The Alpha Male's Burden

Quotes from one of my new favorite authors, PhilaLawer:

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Twenty six is a rotten year. You're not an adult by any stretch, but you're way past college jackass. None of the things you really want to say, think or do are acceptable. Every day's another exercise in suffocating what you'd been for the last decade. For some it works; for others it's futile - the live wire of adrenaline you lived on since Junior High can't be unplugged, boxed and stuffed on a shelf. The current in your head builds, relentless, voracious, demanding to be fed. It pitches tantrums while you sit silent, staring at off-white walls and monitors, the low hum of florescent bulbs hissing through your ears. Adjusting's futile; it's too clinical, antiseptic, mechanized - the photographic negative of everything your body's craving. The mind rolls to where you ought to be... On a speedboat rolling through a jungle river, taking notes for a National Geographic article on Nigerian warlords... Driving cross-country in a beaten up Volvo, warm air in your face, stealing a drag from the cigarette of an impossibly built brunette in the passenger seat... Sipping a Heineken and eating crackers, watching the buildings disappear under the wing of a plane to Anywhere But Here. That Ben Harper tune's on repeat in your head... "I believe there's a better way..." Flight, movement, some sort of juice - blessed stimulation of any kind. Is that too much to ask?


Millions of people everywhere sit in cubicles all day, demons clawing up and sliding down and down the half-pipe walls of their skulls, tortured adrenaline junkies trapped by the same thing that had Harris, Martin and me by the balls - short term cash flow. For most of us, the money comes when you're least able to use it the way it ought to be... Twenty years of cash when the old lady's tits are at her knees and you're too tired to fuck anyway. Florida. Golf. A car with heated seats. Then the Big Sleep. The only cure for the pain of twenty six is pussy. A woman's as necessary as water. You don't have to love her. You don't even have to like her. But you need her there, under you, above you, in front of you, grounding the live wire of adrenaline and testosterone. When you're young, losing your mind in an office and not getting any action, you're an unpinned grenade. There's really no reason to live and you don't give a shit about anything. People say college is the chapter in your life where you build the stories you cringe recalling 20 years later. Twenty six and involuntarily celibate kills college... and nearly kills you.


The male doesn't age as we think. In fact, he doesn't age at all. He assimilates, placates and slows, accepts the reality around him and plays what he's told to play. But just a little bit deeper, a scratch below the mask, he's eighteen-to-thirty forever, and every now and again, in the right combination of circumstances, with the right mix of triggers or enticements, that selfish, single minded monkey will break out and escape the cage. And flowing from his greed, gluttony or vice, or a combination of the three at once, a trail of damage will follow. But he'll never be directly blamed. It'll all be collateral damage, the sort of thing that happens when you lock the animal down too tightly, rob him of natural releases.

- PhilaLawer

American Heroes

I saw a back doctor today. I'm taking 3 weeks off from the beach to rehab my back and I was looking for someone to give me a cortisone injection to expedite the healing process. In the waiting room I find myself talking to a fella about my age. He was clearly in extreme agony. Walking and talking was very hard for him.

Turns out he was a commercial diver. His coworker got caught under a mudslide at 200 feet below surface. With a 3000 psi steel tube jet on one shoulder and his partners hand in the other he struggled for 40 minutes under water. Eventually he saved him. However, his back was screwed. He had twisted vertebrae and muscle tear / separation along his back.

The surprise was that this had happened in the Gulf of Mexico about 6 weeks ago and his first Dr. visit was last Friday here in Washington. He had spent the last 6 weeks in complete agony getting bounced around and dicked every which way by the insurance companies.

It's really sad. In the movies when the hero does something like this we just assume that once the ordeal is over he will get the best care possible from the rest of humanity. It's just a given. He risked life and limb to save another human. Can't you hear the emotional background music? ... But not here in good old US of A.

I spent more time today discussing insurance information and payment details than talking about my back. I easily filled out over 20 forms. Why? Just to have a few milliliters of liquid injected into my back. The whole thing could have took 20 minutes. But it took a hour on the phone and 3 in the Dr. office to make it happen.

Dave, my fellow patient. You're a good man. I hope you get the care you deserve and recover soon.

P.S. The Dr. I saw today DID turn out to be excellent and far more thorough and concerned than just about any I have seen so far.

P.P.S. One bright side note to all this injury drama ... They attached a heart monitor to my hand for the injection. They basically treated it like surgery. Anyway, the machine kept freaking out and sounding this annoying alarm. The nurse said it's because my heart rate is so low the machine thinks I'm dying. I'd even had a cup of coffee at work before I went in. She said that most patients are between 70 and 90. A few drop below 60 and NEVER below 50. I craned my neck around and checked out the machine. 45 bpm. I guess all that cardio at the gym in lieu of the beach is paying off. I'll be slow when I get back and I probably won't be able to jump very high. But it's good to know I can run slowly and not jump high all day long thanks to my conditioning.

Troy Duncan

"Anyone feel like rolling with my boy Troy? He's driving solo."

Garrett was leaning his spiky blond head in through Marty's passenger window. I could smell the gum on his breath and cologne on his collar.

Like most 20 somethings in the 90's we were all a little baked and self-conscious; easily comforted by being around those we knew were as screwed up and neurotic as ourselves. The thought of leaving the friendly confines of Marty's Mustang and jumping in a car with a stranger put an abrupt end to our laughter, all of us considering if we really felt like taking a chance on a new character in our current state.

"Sure, I'll go." I said.

"I may not have your movie-star good looks but damnit I'm confident and charismatic." was probably what I was thinking sub-consciously. I figured I could leave Marty and the boys in his ride and meet this new "Troy" character. After all, he can't be too bad if he's meeting up with us to go to a rave.

I hop in the convertible VW and instantly feel the warm glow of one the oldest souls I've ever come across. Troy's inner peace was palpable and I knew we were already friends before I even had a chance to shake his hand or return his smile.

"We're stopping off at DJ's." Garrett said as he smiled and rubbed Troy's brillo head. "Keep an eye on this guy. Make sure he doesn't get lost."

"OK Snoop" I tease him back for needlessly carrying a gun to a rave.

We start chatting on the drive down, mostly covering topics only boys in their early 20's talk about as well as subjects of a more spiritual nature. Like my father, I can read people in seconds. I knew right away that we were cut from the same cloth. We'd be friends forever.

"Have you ever been truly euphoric?"

"I think so."

"I'm truly euphoric right now."

The evening was epic as all raves were in those days as we danced, explored people, and travelled the cosmos. Man could he dance.

This was my introduction to Troy Duncan. One of the most unique and coolest cats I've ever had the pleasure to call my friend. To say that Troy was "Cool" would be a tragically generic understatement. He had deep, true blue, jazz musician confidence as if he was surfing the wave of life - effortlessly carving turns and limping along to the beat of his own built-in I-Pod.

No matter where he was living, I always felt welcome to crash at his pad. I once even brought along 8 other rowdy boys when he and Luke were living in Chelan and they graciously housed us all with no complaints. Another time Matt and I brought the Jens over and crashed at the Duncan mobile home with Kelly and Dave Bartosh.

I remember sitting at Chelan park, basking in the warm summer sun, watching Troy and Luke run their jetski business, and feeling envious of the joy-filled peaceful life he was living.

I remember sitting in the King County Prison visitors room and watching Troy's mother cry as she pressed her palm against the glass, against his palm on the other side, feeling helpless as I held the food and books the guards would not let me give him.

I remember opening night at his club, SuperHighway, fully decorated with his own paintings and artwork. The proud smile on his face. The paintings looked different in a public venue. No longer the pencil sketches I used to flip through in his loft; They were real.

I remember skiing at Chrystal Mountain, catching flicks at the Egyptian, dancing at the Naft, driving to Chelan, Marty's bachelor party, endless nights lost in infinity. It is in these adventures and roller-coaster rides, as you peel away the husks of life, that a man's true character is revealed. You get to size him up and find out if he's truly the warrior he projects. You find out if he's someone you'd want in the foxhole with you. In the jungle. Across the ring.

Know this: He was made of granite.

He had his dark days. Sometimes we'd spend an entire day together and he'd only say a few words. On days like this I could really see the tortured artist living in his soul. Living, struggling, creating, destroying. I didn't care. Comfortable silence is something only true friends can enjoy.

I ran into him at Mo's a few months before Riley was born. I unloaded about how hard it's been living with a pregnant woman. A recent father himself, he expertly broke down how women's minds work when they're pregnant and offered advice on how to deal with them. Man was he good with the ladies.

"A pregnant woman is liquid because she flows. She carves arcs and curves in the vessel she forms. She is moved by the moon."

Later on, after Max was born, we compared notes on fatherhood over a beer at Mr. Lucky's.

"I’m not going to give you any advice."

"What? I just had my 2nd kid and things are getting crazy around the house. I look to you for some Troyism, and you tell me you got nothin'?"

"You are going to get advice from so many people, so take the advice they give you, nod politely, thank them, think about it, and then make your own decision."

The frequency of my interactions with friends has gone down as fatherhood has claimed larger portions of my time and my friendship with Troy was just another casualty as I went from seeing him every week, to every month, to maybe once every few months, and perhaps only a couple of times a year since 2006.

Troy had a good life. He had his ups and downs like the rest of us. At times he had this Andy Warholesque syndrome which made him brilliant and erratic at the same time. Great art comes from great suffering. Through it all, he managed to touch many lives and make the world a happier place floating on his art and his music.

I remember his words ... "It is what it is" ... "Let it go" ... "Pay attention" ... "be true" ... "Be True" ... "BE TRUE"

...

Around the corner I have a friend,
In this great city that has no end,
Yet the days go by and weeks rush on,
And before I know it, a year is gone.

And I never see my old friends face,
For life is a swift and terrible race,
He knows I like him just as well,
As in the days when I rang his bell.

And he rang mine but we were younger then,
And now we are busy, tired men.
Tired of playing a foolish game.
Tired of trying to make a name.

"Tomorrow" I say "I will call on Troy
and let him know that he's still my boy".
But tomorrow comes and tomorrow goes,
And distance between us grows and grows.

Around the corner, yet miles away,
a call from Luke, "Troy died today."
And that's what we get and deserve in the end.
Around the corner, a vanished friend.

- C Towne

Randomize

Maxo Radio and Maxo Life Project now have the ability to play music randomly instead of in the same order. It took me a while to dig into it but a good night sleep and strong cup of coffee finally prevailed.

Viva La Musica !!!

Stickin' It To The Man

I had back to back traffic hearings yesterday and today. Both tickets were issued at the same exact stop sign in my sleepy neighborhood. Both cases were dismissed but for different reasons. I actually had to duke it out with a real prosecutor (first time in over 30 hearings) in the 2nd one. My friends think I should get legal insurance for $17 a month and not worry about traffic tickets. Maybe some day I will but right now beating these chicken-shit bastards at their own game feels better than sex.

I had the first case dismissed due to untimely discovery (IRLJ 3.1). For the 2nd one the discovery motion was denied due to slightly varying circumstances and I didn't even bother with plan B because it wouldn't have worked with a real prosecutor present. So I fell back on plan C and actually showed them photos of the intersection, the curved cross-street, the big bush in the corner, and the stop sign and stop line that are yards apart. All of which combined into a BS story that even Max would not have believed but somehow it worked and I got the case dropped.

Although I probably fight and beat anywhere from 2 or 3 tickets a year for the past 15 years I have not actually had to testify and convince the judge I was innocent since college. I usually just make a motion for dismissal and get the case dropped due to some technicality which is only slightly lamer than the technicality that landed me in court in the first place.

It all feels like a cowardly game of chess for idiots. I get a ticket for something ridiculous like rolling through a stop sign at 5 miles per hour and then go to court and get the case dropped because some piece of paper was filed or sent out 2 days late. In the meantime, the cops time, my time, and the tax payers money goes down the poop chute.

Anyhick, the intense level of police activity around this tired, low-traffic intersection is only due to the fact the sheriff lives down the street. I hate cops. A good friend of mine, real sweet kid from college, became a cop and had a nervous breakdown after 6 months. He was just too nice. I don't know how I'd ever reconcile getting close to one in real life. I usually ignore or minimize the conversation with the 1/2 dozen cops in my gym. The news is rampant with stories of police abuse on a daily basis and that's only the 0.01% of the incidents that are lucky enough to get captured on camera and reported by the media.

Anyway, I'm rambling. In summary, cops suck, traffic law is for morons, and I rock. ArdAtak OUT !

The Gay Tea Maker

Deezel pulls off some mind shattering moves in order to work off a severe case of beaver fever in Thailand.

Goodbye Cruel World

Just HAD TO cool off after a long day of miniature golf in EWA (Chelan). It's really hard to even see me in relation the bridge and get a grasp of how high it is. I'm just a spec.

Matty Gets Shizzy With It

Clip from Winter of 2006 (ish). We had pretty much stopped jumping for a few years at this point. Old age, bad knees, and all. However, since we were skiing on Easter Matty decided pull some old moves out for old times sake.

Halo - As I Teabag you slow

Not an impressive performance. From the early Halo3 days quite a while back. The GameVee watermark in the bottom right should tell you how old this clip is. I like this clip cuz it's one of the last times me and the fellas played all together at the same time before everyone scattered their own way.

In retrospect I was very slow on weapon switches, lacked awareness, and had no practical concept of the BR's effective range. I did, however, have more patience and caution than I do now. It was still fun.

The kickass song is by Palette Swap Ninja. I didn't ask their permission to use this song but they're cool guys and I'm fairly certain they're ok with it.

Quickie

I was a funny little man ...
needed the fans help every morning just to get out of bed.
Luckily, I had the best fans in the league.

For the rest of the day, I needed God's help.
Luckily, I had the best God In the league too.
And boy did he come to play.
That crazy god, always comes to play

- Eric Schaeffer

To Sleep , Perchance to Dream

A Story By Kelly Kortman

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I awake from day two of my cold and fever in a soaken sweat. I haven’t really eaten in a couple days, maybe a few grapes, a bite of watermelon, water, juice. I walk to the mirror, the abdominal muscles that I was working hard on the last several months but which never showed because I never dieted in conjunction are in their full glory, I literally must have lost 10 pounds as I sweated through two nights of agony and fever, I guess that‘s one way to do it. I’m now ripped like enlightenment era paintings of Jesus on the cross. My sunburn has faded into a golden glowy tan. My hair, falling out one follicle at a time since the middle of my Senior year of high school even seems fuller. I shower and wash away any remaining remnants of my illness. It’s noon, my friends have abandoned me it seems. I can’t blame them, the night before I was the picture of death. I seriously contemplated going to the hospital and getting an IV. Having no idea what that might cost and not knowing whether they have socialized medicine or whether I would end up spending more on that than say a years worth of car payments I decided to tough it out here at home.

I put on my swim trunks and walk down to the beach. Lay my towel down, load up on sunscreen cause I’m not going through the hell of sunburn again. I hear two guys and two girls sitting nearby speaking English. I almost have this feeling of Eureka! Or Thank you Jesus. It’s the first English I’ve heard in days outside of my circle of friends that I’m out here with. We exchange the usual pleasantries, where you from, how did you decide on this place, etc. etc. Two guys from Dallas, James who runs his fathers auto dealership and Tim who is a marketing director for Myspace, Sarah and Michelle are both from Sydney Austrailia have just graduated from college and are traveling for a year on a $5000 unlimited flying pass. Time passes on, we have a few beers, we throw the football around, I tell them how my friends have taken off and I don’t know when I might see them again. I tell them my deathbed story. The sun makes it’s ascent and descent in the sky, it’s four o’clock. They invite me out with them. There is a party tonight and there is a name for it in Portuguese that I quickly forget but loosely translated it means “Anything goes party.” It’s yet another in an endless stream of pre Carnival excuses to drink and have fun. For those who don’t know and I’m sure that most of you do Carnival the same as Mardi Gras perhaps without the beads or maybe there are beads I‘m not sure I‘ve never been. As the Catholics head into their period of lent and to the best of my remembrance from Catholic High School, it’s a one to two month period prior to the day of Jesus death. During this time you give up things, meat, candy, sex, in Italy probably your mistress. Things like that. Carnival is the time leading into that and everybody seemingly tries to commit as many sins as possible so that they can get them out of their system. I go home and shower, I put on my lucky shirt and shorts. We all get ready and we all have days where we come out looking like a 3 a 5 a 9 as it pertains to the best that we can look to ourselves. I’m rocking a solid 9.5, again for me. My 10 is Brad Pitts 3, let’s not kid ourselves. But there is something to be said for feeling good about ourselves that exudes through you and is picked up by the intuition of others. It goes the other way too as we all know. Not feeling good about yourself, that will exude too. Maybe this is God’s gift to me after giving me the plague for two days on my frickin’ vacation.

I meet up with my new amigos for drinks at a pre funk joint. We shoot a game of pool. We are all in a good mood. We grab a cab to this party that is in an outdoor venue. Oh by the way, still cannot find my friends, they are probably hiking through several mountains on their way to an undisclosed dinosaur dig. Did I mention their adventurousness? We see the lights and hear the music in the distance. Flashes of red and blue and yellow and green, strobes lights and fireworks. It’s amazing. We pay the cabbie and exit the vehicle, pay our cover and walk through the door to a throng of people, some in costume, some shirtless, girls included. Many people seem to be on ecstasy. There is a 5 girl to one guy ratio, I’ve never seen anything like this, girls sipping drinks on the sidelines waiting for somebody, anybody to come up and ask them to dance. My four friends have coupled up and have determined that they are going to make an attempt at faithfulness towards each other, I assume that they have not consummated their relationship yet, thusly. I am but one man in a swirling sea of music, woman, beauty and partial nakedness. I get that, “I have finally arrived and my vacation is beginning”, kind of feeling and yet I have a tiny feeling of remorse that my best friends are not here to share this with me. I buy a drink. I’m told to ensure that I open all my own drinks down here because some of the nare do wells down here for some reason like to slip roofies in your drinks and find you later and either take all your money or worse. I buy a beer and say, “Don’t worry I can open it myself.” The bartender looks at me funny but I’m not concerned. I tip him well even though tipping isn’t a thing down here.

I see my friends dancing in one little area, the girls to my surprise have already removed their tops. “When in Rome they say.” I’m smiling, surprised, laughing on the inside, mildly turned on, who wouldn’t be. I dance near them but don’t want to give the impression that I’m trying to weasel my way into their little semi circle of impending vacation one night stand, or romance or whatever it turns out to be for them. I have my back to them. I take my shirt off as well, why not right? I have Jesus abs again. I’m pulling out my best moves from the eighties, the snap and slide, the hands above the head but not too far above the head if you know what I mean, the shoulder shrug, I walk like an Egyptian which leads to a millisecond of vogue-ing with immediate regrets for having just pulled that one out of the dance move vault and then just sort of fall into the old “Footloose” side to side fingersnap. To my immediate left a group of demi-topless early twentysomethings make their appearance. Two topless, two covered in body paints, all beautiful and in perfect shape because that’s just how it is down here. [(aside) This island was founded by Germans who mixed with the Portuguese, Spanish and locals. For many years the Germans outnumbered everybody in the same way that the English came to outnumber the American Indians in Jamestown and other places in newly discovered America due to having wiped out their populations with smallpox. Over time races mixed on this island. Genetically speaking what the Germans brought to the table was blonde hair, blue or green eyes and um how do I say this delicately, topheavyness, the Portuguese and locals brought, genetically, dark skin, long skinny legs, nice posteriors. You put it all together and what you have is Giselle Bundchen. Anybody ever notice that Giselle has a German last name. Yep, she’s from around here and her cousins- tall and medium are everywhere.] I make eye contact with one of the girls in the group. I look into her big, blue eyes, She looks into my eyes we have a connection. She seems as though she is on some mind altering substance but I can’t tell what. She might just have been drinking a lot but I doubt it. I say “se voce falla englais” through the din of the music, which means “do you speak English in Portuguese“. She waves her hand as to say so/so. Now I’m making sporadic eye contact with all of her friends. They are looking at me like a Turkey as it comes out of the oven on Thanksgiving day by those who have been fasting since Tuesday so that they can binge eat come this moment. I electric slide over to them. I wink at my friends who are now intermittently making out and playing slap and tickle more than they are dancing. They wink back as if to say, “It’s on like Donkey Kong my brother.” The girls seem as genuinely excited for me as the guys. It’s a brave new world that we all exist in. Before I know it I move from outside the circle of dancing mini Giselles to being on the inside. They surround me and swarm me like bees in a hive. I wonder if I am part of a ritual where at the end of it all I will be put in a pot with some carrots and eaten or taken to the top of a mountain and sacrificed to the angry God’s who created this whole lent thing in the first place. Of course this is too good to be true. I’m 41 for the love of all things holy. These girls are in their early twenties, flawless and fighting for my eye contact and attention. I begin to get “bajoes” which is Portuguese for kisses. When I turn to one another slaps me on the ass, seemingly checking for firmness, when I turn to another I get rewarded with a kiss from her and a flirtatious bite on the back of my arm or neck from another. This goes on for two songs. I see other guys dealing with this same issue from other mini brazilian model wanna be/ could bes. Of course this is anything but an issue. It’s every mans fantasy and I’m seemingly living it in the moment. In life you hear many times that you should live in the moment and few of us rarely do but I’m truly living in this moment. I’m not thinking about work, the stock market, my advancing years, my 401k or my mortgage payments. The thump, thump of the techno music comes to a 1 second halt and a slow song comes on. Very strange for this atmosphere, it’s Michael Jackson’s “Human Nature.” I remember how big that MJ still is around the world despite his freakishness and retirement from music, oh, some 25 years ago in reality. I now suddenly have a choice to make because I cannot slow dance with four girls at the same time. To be fair I pick the one that I first made eye contact with. I do not make eye contact with the others because I know that there may be bruised feelings because at the end of the day nobody likes to be rejected especially by a 41 year old with thinning hair and a tinge of the crows feet. I pull her close to me, music is wafting through my ears, Michaels smooth vocals surround us……“and they say why, why, they tell me that it’s human nature, why, why does it do me that way.” We kiss, I now know fully what they have meant all those years by the saying, “the international language of love”. I can feel the top half of her body touching mine, the softness and the commingled sweat of our earlier dancing efforts We kiss for the entire song. The song ends, I look in her eyes, the full moon is, at this moment, being reflected back towards me from them. It’s 75 degrees out, a wind whips in off the ocean, for a split second you can hear the crashing of surf. Another thumping beat replaces the beauty of the previous slow song, a song that I very well may never now forget. There is no need to go back to dancing to the techno music. There is only one thing for us to do and that is to go for a walk down the beach together as anything else would be seemingly redundant. After a four minute stroll we find a closed down beach bar that has big chaise chairs locked up to their nearest post, the post which holds up the tiki style roof. For whatever reason they have left the cushions on. We fall into the couch like chair still able to hear the music in the background. “dinz, dinz, dinz, dinz” with the coordinating stream of lights glowing off in the distance. We talk a little for the first time, where are you from, what do you do, how is it that you are single. Her English is fair and my Portuguese is awful. I often have wondered why you will ask someone here a question and they will just start going off in Portuguese to my astonishment. Then I remember that I of course do the same thing. I get asked question in Portuguese and start going off in English because, well, that’s my only choice. We slowly realize that beyond the basics we have everything to say and nothing at all to say. So we stop wasting our time with small talk and begin kissing again. Girls down here, and I’ve heard this from many others, love to kiss and maybe fool around a little bit and have no problem with nudity, especially toplessness but beyond that they are pretty good girls. When things begin to get heated she pulls away, smiles, looks at me and with the wag of a finger says, “No, no, no mister.” She takes my hands in hers and starts kissing me again, I safely put my hands on her back, I figure I can’t get in trouble for this. We kiss for what seems to be hours. I feel like I’m at a high school party that I remember going to in my Junior year in Schaumburg Illinois where I kissed a girl all night in some parents who were away on vacation’s bedroom who was so turned on by this that she put scratch marks all over my back to the point that it looked like I had just made love to a Puma. I’m getting the same vibe here but thankfully without the clawing away of the shoulder blades and spinal cord region. I look up into the nighttime sky and see that the moon is in a different spot altogether from where it was when we first layed down. I look at my watch, it’s 3 am. I’m exhausted, thirsty, my mouth, lips and jaw ache from this marathon make out session. Don’t get me wrong I have no regrets and this girl may seemingly be the sweetest girl on the planet but having just come off a cold I feel that I should probably zip back to the crib and get some shuteye. I get up from the couch and extend my hand. She gives me the somewhat frowny, “I’m not happy to see this end” kind of look, but in that cute way that cute girls do it when they want to be…..cute. She reaches in her purse and finds her tube top like covering. She slides it over her head. This is the first time I’ve seen her with all of her clothes on, usually it’s the other way around, ya know? We make our way back down the beach, holding hands like two young lovers who’ve been at this forever. We speak minimally. I ask her for her phone number. She gives it to me in her best English. I have no pen or paper so I try to think of ways to remember it. I know that somehow by birthday is involved with the first part and two of my favorite football players jersey numbers are involved in the last part. I of course cannot remember her name for the life of me, I want to say it’s Giselle but I know it’s not. I last heard it hours ago and I was so taken by her raw beauty that it went in one ear and out the other, my brain apparently was processing too many other caveman style thoughts at the time. I ask her how she spells her name so that I can commit that to memory as well. It’s Patricia, but her friends call her what sounds like Patchi. The music gets louder, the lights get brighter the population of beach lovers gets denser and we know that we are getting close. She says, “Although my friends are going to kill me my brother is the one that is really going to be pissed.” But again half in English and half in her language but I get it. I say, “brother.” She say’s, “Yes, we came with him, he drove.”

We make our way through the crowd of yet reveling dancers. We go back to the spot where we first met. Her friends are gone, my friends are gone. We begin a search for them, we hold each others hands not necessarily to be romantic but to not lose each other because the crowd has actually become larger since we last left. We make our rounds to all the various bars that have been set up around the outside dance floor. The DJ is working up a furious blend of house and techno. We finally come across her friends sitting at a table, they now all have their tops on as well. Apparently toplessness is mainly for the dance floor whereas sitting at a table drinking a mojito is more of a “top on” kind of thing. They look at her with darting eyes. They are purely speaking in Portuguese for my non Portuguese speaking pleasure. I don’t understand a thing but I understand everything. “Where have you been, what have you been up to, God knows, I think I hear one ask are you still a virgin?” I don’t have a clue but this is what I’m guessing. She explains herself to them to the point that they aren’t satisfied with her answers but the thought of throwing her into the ocean for making them worry so much fades from their demeanor. She turns to me and says that her brother has been frantically looking for her since two and is pissed. She goes on to say that I might wish to make my exit now since he is a big fella who has been practicing the beautiful art of Brazilian judo called kapamaria (or whatever it’s called) since he was a young child and is not afraid to use it. I haven’t been in a fight in a long time but decide that it would be embarrassing to get my ass kicked by some dude that looks like he’s doing have yoga and half tai chi. I agree with her on many fronts that it’s time for me to go, her friends aren’t happy, I’m tired and I don’t need a fat lip for the rest of my trip considering that I just overcame a blocked ear, a sunburn and the 48 hour flu. I kiss her gently goodbye and just as I turn I hear in the distance in a booming bass voice, “Patchi, no!” He weaves his way frenetically towards us and I say, “I’ll call you, buh bye!” I begin my very own weave through the crowd. He commences chase. I run through the bronzed, green eyed beauties breaking off moves like Reggie Bush running through the Chicago Bears secondary. There is a gate and a line to get out of it. It’s one of those temporary gates that they put up for parties like this where a cover is charged although they are relatively futile since you could just simply Navy Seal it in from the beach if you really wanted to avoid paying cover, or simply slide throughat one of the fence connections. I weasel my way through a particular set of these gates and wonder if I could have done the same thing a few days ago before I lost ten pounds from lying in bed during all that time with no food. The brother is now at the gate trying to do the same thing but he’s too big, he can’t fit and just as he’s about a quarter of the way through he is grabbed by off duty police officers getting paid overtime I would assume to work security at this particular function. I hear him saying unpleasant things to them and intermittently yelling at me. It seems that his English is not as good as his sisters but he’s apparently learned the words, “I’ll kill you!“ So he has that going for him, which is nice. I cut in line, jump in a cab, the cabbie says, “Where to?” in his best English. I say, “Any the F where but here just drive man, just drive!” He speeds off. I collect my thoughts, catch my breath and for the first time in a long time breath a huge sigh of relief and begin to laugh. Once we get our bearings straight I tell him to take me back to my condo at Praia Mole. I’m tired, I drift off to sleep in the cab. This is the last thing I recall.

I wake up the next day in my bed in a puddle of sweat. I recall the events of the night before and realize that there were no events from the night before. It was nothing more than the most vivid dream that I’ve ever had. A feverish delirious dream but a dream nonetheless. My clothes are still folded neatly in a pile where they’ve been since I came down with this god-forsaken cold. The morning sun is gleaming through the window. I’m soaked wet through and through probably to the mattress but I feel amazingly better although nasty because there is nothing worse than waking up in a puddle of cold, wet sheets and blankets. I spin up, put my feet on the floor and walk to the bathroom, my sunburn has turned into a golden brown and reflected back at me in the mirror is a beautiful set of Jesus abs. My friends are gone and I suggest to myself that it would be a good idea to walk down to the local beach. As I walk out of the house and lock the door behind me a smile comes to my face as I think to myself, “This day has an endless array of possibilities.”


Kelly Kortman

---

The previous story is purely fiction. Any similarity to real names places or situations is totally coincidental.

So it’s Saturday. Day 7 of the vacation. I’ve just awoken from my two day sick bed. Not fun on vacation, thank god we decided to do a longer length of time. We are heading back up to the north end of the island, the place I described earlier that my friends made it too but I hadn’t, Jurere. It’s where there is a Nikki beach style club that apparently we are VIP too, my airline pilot buddy Paul has a buddy who has a house up North in Jurere and has taken the time to get to know many people very well. I spend the day yesterday writing the above, sleeping intermittently, showering as I kept waking up in a series of cold sweats. I watched a few south park episodes on my computer. My buddies come home late, they read my above story and feel sorry for me because of the pure irony of the story considering that my fiction writing the polar opposite of the experience that I was actually having. Like my buddy Ardi said, great art comes through great suffering. I’m not suggesting that that is great art, but it’s better than other stabs I’ve made at writing fiction. Life goes on. We are out the door and on our way to this beach party. I just want to feel better and home that at some point today this becomes a reality. I’m still feeling a little off but this time it seems from the medication that I’m taking. I cannot tay here another day so I’m heading up with them.

Brazilian Media

We feel that to reveal embarrassing or private things, we have given someone something, that, like a primitive person fearing that a photographer will steal his soul, we identify our secrets, our past and their blotches, with our identity, that revealing our habits or losses or deeds somehow makes one less of oneself ...

... I had forgotten that, and so many things. How could I put everything down on paper? It seemed impossible. No matter what, the majority of life would be left out of this story, this sliver of a version of the life I'd known. But I tried anyway.

— Dave Eggers

Well boys and girls. Looks like I'm pretty much done compiling photos and whatnot.

Here is some media from Brazil:

Musical Slideshow (the first few songs are major anthems from the trip)

Static Photo Gallery

This is a little video of the 2nd secret beach we hit on our last Saturday (the one Paul skipped on). It's called Lagoa Naufragados. We took a boat there but we hiked back through the jungle.



Here's a clip from our one night at Pacha. Lighting is bad and doesn't really convey the magnitude and scale of this place but I think you get the vibe.



We went to the dunes of Joaquina to sand surf but it was raining and the sand was sticky. So we just drove another 1/2 mile and did the real kind of surfing. I guess if it was sunny and dry we would have looked something like this.



This is a clip from the secret beach we found on the SE corner of the island early on. We took a car and 2 motorcycles to the trailhead. It rained the whole hike. Paul made it back barefoot. It's called Lagoinha do Leste which I think translates to hidden beach or something.



I tried to find some clips of the other spots we spent time at. Unfortunately the only clips I found seemed to revlove around a lot of T&A without really showing the other merits and natural beauty.

Here's a clip of P12 in the winter. We were there in the summer. Lots of photos in the gallery. The video makes it look like a bit of a poser-fest. An S&M (Stand and Model) joint perhaps. It's a lot more laid back and wholesome in the summers.



Here is a clip of Praia Mole where we lived. Again, it's too bad the clip's all about T&A because it's actually a beautiful beach with good waves, cold water, and lots of good food, drinks, and music.

Brazil - Part IV: Beginning of the End

So much has happened in the past few days. I'm not sure where to begin. I've been on a bit of an emotional roller coaster ride but I think I can probably settle down long enough to wrap up this trip report.

After my last post we headed down to a club called "Conferia" which had advertized house music on one of the flyers the fellas got handed. The guys caught a nice buzz over dinner at DNA while I stayed sober so I can drive them around. We roll down to the joint and it's a pretty cool looking spot. Designed sort of in the tradition of the old Jamaican dance halls. A big dinner area, comfy lounge / lobby, and a nice dance room with a big bar. Only problem is, it's Samba night. Matt is very irritated by this apparent "Switch and Bait". I don't mind it so much. I spend some time with a chef/jiu jitsu fighter and a Hotel Hostess from Puerto Alegre. They're cool people and we have fun chatting and dancing. I'm not sure where it happened but Paul and Kelly are gone. Matt's slurring as he comes to the lobby where I was kicking back with my new friends and he's very irate at the music and our missing friends. It's getting late and Matt looks on the verge of commiting a crime so I say goodbye to my friends and we take off.

We're both starving so we stop off at a late night joint. We order salads, get hot dogs (with no meat), send it back, and then take off because we think they're going to spit in our food. We find another food shack closer to home. As we sit down a group of vampires (I don't know what else to call them) sit down at our table uninvited. I don't know what it is about these girls but they creep the fuck out of me. They have nice bodies but I suddenly feel like I'm in a scene from interview with a vampire. I go inside and pay Matt and my bill in advance. Then I come back out and a new vampire is sitting in my seat. I tell Matt to eat as fast as he can and although he's drunk, having fun, and oblivious to my freaking out he follows my lead and we jet out pronto. I think maybe more than anything I was scared of seeing the sun and hearing the morning birds chirp before I went to bed. Bad flashbacks I guess. Maybe I was the vampire after all.

The next day, the guys go to the mall. There's no way I'm taking part in any of that. I chill at home, read on the beach, and return our rental car for a new one (long boring story). I also sit down with Kelly and fully listen to his baby mama drama and offer him some serious advice for the first time on this trip.

That night we roll around the streets of Lagoa, drink Absinthe, and enjoy the free outdoor public samba concert. Matt's having bad flashbacks of Conferia but I got a nice buzz and I'm lovin' the Absinthe. It's like the Smirnoff Ice version Absinthe and it's sold in every gas station and market in green bottles. Yummy. Kelly is mesmerized by the tall tranny's and Paul is in love with the mirrored storefronts. I'm still the DD and I drive home with a huge smile on my face and sleep like a champ.

The next day, we decide to explore the South West corner of the Island which we have not been to. Paul is anticipating a lot of traffic on the way home since we're officially in Carnaval Weekend. When we hit a particular intersection to get out of Lagoa and he sees the oncoming traffic he jumps out of the car. We continue on our journey and see a the most authentic, non-commercialized part of the Island. We take a boat to another hidden beach which is not accessible by road. It's wide and beautiful. Bushy green hills surround the expansive beach. Horses roam the finges and a few shacks nestled in the greenery sell food and drinks. You can see the mainland across the water. We play football and pepper, chat, swim, and have a good time keeping to ourselves. When it's time to go we decide to hike back instead of taking a boat. We have some trouble finding the trail back among all the green foliage and the locals who claim to know the way get us lost for a while but we all laugh it off and eventually find the trail. I love sweating and getting the toxins out. He hit a bit of traffic around Campeche but pull some jedi moves and use our detailed map to hit a shortcut around all the traffic. The sound of drums, signifying the local parades, is like a death sentence and we strive to avoid it. We arrive at the intersection that caused Paul to jump out. 9 cars and 3 minutes later (we timed it exactly) we're through it. I look forward to rubbing Paul's face in his own feces. I know he was bored all day because he kept texting us on the cheap little cheapy cell phones we had that only worked on the Island.

P: What are you guys doing?
A: We're on a boat?
P: Where are you going?
A: Hidden beach. You should see this place it's amazing. Have fun at the mall.
P: I'm glad you found something fun to do. Maybe now someone can remove the tampon from your hole.
A: Sorry. All out of Tampons. Can you pick some up at the mall?

By the time we get home it's dark and late. The the beachfront joints by our home are closed and we're scared to brave the reverse carnival traffic back into town for food. As luck would have it there is a huge gay hotel about 200 meters south of us. We go in. It's dark. Not a sound. We soldier on into the depths of this seemingly dead resort which hours ago was covered with brown gay bodies and speedos from wall to wall (according to Paul). We go the restaurant and it's open. I'm already drunk and wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. No shoes. No shirt. No problem. The host offers the fellas 50% discount if their cute little friend keeps his shirt off. Sold. We eat at the buffet and it was hands down the best meal of the trip. No question about it. We're thinking about winding down after a long day, nice buzz, and full belly but we get a call from friends on our cheapy local phones and they tell us that we should not miss Pacha tonight. David Guetta' from Paris is spinning. Pacha is all the way on the North side of the Island. We debate it for a while. We already have a full day planned tomorrow. Is it really worth it? Does a bear shit in the woods? Does Paul flex is every photo? Does Kelly shower with CB SPF 1000? Hell yeah ... we're going.

It's pissing rain out. Our crappy ride is fogging up and the fellas are drinking. Matt's my navigator but he decides to call George for some idle chit chat in the hairiest part of the trip and I'm trying to drive and read signs through my foggy rainsoaked window all at the same time. Paul won't shut up and I snap at him. It was a moment of weakness which I regret. It's cool and forgotten once we get there. We're in awe of the size of this place in the middle of nowhere. The guys were short on cash but we assumed we could use our credit cards. No such luck. You gotta pay cash for the cover. Paul and I are the only ones with any substantial cash at this point. All our $ together still won't get the 4 of us in but we're in luck. Scalpers are selling tiks for 20 rials less outside. We can get in at that rate. We buy the tickets outside the lot and roll back in. This place is like a mall. Imagine a food court at a mall. That's how all the multiple bars in this place were set up. It also had an outdoor dancefloor the size of 3 football fields with the hugest DJ stand ever. The DJ stand and couches / dance floor around it alone was big enough to be it's own establishment. The headliner doesn't start until 3 a.m. and seems to alternate between really epic house and tweaky techno. Probably for the contrast I suppose. All melodic house sounds better if it comes after harsh, soulless techno. It was a very epic night. On the drive home I get to see the sun rise over Lagoa. I decide to treat the moment like a blessing, a beautiful moment, a gift from god instead of the dirty moment when you realize you've been up partying all night and sun is here to remind you what a loser you are. Not everyone shares my prespective and I have to listen to more whining but my spirit perseveres I go to bed happy.

Side Note: I've been conditioned to be ashamed of my "Americanness" when I travel. Thanks Dubyah. Sometimes I'm even embarassed to throw the ball around on the beach because I know it's an instant give away. But that night David played a remix of "American Boy" and all the girls in the joint lost their minds. They were dancing and singing the lyrics out loud. Maybe they just like the melody. Maybe they didn't even know what they were singing. I'd like to think they did. It made me feel fuzzy inside.

I get up after 4 hours of sleep and feel surprisingly good (probably because I drank nothing but water, and lots of it, the night before). We're headed to P12 because we love it. Once again, George and Benia have some of their promoter friends get us some passes up front and Anna is there to greet us. For the first time ever she seems a little tired but still in a good mood and very kind. The lack of sleep in definitely catching up with Paul and he hits the "Miami Zone". Last time I saw him like this was when he stayed up for 72 hours straight in Miami. He's hyper but sloppy at the same time. Strangely, he's flexible and non-judgemental and I like this version more than the others for some reason. We run into a lot of friends and it's a bit sad since we also know we're close to leaving. It was a nice chance to spend one of the last days of the trip with most of the people we've met. Sun goes down, beats of are absolutely epic, and I never want to leave. But we eventually do.

Matt and Kelly crash hard. Paul and I stay up and decide to head into town for quick internet and food. I haven't emailed Jen for days and feel bad. Plus we're both starving. Unfortunately, because we're right across from the most popular beach on the Island, this means that end of day traffic by our house during Carnival is insane. We sit in the car for 15 minutes and can still see our driveway. We turn around. Paul calls some ladies who are in Lagoa and basically puts in an order of food for us. God bless the kid. He might not have a soul but he's got game. His mackalicious skills save us from starving.

Our last day is spent at Praia Mole across from the crib. The day is cut short as a rain storm hits the beach and we go home clean up and head out for one last dinner with friends. There are some painful goodbyes and I retire to pack and prepare for departure. I'm excited to see Jen and kids. I have a picture of Max and Riley taped to the inside lid of my first aid kit. I don't know why it's there. I think it's because I figured that is the spot I'll be looking at if shit goes wrong and that's the moment I'll need the most strength. I leave the kit open on my nightstand and drift to sleep.

Officially, this is more or less the end of the "trip". We return the car at the airport, fly to Sao Paulo, and after a 10 hour layover fly first class (thanks to Paul) to DC. Unfortunately I hardly get to enjoy it as I force down the cardboard tasting gourmet dinner, slam a drooler, and pass out. Matt flies to Cali and the rest of us to Seattle. However, these 36 hours had their own share of drama and heartache.

I've always lived by the Philosophy of "Do the right thing and tell the truth." I try not to do anything I'm ashamed of and in turn take pride in always being in a position to tell the truth. I've tried to be honest and forthright in all these travel stories. However, I now find myself being asked by others to leave out crucial details and since love prevails I will abide by their wishes.

I am home now. I slept for 12 hours last night. I kept waking up not knowing who I was, where I was, or where I was going. Where am I? Who am I? Am I in Seattle? Is Seattle my home? Do they speak Persian here? How long am I staying?

I spent the day with the kids and Jen and I are trying reconnect at a stronger level. I didn't think it was possible but I've grown from this trip and have realized that I need to remap some things in my life that had become a bit unhealthy.

My final thoughts are odes to my travel partners.

Kelly you are a kind soul and a misunderstood gentleman. I think you're too good for the crowd you hang out with.

Paul I hope you stay forever young and never lose your spirit or enthusiasm. I envy you.

Matty supported me during my down times. Weather I was injured, sick, or emotionally distraught he had my back and I took immense pride in doing the same for him. He also covered for me financially in many situations. Like my mom once said when we quarrelled over who gets to pay the bill, "Whoever has more pays." Although I was the more financially successful of the two of us for the majority of our friendship, Matty's been killing it lately and gladly covered for me in all of our more "frivolous" expenditures. You are a rare friend. I love you brother. I'll never forget the chicken meal in the bus stop.

Jen's calling me up for dinner. It smells good. Like home.

Brazil - Part III: Deep Cool

I’m not sure when it happened. I stopped taking notes. My writer’s eye, the one that tries to remember everything for future retelling closed up. It’s not necessarily a bad thing. I’ve been flowing through life enjoying myself and not caring about much. I am no longer tired. But my heart is still true. It always will be.

I will try to remember everything to the best of my ability but forgive me if this ends up sounding like an uninspired middle school essay on “What did you do this summer?”

When I finished the last blog, the fellas were coming to pick me up so we can go out at night for the first time since we got to Flo. We weren’t really in the mood for turbo club action so we just hit the center of the local beach town and hung at the main intersection drinking beers and chatting with the locals. I ran into some guys that we had met on the south side of the Island. They had both lived and worked in the US before. One as a student in SanFran. The other as a ski lift operator in Utah. They were very cool. We discussed some cultural nuances of Brazil and America and they taught me some Portuguese. Most importantly “Grilled Chicken with Veggies” the most important survival phrase for me when I travel.

Funny incident from that night … while I was talking to my new friends in the street, the fellas went to a bar to get some drinks. I guess Paul asked a girl in Portuguese if she spoke English to which she replied in a very loud and annoyed fashion: “NO !!!”.

They told me the story later. A few hours later as we walk by with our new friends laughing and having a great time I see them sitting at the same exact table. Still alone. Still with no one to talk to. Poetic justice. I’ve tried to be as open as I can this trip and savor every new person I meet.

The next day we drive to the north coast. Jurrere. There is a day club there, P12, which is more amazing than anything in Vegas or even Ibiza when I was there 10 years ago. Paul’s local friend Benia works in an advertising agency that handles all the print and media for the major clubs around here and she had hooked us up with free passes. We also make friends with the manager Anna who is extremely classy and cool. Benia and her friend George meet us there. We also meet a few other promoters. It’s an off day at P12 since it really only pops on weekends but it’s a good opportunity to make friends and contacts. We have a fun, laid-back time and later Benia and George show us Mark’s house and take us to the Pharmacy for some ass medicine for Matt

By the way, on our way out of P12 Paul, who had pounded a few drinks leans into Anna’s ear and whispers one word. “Sexy”. It made me cringe. She had been so kind and classy. I really hoped that Paul had not offended her. Future visits to P12 proved me wrong. I guess a brother can go far with movie star good looks, a #5 smile, and little bit of confidence. Anna continued to treat us 1st class.

We drive home after dark and have to hurry since we’re going out with Reno to El Divino. It’s an amazing club. I get sweated at the door for having on a sleeveless shirt so I have to find our vale’d car a few blocks away and get another shirt out of it. It was a huge hassle but Matt and Benia who had met us there helped out. Once again, Benia came through and not only helped with the valet situation but also got us in. Reno had a nice VIP section reserved. I’ve always been fundamentally against the VIP concept at clubs. What’s the point of going out to a social function only to then isolate yourself from the crowd. I like to talk, dance, mingle, and just roam. I also can’t stand people who get their sense of worth or a good time from a velvet rope. Nonetheless, it’s a great time all around and we go home late but happy. Sadly, Kelly stayed home sick. We told him he didn’t miss much. We lied.

The next day was a fog. I can’t recall much. I get on the bikes with Matty and we go get some food and try to sleep a bit on the beach. Later he run errands while I read and then we get some health food at DNA in Lagoa. We try to watch “No Country for Old Men” on his laptop and fall asleep after the first 10 minutes.

Saturday we go back to P12 and enjoy the fact that Kelly is finally well enough to go out with us. We get him wasted which probably wasn’t a good idea. I stay dead sober and enjoy the antics of my loaded friends as I drive them home after dark. Life’s good. We meet some friends for Tai food and go to bed early.

Sunday is the big house music day at P12 and it’s OFF THE CHAIN. World class DJ’s. Best day of the trip by far. We meet Australians, Argentineans, Brits, and people from every corner of the globe. We also run into our American friend Mike who’s like a mini-Colin and stands out a bit due to his height and decent fitness. At this point Kelly is dominating the party much like Mack dominated the dive in Koh Tao (if you don’t know about that … sorry). Paul is kind of a big deal and Matt is on cloud 99. Paul has strangers coming up to him and wanting to take pictures with him. Matt’s beating his chest like a silver back in heat and the fans love it. I walk around with no ego for I am one with the people. I have a lot of fun talking to different folks and dancing. As the great philosopher Jeff Larson once said: “I’m the shit.”

The next day Matt and I go to Barra De Lagoa for some competitive volleyball. We’re disappointed with the quality of the competition but since Matt can’t jump due to his knee the games remain close. My competitive side comes out and Matt tells me I’m being a dick and he’s probably right. We go to bed early.

The next day turns out to be pretty epic. We go to the sand dunes of Joaquina for some sand surfing but it’s raining and you can’t really slide on wet sand. We’re not too disappointed since it would have just amounted to snow boarding down bunny slopes but still worth the experience. So Matt and I surf instead while Paul and Kelly eat and check the internet. Next, we hit Campeche beach and realize it’s time to finalize our tickets home.

There’s one thing that had been a source of uneasiness for me this entire trip. I could stay ‘til the 27th but my friends had to leave around a week sooner. I kept trying to convince them to stay longer but it seemed in vain. I considered staying alone or with the many friends we’ve made but I got really depressed when I did that in Thailand and didn’t want to feel that way again. That evening when Paul checks the loads for standby flights he discovers that no one can leave until the 24th. I’m ecstatic. Paul copes with the news. Matt’s non-pulsed. Kelly is devastated. But I know what’s best for him and assure him he’ll be glad this happened by the time he’s on his deathbed. (Which may very well have been the bed he was laying in as we spoke.) That’s just kind of bastard I am. Turns out I was right.

The next day we’re back at Barra De Lagoa. The competition is better and Matt and I play late. We tell the fellas to take the car home. We’ll figure out our ride. By the time we’re done my back’s hurting. We eat a whole chicken with our bare hands out of a paper bag in a dark desolate bus stop. Matt buys me Smirnoff and carry’s my bag again since my back’s wrecked. I cherished the decrepit meal in the jacked bus stop for, once again, it’s something only the closest of brothers can share with no pretension.

The next day is a lazy day at our local beach, Praia Mole. Matt, Kelly, and I decide to walk to the rock formations at the end of the beach and take pictures. It requires us to walk through a strongly gay area of the beach. Amusing but no big deal. When we get there, we find out that Kelly’s camera is out of batteries, again, and we have to hike back through gayland, again. When we get back to our bags which were being watched by some friends we run into Paul. Now he have to hump back through homoville again, this time with our trophy new boyfriend. We take some amazing pics. Kelly and I continue hiking over the hill to the next beach and it’s wondrous. Pictures from our crappy cameras will not do it justice. It’s also a nude beach which causes Kelly to sprint out of this killer frame I had set up because some naked guy came to within 15 yards of him. Lost a bit of respect for him on that move. On the way back we meet the first and only cool Americans we’ve met the whole trip (the only other one was a fat, drunk, obnoxious girl from Atlanta at P12). We eat at a cool beach bar with nice beats and watch the sun go down. I had met the DJ earlier that day through a friend and he wanted to give me a CD.

We got home and I took a shower earlier than the rest of the crew so I though I’d write this while they got ready. We’re going to Conferia for some house music tonight. Be safe and keep it sexy.

Brazil - Part II: Tears in the Sand

I am tired.

My heart is true.

- Dave Eggers

Third world travel can be strange. There is almost no other time in life with manic ups and downs, euphoric highs, and heartbreaking lows so closely squeezed in together. Like sardines in a can the good times and the bad seem to line up right next to each other with very little room for neutral emotions or insignificant downtime.

Injuries, food poisoning, accidents, and heartache go hand in hand with the joy of discovering new things, places, people, & music. Sadness and joy, like fraternal twins, wear different faces but are never too far from each other and are born from the same parents, hope & expectation. (My brother once said "When you travel, expectation is a bitch.")

But what’s felt often fades with time while what’s done (what happens) lasts forever. One of the greatest quotes I’ve heard is from my friend Marty. We were looking over some pictures from a Vegas trip and he said: “You know that was a great trip … even when we thought we weren’t having fun we really were.” And that is so true. I just spent 24 hours with food poisoning (more on that shortly) fading in and out of delirium, puking, and painting the bowl. But I’m pretty sure in 6 months I’d give my left nut to be back in Florianopolis taking turns puking and laughing with Matt. Any time one of us is playing poorly we just remind each other, “Hey, your worst day at the beach is better than your best day at the office.”

And so it is, fair reader, that the last few days have been a whirlwind of ups and downs. It took me 3 attempts in 2 days just to type these first few paragraphs. If I was to heavily plagiarize “Gym Class Heroes” and write a poem about what my life’s been like lately (or … let’s be honest … what I WISH my life was like) it would be something like this:

Cheezy Poem

P.S. That’s just a hacked poem so please don’t take every verse literally. I think you all know the portions that do and don’t apply

OK enough with reflection. Let’s get back to facts and events. I would also like to make 2 things perfectly clear before I go on:

1) I will roast and make a lot of jokes at my friends’ expense but It’s all in good fun and ball busting. I wouldn’t travel across the world with ANYONE who I didn’t have 100% faith, respect, and love for. I was told that some of the stuff I wrote in the last blog was offensive to some so I want to publicly apologize right now.

2) Despite what you are about to read, we are all 4, at this moment, in perfect health and spirits so please don’t be concerned.

Moving on …. When we last left our heroes, they were sitting in a hotel room in Rio doing shots while the sexy one was wrapping up his blog. Once the fellas were ready we took a cab to Lapa, the historical district in Rio. This area was very poor and extra sketchy late at night. There was one lively alley where some folks were selling their art and booze. We hung out there for a while, checking out art and chatting with the locals. Matt seems to be a magnet for drunk people with bad breath who think he understands what they’re saying. Paul and Matt got their portrait done together, eternally linking their souls in a bad replica of two guys looking like a young Kirk Russell and that cheese dick from “The fast and the furious”.

Afterwards we accidentally ended up at a gay bar where Kelly seemed to finally smile for the first time and Matt showed everyone what a skilled meat gazer he truly is. Totally kidding. But Paul really did have his picture taken with a tranny. It was worth the laughs.

Random Side Note: Paul's facebook status the next day read as follows … “Paul is putting on some CockBlock SPF 45 for extra protection.” He claims he didn’t do it. The culprit remains at large.

Anyhomo, the next day was very laid back. We spent the whole day lounging at the beach. Matt and I found a huge sand dune created by the digging of a waterway between Ipanema beach and the lagoon behind it. We did some sprint drills up the dune. It was awesome. Then some local kids tried to race us and of course we all know who won. To make up for coming in 2nd, Matt did a front flip off the top of the dunes and kids got a kick out of it. (FYI, Matt’s knee has been jacked this whole trip). We also did some peppering and drills and threw the football around with Kelly. Paul was photographed passed out next to Eric Schaeffer’s book “I can’t believe I’m still single”. It’s a hilarious photo. (Editors Note: Paul claims that he can “totally” believe why he’s single”)

Anyhorny, as the sun was setting we figured it was time to GTF outa dodge. We went back to the hotel, called GOL airlines and booked some tickets to Flo for 10:40 a.m. the next day. The plan was to figure out where we’re staying once we got there. Paul suggested trying to find a house so I emailed a guy I had corresponded with a few weeks earlier. Luckily he replied back that the had a condo available for us. VERY lucky. Paul also suggested that we reserve a car so we hooked that up as well. Once it looked like everything was settled we decided to take a brief stroll to Copa Cabana beach (home to one of my heroes, Jose Loyola) and go to bed early since we had the morning flight. Big mistake. We stopped to eat at a place that looked fairly respectable but the food was atrocious. It’s been almost 48 hours since that moment and I’m gagging recalling the event. Kelly was on 2 painkillers and very funny. Also, Matt attracted more drunk people with bad breath who thought he understood them. The boy’s a hobo magnet. Kinda like how Kelly is a chick magnet. Or how Paul’s a tranny magnet.

That night was hell. I had to stay up late to finalize all the details for our house and car. Meanwhile, Matt was so sick that he turned off the AC and put on his fleece while he prayed to the porcelain gods every few minutes and I was sweating my ass off. Trying to coordinate everything at 3:00 am with food poisoning and having to get up at 7:00 am was not fun. I never really told the guys how much that sucked but it did. The only upside was that they were all very appreciative and thankful when we arrived and that made it all worthwhile.

We somehow manage to get our act together in the morning and pack, check out, jump in a cab, and go to the airport. Matt was VERY VERY sick. I was not as bad but also felt pretty shitty. Paul and Kelly seemed OK. We still kept our gallows humor about us and made it through the place although Matt would just fall asleep everywhere we stopped and he constantly needed a plastic bag nearby to vomit in. I carried his stuff and woke him up every time we needed to move.

Important Side Note: Despite how well and how long I’ve known Matt, I am absolutely blown away but the way he can quietly take his pain, suffer through his daemons, and not utter the slightest complain. If I was a girl, I think I’d find this one of the most attractive qualities in a man.

Kelly has got to be the most flexible and non-judgemental guy I’ve been around. He is low maintenance and has a great sense of humor. I can definitely get deep with him and his concise insights always impress and entertain me. Sometimes I feel like I’m harsh with him but it’s the brotherly crassness that’s bread from comfort, trust, and familiarity.

Also, as much as I like to bust his balls, Paul’s a great road dog. He is the eternal optimist and enthusiastic traveler. He’s very good at thinking things through 3 or 4 steps ahead and predicting consequences other wouldn’t think of until it’s too late. I’ve been to more places with him than anyone else and there’s a good reason for that. I’m not sure what that reason is but I’ll let you know when I figure it out.

Once we land in Flo we meet our car guy at the airport and take off in our Volkswagen GOL. We meet Reno who is sort of a semi-concierge. He’s a former pro surfer who lives in one of the condos here and helps the visitors with everything from car & motorcycle rentals, to cell phones, guides, translators, reservations, and everything else. We quickly bond since he’s about our age and temperament and even make plans to go out in a couple of nights. He’s a first class dude and we’re lucky to have him on our side.

Our day of arrival is a long and painful blur. Once we check in we take turns sleeping, puking, shitting, etc. I faded in and out of sleep and slept for over 12 hours. Paul said it was 16 but I have no idea when I fell asleep or when I woke up.

Funny Dialogue

ARDI: I feel bad. I had to take a Valium last night to fall asleep. I don’t like taking stuff like that.”

PAUL: I know. I wanted to take a drooler (sleeping pill) but I kept falling asleep before I could take it.

At this point (before the long sleep) my mind is cannibalizing itself. On top of the illness and sleep deprivation I’m also spinning into a surreal depression since I can see my long awaited vacation wasting away and going nowhere. I’m wondering if it’s all happening because of bad luck or have I done something, or worse, become someone, to deserve this. (All that went away the next morning).

I’m dreaming. Walking through a never ending airport terminal. It's the outdoor kind in the tradition of Thai Islands. No matter how fast I walk everyone is passing me and I know I'm going to miss my flight. Where are my bags? I see Paul and Kelly carrying a suitcase with Matt in it. When I open the suitcase all the way I see that it’s only the top of Matt’s head (scalp) and the rest of him is not there. I dig through the bag frantically trying to find the rest of him and piece him together. Kelly cries. Paul laughs. I wake up.

It’s 8:00 am. Everyone’s asleep. Even though I feel groggy and weak from having little more than a bowl of fruit for the past 24 hours I decide to go for a run on the beach in hopes of jumpstarting myself. The beach is empty. I run to the end but gas out quickly and walk back physically and emotionally drained. On the way back I see a yellow flag on a pole high above the beach. It instantly reminds me of my childhood on the beaches of the Caspian Sea where I spent the summers at my grandparents villa. They had Green, Red, and Black flags to indicate the danger levels at the beach for swimmers. I suddenly flash back to a picture of a 5 year old me on a horse with my grandfather holding the harness. The last time I saw him was when he came to Houston my senior year in High School. He got to watch me play a hell of a football game against our rival high school and although he didn’t understand the game much he loved to see me run and hear my name called on the PA each time the crowd roared. I am eternally grateful to god for giving him that experience. A few weeks later when I was leaving on a ski trip to New Mexico he cried when we said goodbye. I had never seen this mountain of a man, this rock of integrity shed a tear but he did that day. Later, my mom told me it was because he knew he would never see me again. He was right.

Even though the beach is empty I hide behind an old lifeguard shack so no one can see me cry. I’m there for a while.

When I get back I fix myself a protein shake, take a shower, and fall back asleep. I wake up to the sound of Matt washing dishes. We decide to rent some motorcycles and visit the south side of the island where there is a secret beach only accessible via a 1 hour hike. Kelly drives Matt and I to the bike rental place.

I have an embarrassing confession to make. I never learned how to ride a manual transmission motorcycle. I mean I’ve rode mopeds and scooters before and even a manual moped but never a full on true blue motorcycle. The one time I tried to learn was in the back of Ehben’s mom’s property where I flew into his mom’s flowerpots and damaged the bike and myself. I figured I’d need to learn on a beach or something so I can’t mess anything up. No such luck today. Matt teaches me the fundamentals verbally and I listen intently. The rental place is on a busy street and I feel like I need to look like I know what I’m doing. Basically need to pull away from this place nice and smooth and blend right into the traffic. I trust Matt with my life so I listen to him and it all goes smoothly. They did however, give us the bikes with no gas so we run out of gas 40 yards from the place and Matt has to push his bike back to get a little bit gas so he can make it to the gas station. One of the bikes has a flawed starter but it works so we’re off.

Paul and Kelly drive to the beach while Matt and I follow/lead in our bikes. I quickly get a hang of things just like Matt promised. I finally feel like vacation has begun. Usually, it’s being submerged in the ocean that let’s me know I’m finally “there” but this time, for some reason, it's riding the bikes with Matt and following the boys in the GOL.

We stop for some photos and pick up a hitchhiker with his little daughter. He happens to be going to the same little fishing village where the trailhead to the secret beach starts and he shows us the way.

It was a great hike. In the tradition of all great tropical hikes. You get coated in a nice warm layer of sweat and your joints don’t hurt at all. It rained on us but it was like a warm shower. I liked it. Matt carried my back pack with everyone’s gear to spare my fucked up spine even though he has a fucked up knee himself. How can you not love a guy like that? Once we get to the beach we realize it’s getting dark. Also, Paul has flip-flops on and he’s concerned about trying to make it back in the dark. We try to get a boat to take us back but the last boat is leaving and it’s full. Soooooo we tough it out back to our cars and head home. Kelly rides Matt’s bike back. We all get separated and pretty much get home on our own but within a few minutes of each other.

I take a nice shower and chat with Reno about tonight and tomorrow night. The boys are now at the internet café. I’m home alone typing this since the Portuguese key boards are impossible to use. It would probably take me 3 days to type this. I’m going to save it and upload it later since there’s no internet connectivity here.

We’re finally going to go out tonight to celebrate our health and maybe throw it all away, again. I hear the VW GOL pulling in the driveway. Chao.

Brazil - Part I: Here we go again

Some trips ... you just know shits gonna hit the fan. Your spidey senses tingle with permonitions of unforeseen hardship and you just brace yourself and prepare for the worst. I'd been carrying around this sense of impending doom for our upcoming trip to Brazil since Paul convinced us to fly standby on his buddy passes. The upside is you pay half price and get to fly 1st or biz class. Downside is you can get bumped or rerouted. This also means you have to carry your luggage on which in turn affects how / what you can bring.

I tired to fight this for a while. Rationalizing that I'd rather pay full price and fly on my own terms with confidence than to risk letting my vacation get ruined by spending 3 days in the DC airport or some shit like that. In the end, Matt's cheapness and Paul's insistence won over and I gave in. But in a way I also gave up. Not on travelling or having fun. But on making plans. What's the point of having hotel reservations if you don't know when you're getting in? What's the point of researching Rio if you might end up in Sao Pauolo. It was a painful departure from my usual methods but after a while I came to enjoy the IDGAF approach.

Anyhoo, the departure day started nicely enough. I had a good night sleep and was spending my last few moments playing with the kids. Kelly come's over and in true Kelly fasion announces that he'd like to do some laundry before we pick Paul up from the airport. If nothing else, Kelly is very creative and resouceful when it comes to finding new and innovative ways of fucking up. But we love him for that. Much more Kelly moments coming soon. After his laundry load we jump in the xTerra and head downtown to pick Paul up from a BMW body shop. Kelly spends the entire ride down arguing on the phone with his girlfriend and I must admit I was entertained. It was very theatrical and made me feel like I was in the middle of one of those semi-serious Seinfeld episodes.

We pick up P-Styles who immediately begins telling us about his most recent female aquaintances and that keeps me nice and bored 'til we get to the airport (just kidding Paul).

I drop us off at the deaprture terminal and Paul takes my car to the employee parking for pilots and tells us to meet him at the gate. I get busted for having a knife in my first aid kit. As I'm repacking my pack I'm thinking to myself "fuck it. It's a piece of shit knife anyway. I'll just tell them they can keep it and stick in their ass. Plus I still have the kick-ass leatherman's tool Jen's dad got me so I'm fine."

Then, the chubby, droopy-jowled midget who searched my bag sais. "OK. Thanks. I'll just run you back through again and you can be on your way."

Again? Are you fuckin' kidding me?" They go through again and and guess what "Sir, do you aome have type of leatherman's tool or something in there?"

"Oh yeah" I say with surprised innocence." "It's right here."

"Well, you can't take this on either."

At this point. As I'm repacking my bag and talking to the lady and deciding what to do about the knives when I notice that my boarding pass is no where to be found. After a few more agonizing moments Kelly hands it to me. Turns out he had grabbed it and put it in his pockets. I told you the little fella never runs out of creative ways to fuck up. Anyway, I run back out of security and mail my knives back home since I wasn't gonna toss the tool Tom got me. It had been everywhere with me. Kelly spends this entire time talking to his shrink and baby mama mama.

I get back through security and being that we're both so distracted we go to the wrong gate. After 30 minutes we realize this and jet to the correct gate in time to meet paul. We get in 1st class which on this flight is like coach with wider seats. But whatever, we're on our way to DC and Kelly and I exchange a terrorist fist bump and the plane gets airborne. We talk about our friends and recent developments in our social circle for a while. Then he sleeps and I begin reading "Average American Male". It's a fierce read. I highly recommend it if you have a penis.

Now before we took off and lost cell phone coverage Paul gets a vague text from Matt that he's not being let back into the gate area. We concoct all the reasons this might be happening (travel embargo, airline rules for companion tickets, etc.) and all the ways we can fix the issue. In the end, it was all for naught and Matt had used his long layover to find a way to get through. We connect to our flight to Rio and as luck would have it, Kelly and Paul get bumped to first class but Mattt and I are stuck in coach. They both promise to come back and switch with us after their naps so we can sleep too. They both lied.

10:15
Matt takes a white sleeping pill Paul gave us with the promise that "it will make you drool". Ardi doesn't.

10:25
Matt's passed out. Ardi's reading.

12:15
The passangers in front of us complain because Ardi's toe is on their armrest. Dont' these fuckers know I have a bad back and need my feet elevated?

1:30
Ardi is hoping all those straight A's in geometry class can now show him how to fit a grown man in a 2 foot by 2 foot box horizontally so he can sleep. Mrs. Delaney would be ashamed & disappointed.

3:19
Ardi is watching the interactive map of our flight pattern and trying to see if he can actually observe the movement of the airplane. He is convinced he can even though the displays are snapshots.

5:45
Ardi is watching Max Payne in Portuguese. Doesn't think the voice acting is very well done based on his almost non-existnet knowledge of the language.

7:28
Ardi fantasizes about following someone who has an empty seat next to them to the bathroom so he can suffocate them and sleep in their double seat. Kelly is dreaming about tanning cream. Paul's dreaming about poon. Matt's dreaming about Brownies.

10:30
Paul comes over with a big smile and tells us about what a great night sleep he had. Ardi feels a distinct burning sensation in his butt overall ass zone. He didn't have chilli last night so he concludes it's probably just rage.

We land around 11 ish and per Paul's advice we rush out to security so we can catch the airline crew bus to the vicinity of Ipanema beach. Ofcourse, CKK, Creative Kelly Kortman, realized that he left his camera on the plane and we go from being the 1st people through customs to the last. We wonder why the heck he even had his camera out on a red-eye flight. WTF was he taking pictures of. His feet? We still manage to catch the crew bus. We get accosted by a few gay attendants but it seems worth the free ride. I meet the captain and he's very cool and has good advice.

We catch a cab to a couple of non-ideal locations. The traffic in Ipanema is slow and we already know where we want to stay to we finally pay the cabbie and hoof it. We find a big double room. with 4 beds, nice bathroom, AC, fridge, and low price. We're stoked for the prime find and hit the beach.

We explore for a while. Ipanema beach is insanely crowded. Not uncomfortably ... there's plenty of space. But it just goes forever for miles and miles and it's densely packed all the way along. The best part ... infinite volleyball nets. We search post 8 for my friend Mel but can't find her on the busy beach. We finally settle down, sans Kelly (Portuguese name "Purple Chest"), and Matt and I do what we do. We beat some local kids 2 out of 3 matches. Matt is completely immobile due to his bad knee. But he plays anyway and we do OK. If he was healthy, the games would have been a joke but his injury makes them close to even. Matty, I don't know if you were having any fun but if you took all that pain for me ... thank you.

After beating the locals we play with a couple of kids (10 or 11 maybe) and these kids were absolutely phenomenal. You may think I'm exagerating but the ability and ball control that these tiny little kids displayed absolutely blew my mind. They were quick and they could actually pass set and even hit despite not being able to rise above the net. I got a picture with one who was very polite and charming and spoke some english.

We played until after sunset. The beach has stadium lighting so you can play as late as you like. And it's hot and humid so temperature is not an issue. We've only been here for 2 days so far but the best part of the trip for me so far has been the walk back from the beach to the hotel. We were a couple of miles away since we'd cruised down to try to find Mel (and failed). Tired but clean from the ocean water with drinks in our hands we strode the long walk and took in the scenery. Just me and my best friend feeling good about the fact that we're finally really in Rio. The moment is not about our other companions one track quest for poon.

That night we went out to dinner at some all you can eat place which was nice. Downside was all they had was meat. Hard to find fruits or veggies here so a good diet will probably take extra work. Afterwards we stopped at a fruit juice stand and I (as is my single greatest god given tallent) made friends with a couple of local gays which is always a great resouce for info and connections. Later, when I asked them where a cool local club was they inquired further about what exactly we were after. The disappointed looks on their faces were obvious when I told them my friends liked music and a couple of them wanted straight (non-prostitute) girls. I think they still hoped that the fact that I didn't say anything about myself looking for girls might have let their imagination roam.

After that we went to the silliest most clownish club I've ever been to. It's a tiny matchbox but they got all this security and managers running around with headsets and clip boards acting like they're protecting the president or coordinating backstage entertainment for the emmies. Here's the crazy part. They give you a card when you get in and you're required to purchase X reails in alcohol before you can leave, otherwise you just have to pay the difference before you can go. You're literally in prison and now have to buy your way out. The process of going home was comical. I wasn't drinking much so I guess I still owed a bundle. Meanwhile, Matt wanted my balance transerred to his card since he was getting after it. It took 3 guys in ties using 3 computers to handle this process. How the fuck can anyone have fun in a place like this? It was like buying a goddamn car. As Paul read in an online review, this was a "slick, soulless place which desperately tried to convey sophistication and international appeal but in the end leaves the visitors with a nagging feeling that the real fun Rio resides elswhere."

Anyway, Matt finally buys my way out of that hellhole and I go home. I take the pill that Paul gave me, and I didn't take, on the airplane. I haven't slept in 36 hours and I need to pass out ASAP. Next thing I know Kelly is bouncing on my bed and it's 3 PM.

We jet to the beach and I play ball with some locals while Matt and the boys screw around. I played with a 6'7 guy who is on some all-Rio indoor v-ball team. Then I drink and eat a coconut with my bare hands and go home alone. Now I'm here typing this blog while the guys are drinking and getting ready to go out. I fear that we'll never get adjusted to the time zone if we keep staying out late and I don't want to miss any more daytime. I think I'll roll out with them but be more ruthless when it comes to cutting out and going home. I won't let them guilt me into staying out late in any more money sucking tourist traps.

Tomorrow we'll probably visit the Jesus statue and buy our tickets for Florianapolis. Paul wants to stay in the Northern side of the Island so you can go to more clubs like the one from last night. I'm in more of a Koh Tao state of mind. I have to find a way to shed my big city skin that has calcified over my soul and won't let me enjoy myself. We'll see how that goes.