J. Beaman - The Magazine

Here’s some new pictures of my new house. It’s actually a barracão, an in-law house or a garage apartment. It’s amazing and I’m totally in love with it. I thanked some people in the last post but I want to reiterate their awesomeness.

Steve spent two full days painting and hanging shelves and generally being a great friend.

The list of shit that Matias has done is ridiculous. Moving, calling, finding, searching. My go-to fucking guy.

Carmen Fucking Burns. “Calm the fuck down, J. Everything’s gonna be fine.” I’m eating off her plates and drinking out of her glasses.

Hudson, one of my fiadors (co-signers) and refrigerator delivery man (with Matias) and über-patient helper.Mariana, my other fiador and the dreamiest friendliest funniest person to fall down with on a Friday night.

Filipe. A case of fucking beers. ‘Nuff said.

Maíra. My Santa Teresa drinking buddy. CB at the BB, G. Don’t fuck it up, you crazy bitch.

And to those awesome people who bought me housewarming gifts…you’re the greatest! What? Who? You don’t know what I’m talking about? You can read all about it here.

The new neighborhood is Santa Teresa and it’s just outside Zona Sul in a super traditional neighborhood. I’m working on a little video of the neighborhood but it’s been raining like crazy. I should just walk around in the rain and shoot the damn thing.

The pics:

Matias in the rede (hammock).

My awesome homemade closet. Note the awesome blue (teal…wft-ever) paint!

the workspace

the couch/spare bed. come fucking visit.

the home theater

this is where i hang out in the mornings.

a blurry kitchen shot. That brown thing in the corner is this amazing water filter. All natural ceramic filtration nonsense. I love it.

My little yard. And, yes, a mannequin leg.

And my first little get together - burgers and baked beans.

Mari.

Maíra

Hudson.

I swear I had a picture of Filipe but I can’t find it now. I’ll see if I can get a nude one of him later. You’ll like that.

And my new address (for postcards and stuff):

Rua Bom Despacho, 153 Apt 2

Barrio Santa Teresa

Belo Horizonte - MG, 31010-390 Brazil

So, folks, I know I haven’t been blogging lately but I have a pile of stories to share; some written, some not. There coming, though, in a big pile early next week. One of the reasons I haven’t been available to write (besides my artful laziness) has been the arduous search for a new house. After days of searching and days of bureaucratic fucking nonsense and hours of wandering the aisles of the supermarket, the hardware store and the crap-ass mall, I am nearly moved in with all that I require.

The point of this post, as tacky as it may be, is to let you, my dear friends, have the opportunity to shower me with housewarming gifts. I had a moderate amount of money budgeted for the entire move and exceed said budget. Really exceed it.

Any amount would be super radical and you can consider it a donation to God’s work. Because that’s what I’m doing down here. The work of the Lord.

Here’s some examples of what you dollar amounts will buy:

5 bucks - an awesome kitchen knife

10 bucks - a cutting board

12 bucks - all my silverware

20 bucks - my kitchen table

30 bucks - really cool clay water filter

40 bucks - the modem for the webs

50 bucks - all my cleaning supplies (broom, mop, tons of other shit)

60 bucks - my stove

80 bucks - my refrigerator

200 bucks - my undying love

I’m also going to use this space to publicly thank all the folks who have helped make my new life here a reality:

Oliver - couldn’t ask for a better friend
Alice and Magaly - the only ones with the balls and the love to come and visit
The Ritual crew (Eileen, Ryan, Naya) - for giving me something to do. thanks for making me feel valuable
Steve - for not getting cranky with me when I’m being a bitch and always being available to help out (we’re painting tomorrow)
Brad and Jennifer and Essie and Elisha - for thinking of me and reminding me that I can have my job back anytime
The Brazil Crew (Matias, Carmen, Hudson, Maíra, Mariana and Filipe) - for co-signing (seriously!) on my new place, for driving me around and moving fucking furniture and endless streams of great advice. a bunch of free stuff. and for, most importantly, drinking beer with me in the afternoon..

drunk, high, super-tall blonde brazilian girl to me last night, “Wow!  I can’t believe I’m meeting you in real life.  You only hear about guys like you in books or in the movies.”

I’m gonna ride that for a month.

This is probably my new favorite place in Brazil. A little buteco in Santo Antônio owned by the most incredible guy. They had a brief mention in the New York Times last year which is proudly displayed above the bar.

Get your feet wet at Mercearia Lili (Rua São João Evangelista, 696, Santo Antônio, 55-31-3296-1951), a regular participant in Comida di Buteco. It is one bar of many in Santo Antônio, an upscale neighborhood of steep hills that require superhuman parallel parking skills or, preferably, use of the city’s metered taxis.
The bar is typical in many ways, not least of which is the furniture: yellow plastic tables and chairs, with the maroon Skol beer logo, spilling out onto the sidewalk (600-milliliter bottles of the Pilsener Skol, to be shared in small glasses, are the citywide order of choice). The buzz of conversation and the clink of bottles — not a D.J. — provide the soundtrack; grey hair and what in the United States would be underage youth share the tables.

Without a doubt the best Carne de Sol com Mandioca that I’ve had in the city.

Note the little glass in the top right corner. I no longer drink beer out of a bottle or a can. I require a small glass. I’ll be bringing some home.

The view from the bathroom.

And this. More third world ingenuity. In this, greatest of all countrys, cartons of cigarettes come wrapped in paper and these fellas take that paper and staple it together to make a notebook to write down all the orders for the night.

And here’s the owner explaining the financial problems the U.S. (the world) is experiencing. As I understand it, our problem is that we sell a bunch of shit that has manufactured values. A piece of paper here and a piece of paper there, ad infinitum and no one know what the fuck they’re buying or selling. I love this because I love restaurants, restauranteurs, people that provide real services to their communities. But mostly it’s just cool to watch him talk.

I’m going to start a new series of posts on the blog introducing my friends in Brazil (lifted from my friend Sarah, although I’m not going to interview anyone. I don’t really care what they have to say) and it’s a goddamned treat to present to you Miss Carmen Burns.

Carmen is Matias’s girlfriend (Matias, who will never make it on here. He’s got some ego problems) and is equal parts charming, hilarious, angry, beautiful, helpful, don’t take no shit from nobody, volatile, thoughtful and…angry. I know I said it twice but it bears repeating.

Case in point. Last night:

“What’s wrong with you?” To me. She glares.
“Nothing.”
“I hate it when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“You’re bored. I hate that.”
“I’m not bored.”
“Shut up. You are too. You’re not leaving me here.”
She glares. She’s right. I’m not going anywhere. I fear her.

She throws things. Lighters. Mostly at Matias (he deservers it 73% of the time) but threatened me with a phone last night.

Every time she’s mean (which I love. The fire.) she calles the next day to make sure I’m not mad at her. I never am.

Angry Carmen.

Dirty Carmen: We were talking about blow jobs and how some girls don’t really like them. Carmen’s response? “That’s crazy. I love dick.”

Semi-Retarded Carmen.

Scary, Sexy, Mean. Awesome.

Here she is talking about her dad (I know it’s in Portuguese but note the perfectly placed “Tom Fucking Burns” and the artful “Ha! Não sei” as in “Ha! I don’t know!):

And by popular (Sarah) demand…videos coming soon.

Matias drinking beer in the gas station at 2 in the afternoon on a Saturday. Quality of life.

Third world ingenuity.