Sorry about yesterday’s post. I think I just had to bleed my vagina out a bit.

As promised, documentation of the paragliding adventure:

Leco, Steve and I arrived, late because this is Brasil and everyone is late, to a flurry of activity and Portuguese chatter. Ten people were standing on a cliff (a ridge, really); some drinking beers, some just watching the majesty of a man floating 300 meters out over the valley. Because we were late, there was little time for introductions and less time for safety instruction (not that I would understand it anyway). Leco gets strapped up and strapped in and I stood there wondering how I was going to communicate when things went bad.

I watched, with mild terror, as Leco abandoned me to the Portuguese gibberish. The Brasilian pilots, noticing my nervousness, kept repeating “Tranquilo” which according my dictionary means calm (duh), clear, easy, or certain. I felt none of those things.

Leco flies away.

Leco flies by. Note how I dropped the camera when they got close to the building. I think I subconsciously didn’t want to film Leco’s death.

They strapped me in and tried reassure me. Calm, clear, easy, certain. The guy in the red shirt in the pic above helped me get clipped and buckled and explained the process to me in rudimentary Portuguese. Hold (segurar) on here. Walk (andar) as the parachute fills with air and lift (levantar) my legs and fly away. Calm, clear, easy, certain. The pilot (Steve and I are sure they were saying bombeiro-firefighter or bombardeio-bombardment but we’re not certian. those don’t sound right) spoke no English. Fala nada. Speak nothing. We were not even on the cliff for more than 12 minutes and I was away.

We zigzagged back and forth along the edge of the ridge and it was marvelous. The wind, heated by the iron in the ground (this is the state of Minas Gerais - literally meaning general mines ) whips along the valley floor and up the slope of the ridge and into our parachute and up we fucking went. Calm, clear, easy, certain. After about 15 minutes of staying near the ridge (remember I have no idea what the fuck is going on - do we land back on the ridge? do we land on the valley floor? how long are we going to be up there?) we began to move out to the wide world; the really real world. 650 meters up and cruising along at about 40km/h. No shit.

Leco off in the distance. Again I stopped filming when Leco’s death seemed imminent.

After a bit I figured out that we were going to land way, way far away (3km, it turns out) from where we took off. As we started to descend, my pilot, emphatically repeated, “Levantar! Levantar!” and tapped my legs. I lifted my legs and we glided down and crashed through some bushes and slid our asses along the ground, somewhat ignobly but safely.

I was relived to be on the ground. And I was even more relived that about 100 meters from the landing sight was the coolest, tiny country bar with a few pilots and a few country people hanging out in it drinking beer.

These kids were parked out front in classic youth fashion. Miscreants. Teenagers. With big block Dodge. The world is the same everywhere.

I haven’t mentioned that Steve had been up on the ridge this whole time, patiently waiting his turn. And, not surprisingly, my favorite part of the whole adventure was hanging out down there at that awesome bar, drinking with these crazy Brasilians for hours while Steve and Leco drove up and down the ridge, shuttling the pilots and themselves.

View from the bar to the ridge.

Steve’s flight in.

I was fairly drunk when Steve came in for his landing. Living the dream, right? Right.

Steve’s landing.

So, what have we learned? I’m a big baby. Everything is not going to be ok, everything already is ok. And there could be worse ways to learn a foreign language.
Tchau!

You see, I moved to Brasil and I think i’m going to throw up. I don’t know how any of this shit works. Here are a few of my anxieties in outline form:

1. I don’t speak Portuguese and as smart and good with languages that I think I am, I’m not.
2. I won’t be able to find a place to live.
3. And when I find a place they won’t rent to me.
4. And when they do rent to me it won’t have anything in it. No refrigerator, no stove no nothing.
5. And if I can get that stuff it’ll be in a terrible neighborhood and my neighbor across the hall will kill me.
6. And you will all eulogize me as an adventurous bon vivant but god will know that I’m just a chickenshit.
7. And god’ll be pissed about a bunch of other shit, too.

I know this isn’t the best 2nd Brasil post but it is. It’s unfortunate because I’ve already done some amazing things. Including, but not limited to the following:

• Hung out at a super cool bar until the wee hours of the morning, making new friends and enjoying old ones.
• Jumped off a cliff with a parachute dragging behind me (ok, and a Brasiian dude attached to me) and paragliding way the fuck up. 650 meters they said. It’s hard to say because as you may have heard, I don’t fucking speak the Portuguese (pics and video to follow).
• Was invited to a pasta party by the previously mentioned new friends and talked and drank and smoked until 8 am. I think i met the coolest people in all of Brasil.
• A bike ride (a short one only to evidence that my bike arrived safely).
• A swim (a short one only to evidence that I’m faster than Steve).
• Amazing Feijoada at TiaRe’s.

The other day I tried to explain The Grey Album to a girl (they fucking love the Beatles down here and don’t know who the fuck Jay-Z is). She didn’t get it. Later when I explained that I just packed up and picked up and blasted down here, she gasped and said, “What’s her name?”

I got 99 problems but a bitch ain’t one.

The line of the night: TiaRe (pronounced chia-hey - Tia meaning Aunt and Re short for Regina) shouts from the back room, “Jay! Jay! Victoria wants you to come watch her in the bath!” As much as I may love to hear that from a lover or some random Brasiliera and have a night of passion and lusty nonsense; I would take the simple giggles and games and Portuguese lessons from Victoria anytime.

Hello, Belo Horizonte.

So, check it out. iplaythehits.com

RadioLab is the greatest thing on the radio. This is a super short bit about earworms and how to get rid of them. Listen to it.

FREE-RANGE CHICKENS

“Well, it’s another beautiful day in paradise.”

“How’d we get so lucky?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care.”

“I think I’ll go walk over there for a while. Then I’ll walk back over here.”

“That sounds like a good time. Maybe I’ll do the same.”

“Hey, someone refilled the grain bucket!”

“Is it the same stuff as yesterday?”

“I hope so.”

“Oh, man, it’s the same stuff, all right.”

“It’s so good.”

“I can’t stop eating it.”

“Hey, you know what would go perfectly with this grain? Water.”

“Dude. Look inside the other bucket.”

“This . . . is the greatest day of my life.”

“Drink up, pal.”

“Cheers!”

(Laughs.)

(Laughs.)

“Hey, look, the farmer’s coming.”

“Huh. Guess it’s my turn to go into the thing.”

“Cool. See you later, buddy.”

“See ya.”

Maybe it was my new MBP (things just look better in mail.app), maybe their design doesn’t suck assholes or maybe the first post south by VBS.tv email had something interesting. I’m into it, though. I’m into Lightspeed Champion.

I’m into No Age.

I like the easy going interviews. Both of these videos are from a series they call Practice Space.

They also had a great five part Norwegian black metal semi-documentary that was creepy and cool. Check it out.

<

Noe Valley, San Francisco, CA. I’ll miss you.