We can get some food on the way...
Monday, April 26, 2004
The Competition
Eusebius and Brutos have not being seeing eye-to-eye of late. I see it at times but more importantly i sense it. They seem to have been arguing about something. I questioned Brutos about it last night before he went out on the town.
Me: Brutos, got a minute.
Brutos: Sure.
Me: Good, I won't hold you long I know your going out withe some of the Brazilian dogs tonight.
Brutos: No problem master, they're usually late so we can talk. What's on your mind?
Me: Would i be right in saying that you and Eusebius have been rubbing noses the wrong way of late? You seem a little distant, not as close as before. What's the problem?
Brutos: It's nothing, you know us, we fight and we make up.
Me: I know, but this time your fighting seems to be going on longer than usual. Did you do something to upset him or did he do somthing to annoy you?
Brutos: We've just been differing about a few things, ideologies, angles on life, ways of living, that kind of thing. He told me there was a few things I needed to change and I likewise, candidly, told him he needed to have a long look at himself before he got up on his pedestal and barked out so many homilies. We're the same, but he won't acknowledge it. Ok, we're not the same, but we want the same things. He takes one road, i take the other. When i say such things, he simply tells me to stop stating the obvious and start changing my ways, start getting more disciplined and responsible. To kill spontanuity and to father more respect to myself mainly, and others. I'm tired of his vexation, his constant tantalising, his clandestine, low toned diatribes and tireades; and i've said as much. That's why there is a bridge between us at the moment.
Me: Ah, so that's what you've both been barking on about, and what has...
Brutos: Sorry master, i wasn't finished. He also called me ignorant, and uneducated and boasted that he was a more rounded, balanced, and a more creative dog, and, arrogantly, that i could only inspire to having a cintella of his poise, grace and brainpower someday. That really pissed me off and I basically challenged him. I was going to wrip his flappy ears and little,scrawny, weedy, fury rocket body into two, but, after swallowing some of my own foam, which wasn't pleasant i decided if i was to beat him, the victory would be tenfold if it was at his own game. We've agreed to write stories and get an arbitrator to say which piece is the best. That simple.
Me: What about?
Brutos: About whatever we want.
Me: So the three of us will be writing! Never thought i'd see the day. I knew Eusibius wrote a little but i never knew you liked to?
Brutos: I don't, i'm not into words too much. But i hav read my fair share of books. I'm not as gravid with, and as devoid of, education as Eusebius thinks. We'll see what happens. We're both writing in two locations. I'm writing in the local PUC university. I've met a Brazilian dog who has leant me his password and username and I can get 30 free minutes internet access and non stop word processor accessing. It's bang on, quiet, air conditioning and theirs water. Eusebius has said he will write his bit in some wi-fi internet cafe he's found. He says he likes the owner. Some kind of poddle i'd suspect! He's into that crowd. Anyway, i asked could i write a screenplay or play. He agreed. Nice of him. I was suprised. It will take me less time and I thought it was a nice stunt to pull considering i've seen more films than i've read books, and, he doesn't know this but i once went to a screen writng class when he was on holidays with his buddies last Summer. He's writing a book, i think. We've both also agreed that you can read the material, and you can decide who wins the competiton. Will you do it, unbiasly, objectively? If you accept though, you can't sit on the fence. There is only one parachute in this competition. There can be only one jump. One winner.
Me: I agree.
Brutos: Good. Look i got to go. There's a message on my collar mobile. Guess its the other dogs downstairs. We're going to a kicking bar called Notre Dame tonight. One of the dogs is celebrating his 112 birthday. Plenty of "chop" and "cerveja" in the bowls. Want to come I should have asked?
Me: No thanks Brutos, cheers, have some work to do for the Portugese class. Will catch up with you tomorrow; have a good one. Be good, if you can't: bite hard, alright, nice one...
Brutos: Tchau......
Me: A tel logo. Tchau.....
Me: Brutos, got a minute.
Brutos: Sure.
Me: Good, I won't hold you long I know your going out withe some of the Brazilian dogs tonight.
Brutos: No problem master, they're usually late so we can talk. What's on your mind?
Me: Would i be right in saying that you and Eusebius have been rubbing noses the wrong way of late? You seem a little distant, not as close as before. What's the problem?
Brutos: It's nothing, you know us, we fight and we make up.
Me: I know, but this time your fighting seems to be going on longer than usual. Did you do something to upset him or did he do somthing to annoy you?
Brutos: We've just been differing about a few things, ideologies, angles on life, ways of living, that kind of thing. He told me there was a few things I needed to change and I likewise, candidly, told him he needed to have a long look at himself before he got up on his pedestal and barked out so many homilies. We're the same, but he won't acknowledge it. Ok, we're not the same, but we want the same things. He takes one road, i take the other. When i say such things, he simply tells me to stop stating the obvious and start changing my ways, start getting more disciplined and responsible. To kill spontanuity and to father more respect to myself mainly, and others. I'm tired of his vexation, his constant tantalising, his clandestine, low toned diatribes and tireades; and i've said as much. That's why there is a bridge between us at the moment.
Me: Ah, so that's what you've both been barking on about, and what has...
Brutos: Sorry master, i wasn't finished. He also called me ignorant, and uneducated and boasted that he was a more rounded, balanced, and a more creative dog, and, arrogantly, that i could only inspire to having a cintella of his poise, grace and brainpower someday. That really pissed me off and I basically challenged him. I was going to wrip his flappy ears and little,scrawny, weedy, fury rocket body into two, but, after swallowing some of my own foam, which wasn't pleasant i decided if i was to beat him, the victory would be tenfold if it was at his own game. We've agreed to write stories and get an arbitrator to say which piece is the best. That simple.
Me: What about?
Brutos: About whatever we want.
Me: So the three of us will be writing! Never thought i'd see the day. I knew Eusibius wrote a little but i never knew you liked to?
Brutos: I don't, i'm not into words too much. But i hav read my fair share of books. I'm not as gravid with, and as devoid of, education as Eusebius thinks. We'll see what happens. We're both writing in two locations. I'm writing in the local PUC university. I've met a Brazilian dog who has leant me his password and username and I can get 30 free minutes internet access and non stop word processor accessing. It's bang on, quiet, air conditioning and theirs water. Eusebius has said he will write his bit in some wi-fi internet cafe he's found. He says he likes the owner. Some kind of poddle i'd suspect! He's into that crowd. Anyway, i asked could i write a screenplay or play. He agreed. Nice of him. I was suprised. It will take me less time and I thought it was a nice stunt to pull considering i've seen more films than i've read books, and, he doesn't know this but i once went to a screen writng class when he was on holidays with his buddies last Summer. He's writing a book, i think. We've both also agreed that you can read the material, and you can decide who wins the competiton. Will you do it, unbiasly, objectively? If you accept though, you can't sit on the fence. There is only one parachute in this competition. There can be only one jump. One winner.
Me: I agree.
Brutos: Good. Look i got to go. There's a message on my collar mobile. Guess its the other dogs downstairs. We're going to a kicking bar called Notre Dame tonight. One of the dogs is celebrating his 112 birthday. Plenty of "chop" and "cerveja" in the bowls. Want to come I should have asked?
Me: No thanks Brutos, cheers, have some work to do for the Portugese class. Will catch up with you tomorrow; have a good one. Be good, if you can't: bite hard, alright, nice one...
Brutos: Tchau......
Me: A tel logo. Tchau.....
Thursday, April 22, 2004
Goallllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
I've been fascinated with Brazilian soccer ever since I can remember. For me they are the best in the world. As such, like any soccer loving player, I've been meticulously studying the game as much as I can since my arrival. On the news, in the papers, on the streets and in the stadiums. Myself and the two dogs recently had the fortune to pay 6 euros and go to a live game. I was surprised they let a sausage and bull dog in. But there you have it. My team, Corthians (the best team in Brazil), Vs Fortaleza. It was in the famous Pacanbu stadium, the same stadium were Pele scored his 1,000 league goal. While the game itself was poor we learned loads. I'll use a list to explain some of my observations to date:
[1] The fans are more organised than the FAI, and, the most passionate I have ever seen at any sporting event. The Corthians game was a poor 0-0 affair, a bad game on the night. But despite the very average standard of football the crowd played a stormer. Corthians for those of you that don't know are like the Liverpool of England. They basically are the big team here and have the most trophies to boast. Also, a bit like Liverpool but multiplied by 10 their form is terrible. The point is though, the support they got was fervent and febrile and highly organised like a military infantry. The crowd started with taking out white hankerchiefs and waving them around in perfect unison. Because they still have stands they were also able to link arms and rows upon rows of fans were able to join together and bounce left and right. Chanting along the way. Next, the flares were set off and hundreds of small sizzlers were hoisted in the air. An amazing sight. Smoke everywhere in a stand of 2,000 or 3,000 people with little pin pricks of resplendent light peaking through like a bright star night. That wasn't the end of the show. Besides the constant blowing of whistles, banging of drums and shouts of encouragement and abuse there was also the white Corinthians blanket vale. Bit like you'd see in Italy. The fans at the end of the steps of the stand would start to roll a giant, at least 100 foot by 200 foot, banner the whole way up the crowd. And for a minute or two everyone would bang it from beneath, making it ripple like a gentle sea just about to receive a storm. The truth be known, on the night, the entertainment in the terraces was better than the sub-standard players on the pitch.
[2] As I mentioned, I paid about 6 euros to get in. The game in Brazil is still the peoples game. Unlike the UK, were the raspacious, penurious, business men and commercial mentality has infected the game and robbed the proles and common lay man of the ability to watch a live game. It's a joke when it cost 50 quid to watch Charlton play Aston Villa. How can anybody afford to bring their family to a game these days in the Premiership!
[3] The fans have real power. In some of the big teams over here the fans actually have a vote casting seat on the Board. It's an inclusive process. Imagine that in Man Utd, Chelsea or even UCD. There'd be chaos. Recently one of the teams tried to raise their ticket prices by 2 euros. At half time at the match 20,000 fans walked out and now the prices are remaining the same.
[4] The best of the best players earn around 15,000 euro a week. Which down here in a king's randsom. It's nothing like the crazy money that is being thrown around like dirt at the moment in Europe. The philosophy is simple though, if a player wants to go to Europe and is good enough, he goes, the club take the money from Europe and a new player gets a chance. Two players to watch out for: Wagner from Palmerias and Robinio from Santos. Indupitably, future kings of European football.
[5] They play with their toes, ankles and hips, not with their calfs, hamstrings and quads like me and countless others were ill trained with. A vast amount of the warm up is spend working on these areas well before they get near a ball. Consequently, I believe this is at the heart of why they can command the ball better. Your touch will always be better if you can swivel quicker. Suppleness is one of the bedrock and foundations of technique. And they know it and build on it with tons of practice and coaching.
[6] They play the beautiful game, and the plan is simple,score more goals than your opponent. The defending is shocking in Brazil. Defenders dive in on every occasion. They don't hold their line for off sides. Centre halfs go on solo runs up the pitch trying to emanate George Waya's famous solo run. Everyone wants to be attacking. Even the keepers like to knock the ball around as much as they can and are quiet often playing in sweeper mode. But to their infinite credit, despite their iniquities at the back, and lack of Italian stubbornness and discipline- they don't boot the ball aimlessly up the pitch- only on very rare occasions. They play the ball on the deck. They feed midfielders, to feet, and likewise hit forwards on the ground. It's the way the game should be played and it makes the game more entertaining for all involved. If the national team had the Italian defense they'd be unstoppable!
[7] The commentators I think are all on drugs. If a goal is scored, I think their trained to take a massive gulp of air and shout goal as long and as loud as they can until they turn purple and their vains begin to pop in their forehead and neck. They've got those faces like those trumpet players that look like they are going to have a heart attack when blasting out a long thunderous note. It's hilarious.
[8] The referees have spray cans and to get 10 yards, they walk the distance and spray a black yellow type of colour on the ground that stays there for only a few seconds. It's a good idea.
Overall, football is everywhere in Brazil. They don't just breath it. They eat it, swim in, tan themselves in it and pray for it. The women even rub their swollen bellies, to leave their unborn children get a feel of the ball. Beaches, streets, parks, paths, mud, gravel, grass, fire, brimstone, glass...there seems to be no end to where they play the game, old men, old women, babies, dogs, birds, insects their all at it from what I can see. I love it. For me the last month has allowed me peep behind the curtain of their success. To date everything leads me to believe that they will dominate the game for years to come.
[1] The fans are more organised than the FAI, and, the most passionate I have ever seen at any sporting event. The Corthians game was a poor 0-0 affair, a bad game on the night. But despite the very average standard of football the crowd played a stormer. Corthians for those of you that don't know are like the Liverpool of England. They basically are the big team here and have the most trophies to boast. Also, a bit like Liverpool but multiplied by 10 their form is terrible. The point is though, the support they got was fervent and febrile and highly organised like a military infantry. The crowd started with taking out white hankerchiefs and waving them around in perfect unison. Because they still have stands they were also able to link arms and rows upon rows of fans were able to join together and bounce left and right. Chanting along the way. Next, the flares were set off and hundreds of small sizzlers were hoisted in the air. An amazing sight. Smoke everywhere in a stand of 2,000 or 3,000 people with little pin pricks of resplendent light peaking through like a bright star night. That wasn't the end of the show. Besides the constant blowing of whistles, banging of drums and shouts of encouragement and abuse there was also the white Corinthians blanket vale. Bit like you'd see in Italy. The fans at the end of the steps of the stand would start to roll a giant, at least 100 foot by 200 foot, banner the whole way up the crowd. And for a minute or two everyone would bang it from beneath, making it ripple like a gentle sea just about to receive a storm. The truth be known, on the night, the entertainment in the terraces was better than the sub-standard players on the pitch.
[2] As I mentioned, I paid about 6 euros to get in. The game in Brazil is still the peoples game. Unlike the UK, were the raspacious, penurious, business men and commercial mentality has infected the game and robbed the proles and common lay man of the ability to watch a live game. It's a joke when it cost 50 quid to watch Charlton play Aston Villa. How can anybody afford to bring their family to a game these days in the Premiership!
[3] The fans have real power. In some of the big teams over here the fans actually have a vote casting seat on the Board. It's an inclusive process. Imagine that in Man Utd, Chelsea or even UCD. There'd be chaos. Recently one of the teams tried to raise their ticket prices by 2 euros. At half time at the match 20,000 fans walked out and now the prices are remaining the same.
[4] The best of the best players earn around 15,000 euro a week. Which down here in a king's randsom. It's nothing like the crazy money that is being thrown around like dirt at the moment in Europe. The philosophy is simple though, if a player wants to go to Europe and is good enough, he goes, the club take the money from Europe and a new player gets a chance. Two players to watch out for: Wagner from Palmerias and Robinio from Santos. Indupitably, future kings of European football.
[5] They play with their toes, ankles and hips, not with their calfs, hamstrings and quads like me and countless others were ill trained with. A vast amount of the warm up is spend working on these areas well before they get near a ball. Consequently, I believe this is at the heart of why they can command the ball better. Your touch will always be better if you can swivel quicker. Suppleness is one of the bedrock and foundations of technique. And they know it and build on it with tons of practice and coaching.
[6] They play the beautiful game, and the plan is simple,score more goals than your opponent. The defending is shocking in Brazil. Defenders dive in on every occasion. They don't hold their line for off sides. Centre halfs go on solo runs up the pitch trying to emanate George Waya's famous solo run. Everyone wants to be attacking. Even the keepers like to knock the ball around as much as they can and are quiet often playing in sweeper mode. But to their infinite credit, despite their iniquities at the back, and lack of Italian stubbornness and discipline- they don't boot the ball aimlessly up the pitch- only on very rare occasions. They play the ball on the deck. They feed midfielders, to feet, and likewise hit forwards on the ground. It's the way the game should be played and it makes the game more entertaining for all involved. If the national team had the Italian defense they'd be unstoppable!
[7] The commentators I think are all on drugs. If a goal is scored, I think their trained to take a massive gulp of air and shout goal as long and as loud as they can until they turn purple and their vains begin to pop in their forehead and neck. They've got those faces like those trumpet players that look like they are going to have a heart attack when blasting out a long thunderous note. It's hilarious.
[8] The referees have spray cans and to get 10 yards, they walk the distance and spray a black yellow type of colour on the ground that stays there for only a few seconds. It's a good idea.
Overall, football is everywhere in Brazil. They don't just breath it. They eat it, swim in, tan themselves in it and pray for it. The women even rub their swollen bellies, to leave their unborn children get a feel of the ball. Beaches, streets, parks, paths, mud, gravel, grass, fire, brimstone, glass...there seems to be no end to where they play the game, old men, old women, babies, dogs, birds, insects their all at it from what I can see. I love it. For me the last month has allowed me peep behind the curtain of their success. To date everything leads me to believe that they will dominate the game for years to come.
Sunday, April 18, 2004
A war of Attrition
Day: 27
Temperature: 28
Location: Sao Paulo
Brain: Smoke emanating from ears and nose at the mo.
Book: Starters for Ten
Learning a new language can be confusing. Well, I find it confusing and I know Brutos does too. Sometimes it can be frustrating and you berate yourself for being a dotty, troglodyte that barely has the capacity to feed himself don't mind more advanced mental tasks like absorbing a new form of language. A simple thing like changing the end of a verb to an -amos or an -am can make your brain jump through hoops, and start to screech in a funny kind of, blackboard finger scratching, fork scraping off marble like way . You have to remind yourself constantly that it takes times. You have to daily say to yourself it is a war of attrition, take it easy, take it slow. You have to court patience and walk her home safely at night without holding her hand. You know what I mean.........no.......?
Okay, let's have a glimpse at what I'm presently working on..... VERBS. What a beautifully simple, pain in the, happy-go-lucky, pimple on the arse of, petit little, wonderful word. It has enough fire power to make any wordgeneral toss and turn before the coming of the dawn. Let's take a simple example like,falar: to speak.
We'll start with the impersonal infinitive which I, most soldiers, and dogs can handle, and I'm sure you can to: falar - to speak. Then we have the personal infinitive, falar -to speak, no problem, I hear your trumpets blast. And particles, present and past, falando -speaking and falado - spoken. March on. This is wear war gets ugly and innocence learns that the internet is porn, and that innocence itself is imperfectly perfect. The best type of perfect of them all. The imperfect indicative, eu falava - I was speaking. As in I was talking to you punk. Don't ever try to feed one of my dogs chewing gum again, alright! Next, the banners rise high into the sky and the front line begin to run, the simple pluperfect indicative, eu falara - I had spoken; battle cries everywhere, the calming of the heart,the future indicative, eu falarei - I will or shall speak; the clash of the present perfect or pluperfect indicative, eu tinha falado - I have spoken, have been speaking; with the steel of a thousand imperfect subjuntive, eu falasse - I might speak; and let's not forget the axe swinging and face coloured brute, the complicated, past perfect or pluperfect subjuntive, eu tivesse falado - i might have spoken.
Believe me when I say that this is just the advance of the war. The forces have not met on the battlefield yet. That happens at dawn when the tenses take arms and the courageous subject pronouns both singular and plural mount their horses. Can you see it, can you hear it. The men taking arms. The priests blessing the soldiers. The women waving palms and kissing the cheeks of their men. I can hear it. I hear it everynight. The screams, the cries, the pleas. I can see it. Men being torn apart. Swords being driven into hearts and heads falling to the ground....
Did I mention pronunciations, the cavalry......!!!
Temperature: 28
Location: Sao Paulo
Brain: Smoke emanating from ears and nose at the mo.
Book: Starters for Ten
Learning a new language can be confusing. Well, I find it confusing and I know Brutos does too. Sometimes it can be frustrating and you berate yourself for being a dotty, troglodyte that barely has the capacity to feed himself don't mind more advanced mental tasks like absorbing a new form of language. A simple thing like changing the end of a verb to an -amos or an -am can make your brain jump through hoops, and start to screech in a funny kind of, blackboard finger scratching, fork scraping off marble like way . You have to remind yourself constantly that it takes times. You have to daily say to yourself it is a war of attrition, take it easy, take it slow. You have to court patience and walk her home safely at night without holding her hand. You know what I mean.........no.......?
Okay, let's have a glimpse at what I'm presently working on..... VERBS. What a beautifully simple, pain in the, happy-go-lucky, pimple on the arse of, petit little, wonderful word. It has enough fire power to make any wordgeneral toss and turn before the coming of the dawn. Let's take a simple example like,falar: to speak.
We'll start with the impersonal infinitive which I, most soldiers, and dogs can handle, and I'm sure you can to: falar - to speak. Then we have the personal infinitive, falar -to speak, no problem, I hear your trumpets blast. And particles, present and past, falando -speaking and falado - spoken. March on. This is wear war gets ugly and innocence learns that the internet is porn, and that innocence itself is imperfectly perfect. The best type of perfect of them all. The imperfect indicative, eu falava - I was speaking. As in I was talking to you punk. Don't ever try to feed one of my dogs chewing gum again, alright! Next, the banners rise high into the sky and the front line begin to run, the simple pluperfect indicative, eu falara - I had spoken; battle cries everywhere, the calming of the heart,the future indicative, eu falarei - I will or shall speak; the clash of the present perfect or pluperfect indicative, eu tinha falado - I have spoken, have been speaking; with the steel of a thousand imperfect subjuntive, eu falasse - I might speak; and let's not forget the axe swinging and face coloured brute, the complicated, past perfect or pluperfect subjuntive, eu tivesse falado - i might have spoken.
Believe me when I say that this is just the advance of the war. The forces have not met on the battlefield yet. That happens at dawn when the tenses take arms and the courageous subject pronouns both singular and plural mount their horses. Can you see it, can you hear it. The men taking arms. The priests blessing the soldiers. The women waving palms and kissing the cheeks of their men. I can hear it. I hear it everynight. The screams, the cries, the pleas. I can see it. Men being torn apart. Swords being driven into hearts and heads falling to the ground....
Did I mention pronunciations, the cavalry......!!!
Wednesday, April 07, 2004
Eat it or climb it.
Had a really nice meal yesterday. Let me try explain.Ok, first of all they do things differently over here........
When you arrive, they take your car from you and park it. If it's too hot they may even cover the windows so its not too hot when you get back. Inside you start by taking a plate and heading for a giant buffet, which consists of a plethora of cheeses, a panopoly of differnet types of fish and a plentitude of fresh fruit and vegetables. Not to mention succulent sushi treats, fresh baked breads that taste like manna that would do justice to the food of the pharoahs, and a wide variety of rices and pastas. That's for starters. I put so much food on my plate I didn't know wheather to eat it or climb it!! Next, you sit down and order your drink. I ordered some Guarana, which is my favourite Brasilian beverage; it's a soft drink that is consumed in larger volumes than coca cola. It's constituted of a sweet amazonian berry that is a cross to my palette between a rasberry, a strawberry and a sliver of melon. My favourite brand is Antartica. When it lands in the Emerald Isle it will take our fridges, glasses and cups by force. They also have on offer beautiful wines, and a very large selection of fruit juices: coconut water being my favourite. Then the fun starts. For all you folks that do not like meat. Please stop reading. As for those that do.......read on....close your eyes and try taste the words i am about to write.... When you are seated you have a dial on the table which can be spun to red or green. Red means leave me alone, i'm full, or, please change my plate as i'm about to gormandise another helping, or green, let me have it. And boy do they let you have it with a capital have it; believe me when I say they swarm around your table, they place the meat right beside both nostrils and both eye balls making it almost impossible to refuse, at least a taste. The way it works is waiters come to your table every five minutes with a big joint of meat. On offer yesterday was rump steak( picanha), nible rumsteak, baby beef, top sirlion, tender sirlion, bottom sirlion, strip lion, hump,´pork sausage, wild boar, chicken hearts, chicken thighs, lamb shoulder, lamb short french rack, and much more that I can't recall. All served one slice at a time. All expertly cooked. All freshly cooked. I think I tried nearly everyone. I almost exploded (lucky I wasn't wearing my belt. I went for a run today I ate so much.) And if that is not enough for any stomach. They also come along will balls of chewy, tender grilled morazella. A heavenly invention. I don't usually eat cheeses but i couldn't get enough of this stuff. If the Romans had invented it, it would have usurped their grape tradtion. It would have been fans, massage and cheese nights for Cesar and the boys. I'd recommend all cheese loving readers to try make it. A big ball of cheese slowly grilled. Let me know if it works. Anyway I ate enough food yesterday to feed me for a week. I felt like the kid in Willy Wonker who drank too much and shot up the tubes. But, no matter how many rumbles my stomach has made, no matter how many visits to the loo i've made, and despite the fact that that i can't wear any of my pants anymore it was worth it, and, i'll be back.
And the goude de grande: i got change from 10 euros!
By the way, on the side, the dogs seem to be constantly talking, they seem to be in some kind of heated debate oversomething, and they won't tell me. I think Eusebius is trying to teach Brutos something. Not sure....whatever it is, they've snarled at each other a few times.....maybe a bit more company would help as they probably see too much of me and each other!!!
When you arrive, they take your car from you and park it. If it's too hot they may even cover the windows so its not too hot when you get back. Inside you start by taking a plate and heading for a giant buffet, which consists of a plethora of cheeses, a panopoly of differnet types of fish and a plentitude of fresh fruit and vegetables. Not to mention succulent sushi treats, fresh baked breads that taste like manna that would do justice to the food of the pharoahs, and a wide variety of rices and pastas. That's for starters. I put so much food on my plate I didn't know wheather to eat it or climb it!! Next, you sit down and order your drink. I ordered some Guarana, which is my favourite Brasilian beverage; it's a soft drink that is consumed in larger volumes than coca cola. It's constituted of a sweet amazonian berry that is a cross to my palette between a rasberry, a strawberry and a sliver of melon. My favourite brand is Antartica. When it lands in the Emerald Isle it will take our fridges, glasses and cups by force. They also have on offer beautiful wines, and a very large selection of fruit juices: coconut water being my favourite. Then the fun starts. For all you folks that do not like meat. Please stop reading. As for those that do.......read on....close your eyes and try taste the words i am about to write.... When you are seated you have a dial on the table which can be spun to red or green. Red means leave me alone, i'm full, or, please change my plate as i'm about to gormandise another helping, or green, let me have it. And boy do they let you have it with a capital have it; believe me when I say they swarm around your table, they place the meat right beside both nostrils and both eye balls making it almost impossible to refuse, at least a taste. The way it works is waiters come to your table every five minutes with a big joint of meat. On offer yesterday was rump steak( picanha), nible rumsteak, baby beef, top sirlion, tender sirlion, bottom sirlion, strip lion, hump,´pork sausage, wild boar, chicken hearts, chicken thighs, lamb shoulder, lamb short french rack, and much more that I can't recall. All served one slice at a time. All expertly cooked. All freshly cooked. I think I tried nearly everyone. I almost exploded (lucky I wasn't wearing my belt. I went for a run today I ate so much.) And if that is not enough for any stomach. They also come along will balls of chewy, tender grilled morazella. A heavenly invention. I don't usually eat cheeses but i couldn't get enough of this stuff. If the Romans had invented it, it would have usurped their grape tradtion. It would have been fans, massage and cheese nights for Cesar and the boys. I'd recommend all cheese loving readers to try make it. A big ball of cheese slowly grilled. Let me know if it works. Anyway I ate enough food yesterday to feed me for a week. I felt like the kid in Willy Wonker who drank too much and shot up the tubes. But, no matter how many rumbles my stomach has made, no matter how many visits to the loo i've made, and despite the fact that that i can't wear any of my pants anymore it was worth it, and, i'll be back.
And the goude de grande: i got change from 10 euros!
By the way, on the side, the dogs seem to be constantly talking, they seem to be in some kind of heated debate oversomething, and they won't tell me. I think Eusebius is trying to teach Brutos something. Not sure....whatever it is, they've snarled at each other a few times.....maybe a bit more company would help as they probably see too much of me and each other!!!
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