J. Beaman - The Magazine

I miss The Wire.

Behind the bottles of beer is a chess game.

A Copo Sujo (literally dirty cup) is a term that (I think) originates in Belo Horizonte that refers to a small, poorly attended bar, not particularly known for it’s hygiene. It seems (an I may be wrong) that they’re just about as clean as any of the other Botecas in Belo but they’re divey and usually filled with old drunks. Think of all of those dive bars you know before they got invaded by coolsters in shutter shades but tiny; tiny as in 10ft by 20ft.

Steve’s insanely cute kid.

I found a bacon cheeseburger.

My favorite Brazilinan food. Carne de Sol com Mandioca. Little bits of beef with fried mandioca (yucca root). You can get it almost anywhere and it’s a neat treat.

A weird-ass monkey that was cruising round at Luciana’s parents farm.

Something weird happened here with my iPhone but you get the idea. Taken at Bolão, in Santa Teresa. Open till 5am, Sepultura shit all over the walls (apparently those guys grew up in the neighborhood). Best meal ever.

On a little hike with Steve.

I’m starting a new series (well, I already started it, but now I have a name) where I will give a small and (hopefully) interesting Portuguese lesson or point out some funny or dumb or otherwise cool language or culture issue. I’m calling it Por Exemplo (because that’s what they say when they’re explaining anything. And they say it a lot). Por Exemplo.

There’s a cute girl who works at the grocery store (read: poor and uneducated. or maybe I’m just a cynic. But if I am a cynic, it’s all Matias’s fault) who smiles at me all the time. I’m going to ask her what her name is tomorrow and then (two days later. or never) I’m going to ask her out. It will likely go badly. Keep your eye out for updates.

My less responsive but more reliable girlfriend changed her clothes:

I thought I would arrive in Brazil and learn Portuguese in the beds of daughters of captains of industry but instead I just sit hunched over my computer memorizing flash cards and embarrassing myself in the cell phone store.

Last night I lay in bed suffering from a mild heart attack flavored something like this: What….the….fuck….is….wrong….with….me…..?

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.

I swear this’ll be my last post on the gays but I can’t help it. I eat this shit up.

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