Boston

You know, there is something special about Boston sports in particular. I imagine other cities feel that way too. But I really do think Boston has something special going for it. I am not even talking about the Pats. It is the Celtics and Red Sox. Just such legacy there...and the fans, and the city...yeah, Boston just got somethin! You can't explain it but you can feel it and if you know then you really do know. I am proud to be a Boston sports fan and I'll never change.

Anyways. That is all I had to say.

Sports

This is playoff basketball people! FUCK I LOVE the NBA playoffs!!! 

I just need to go off here. I won't even talk about how the Celtics swept the Knicks. 

The Spurs-Grizzlies game just ended. Damn! Only the 4th time in history an 8 seed has beaten a 1 seed...and the Spurs, a 61 win season (not to mention 11 consecutive 50+ win seasons behind this one with Duncan as the center...) too...what a game! Zach Randolph--what an animal!! Grizzlies up by 5 with 6 minutes left, Spurs rally and go up by 1, Memphis calls a TO and Zach Randolph comes back and hits 12 straight points in the next 3 minutes!! Are you kidding me? And this is not some freethrow shit we are talkin WET SPLISHY SPLASH PULL UP J'S BITCHESSSSSSS SKATIN' THROUGH TRAFFIC LIKE IT AIN'T NO THANG KING KONG AIN'T GOT SHIT ON ME


Let's talk about Tony Allen for a second too. Love that guy! Old friend of mine. AND SILENCING MANU GINOBLI ON THE OTHER END OF THE FLOOR. HELLS YEAH!

AH! I love playoff basketball!! It is ON! I say Bulls beat the Thunder in the finals. Boston will beat Miami cause no matter team he is on Lebron always chokes in the face of The Truth but Derrick Rose is too good to beat (I gotta say it but shit...I want to be a dick Boston sports fan and say the C's will take it no matter what, and maybe they will, but I'm just bein' real here...). Lakers/Mavs is a toss-up with Kobe's ankle and how good LurkaDirk is playing right now (33 points in the playoffs damn!) but as happy as I am for Memphis they don't stand a chance against Oklahoma City. Just sayin'. 

Yo this is my SHIT I get so pumped! AHHHHHHH I LOVE IT!

I am a different person when I talk about sports. It is like...I get frenzied, it is like war, if you are not for me you are against me and I will let you know it. I think some competition is healthy but I know I take it too far and antagonize people too much over sports. Yeah...it is just a game, but....it's not! Yeah, they are all overpaid...but shit, sports are serious. They have so much bearing on the culture and character of a city and its inhabitants...damn. I just love it.

Too early to even think about baseball (not that I want to right now with the circus the Sox bring to the diamond....) and hockey, well, it is hockey--fun to watch but not to follow. 

They have this sport down here in Brazil that we call soccer but I don't know too much about it. 

LET'S GOOOOOOOOO

What does it mean to be healthy?

Rolling over this morning, I decided to take a mental health day. A day just for me. To relax, take care of a few things, do nothing, and basically decompress from traveling. 

Craving acai, I headed down to the local suco joint with my enthralling book in hand and Monk in my ears. I had the feeling I was going to see someone I know--I just knew I was. I almost did not go because of that. But now I wanted a burger too. 

After my relaxing sandwich (which had HEINZ KETCHUP on it!!! A true rarity in this country) a good friend who I have not seen in awhile and who I have been trying to get together with showed up and pulled up a chair. I let him reside with me without grudge; we chatted ate laughed. As I was leaving, he asked a favor of me--to go up to the university and make some copies for him, because, of course, I have a bike and all....

He could sense the hesitation in my manner. My mind raced--this is my mental health day! I was not even supposed to see you! I need to be alone and have no tasks! Awkwardly, he said "it's all good man I'll just do it." 

I suddenly remembered a month or two ago during Carnaval--I had a hot dog or something and he asked me for a bite and I said no because I was starving and did not have any more money. I was being greedy. He looked shocked. I almost immediately apologized and told him of course he could have a bite. But then he refused. I kept trying to make him take a bite. But after my attitude he did not want it. 


And so, I insisted on doing this favor for him. Walking away, I felt anxious and frustrated. Then I thought--what is mental health? I asked for a mental health day. The opportunity to help a friend is a gift. This is not only mental health--this is spiritual health! 


It is my obsession to give meaning for everything. And this meaning comes from God's will. Why was I asked to do this favor? Because God knew I needed to give something completely selflessly today (or, being that perfect selflessness is impossible--the Other is inevitably involved--it was an act that did not serve my theoretical isolated self...although of course, the completion of the act did...). Why did I miss mass on Easter? Because God knew I did not need a church to feel the love of the presence. 


But why do I need to explain everything? It is only a branch of my anxiety. Can I let things be without knowing the truth? I think I am not alone. God is a way for me to explain things (that not being God's only purpose of course)--but ironically, I feel God's will is for me to accept the inexplicable! 


Anyways. Here I am. Alone and feeling...ready. It is a good day today.

Hunger and Duplicity

The first order of business is to take a digital breath. Life is full of peaks and valleys even when we do not do anything. The human inside is so complex that we do not even need the world for life to be eventful.  And of course, we do not have the world, and it only sometimes feels like we have our selves. 

Let us begin with the 15th. Traveling had become a necessity in my life. Perhaps only because I had anticipated it. Arriving in Rio was like arriving in any new city: waves of excitement and wonder were crashing on all of our heads--"you know, I could really see myself living here." And everyone smiling. 

Rio has that e(a)ffect.  I was surely under the spell. My theory is that the natural geography of the area is the major influence on Rio's character (in fact, geography and climate seem to be powerful enough to shape race and cultures, no? But maybe that is obvious). Check it out:

The city is built around a bay on one side and on the ocean on the other--both comprised of paradisical beaches. Mountains that seem to spontaneously rise up surround the city, and within this topography lies a tropical forest redolent with dirt flowers and foliage. We can only imagine the city without people--and then we must realize that this imagination is why so many people came to Rio and why it is the most touristed city in the world. Interestingly--Rio did not get big until 100 years ago. And although the trickery of our imaginations may lead us to natural beauty, there is something quite aesthetically touching abut the array of lights and buildings as well. Being that humans are natural and this is what we created, no? 

While in Rio, I stayed in Copacabana, Ipanema, and only visited the most touristy of places. And so as the initial sprinkling of fairy dust settled at my feet, my perception of my Rio began to change. The Rio I saw is fake, inauthentic. More English than Portuguese.  Overpriced trinkets and knick-knacks flooding the street. It is nice to not have to worry about being robbed like I do in Salvador. It is nice to have such an ease of access to a city. It is nice to be catered to by outstanding weather. But that is not real. And I appreciate the authenticity of my experience in Salvador. 

Of course we cannot blame this on Rio--I had my experience. And the experience was akin to lust. I was wrapped in her arms and it felt so good but it just was not real. Too good. So it was wonderful and false. 


One thing I need to say about cariocas--they are the nicest friendliest group of people I have ever met. 


Like any good one night stand, Rio gratified a certain surface need, but left me hungry for truth. I had many moments of extreme frustration and anxiety in the Cidade Maravilhosa, which only led to realizations, actions, serenity, and satisfaction. The duplicity of growth. 

I like people. Their company is appreciated. But the group dynamic is unacceptable to me. I am not patient strong or grounded enough to remain tranquil in a group. I have my desires. And when people do not have the same desires, anxiety anger and frustration boil. I experienced a lot of this in Rio. It left me asking: is the company of friends worth this anxiety? Sometimes it is and sometimes it is not. And of course, we CAN have our cake and eat it too--getting to that place of turning over our self-will and going with the flow as they say can only lead to enlightenment and in turn that far away place of ultimate relaxation.


And so, as a change of scenery approached, so came realizations, actions, serenity, and satisfaction. 

To sum up Rio, it was really fun and beautiful. 

In life and bodies of water, we must first wade in the shallows and learn how to swim before we can experience the depths. This natural progression cannot be reciprocated. Thus was my experience transitioning between Rio de Janeiro and Ouro Preto.


OP is an old city. Gold was discovered in 1690, and this caused a rush of prospectors coming up from Rio and Sao Paulo and even down from Bahia and Pernambuco. The city prospered for hundreds of years--as the Industrial Revolution used its vacuum cleaners to sweep the world of brooms, iron (a mineral that Ouro Preto also has rich deposits of) replaced gold in value. However, now, Ouro Preto is a simple small city in the mountains with a rich history of debauched rebellion, a good tourism industry, and breathtaking old architecture. 

Ouro Preto has depth. I miss Rio like I miss peanut butter. I miss Ouro Preto like I miss an old friend. I was comfortable in that town. The people were not extreme in any way at all--there was a deep sense of balance amidst and within. I felt connected to the city. I marveled everywhere I looked. And I felt connected to myself, serene, and bound--the way a book is. Ouro Preto is genuine. 

I am becoming a moral person. Of course I still fall. But sometimes, the new presence of integrity in my life distances me from other people. And it is not the morals themselves--but in my case, with morality come expectations of others. And with unreasonable expectations--expectations that I do not even place on myself--comes disappointment. And the only way to free ourselves from this is to practice non-attachment. And for me, that meant being alone (yet this mere remedy cannot cure of us such a malady...we are never alone, and must detach within a body). 

And of course, I just like being alone, without people. I can go with my own program (which might be an unhealthy reason to be alone) and I learn more. I have a deeper experience. Because we are never just our selves--we must inevitably always be with the Other.   


And so, taking the advice of a great friend, I made a choice to lose myself in myself in Ouro Preto. 


Good things come ironically. On the way there, I met an angel. Buses are replete with angels. My talk with Newton was the best conversation I have had in person since arriving in Brazil. And the fact that it was in Portuguese and we reached the depths we did made me feel like words are not so important in communicating--for even though we understood each other's words perfectly, we understood each other perfectly not because of our words. 


While traveling, I loose my balance. I get out of my routine and my self-health begins to decline. I can't force thoughts baby--they just come!

And so, in Ouro Preto, I chose solitude. I was traveling with friends and spent a good deal of time with them and appreciated and savored this time as well. But my moments of bliss occurred while with only the inclusive Self. 

I payed R$3.50 to enter an old church. Inside, I was told I was not permitted to capture its beauty on film. The servant who passed this message along to me was immediately subjected to my frustration with bigger problems. As I declared that he was a fascist, he shook his head and refuted "No. I am the butler to capitalism." He was right. This is capitalism at its best. I told him that God does not want us to pay to enter His house. He said God does not matter. People are trying to make money. Of course he is right about this desirably unforgivable wrong.

As I walked away from this situation, I asked myself the reason for taking so many pictures. I actually felt scared and threatened without my camera in hand. It struck me that I was taking pictures purely to show them off to my friends via social networks. I was not savoring the memories. I did not need to--because I had pictures, materials, to hold the memories in. My heart did not have to work. But I wanted it to work. Still I could not bring myself to put down the camera. Is there a balance? Can I travel authentically, for myself and not the other, and have the same appreciation for the visions before me without a camera? Would the appreciation be more? 

On my way home that evening after taking a few hundred more pictures, I saw some kids playing on a roof. I asked them if I could take their picture, and no one said anything but they all walked away. A second later, a toddler returned so I lifted my camera. He gave me the finger.  And again--here was I, and why did I want a photo of kids playing on a roof in Brazil? Only to exploit the exotica of their poverty and share it with my friends back home to serve my own self-worth. I continued to walk home, deep in thought. 

That night, I left my hostel without a camera. It is true--I felt safe doing so because I had already photographed everything in town. But I wanted liberation. There were moments of fear. But being without the machine proved to be an unmatched experience...perhaps akin to soaring, looking down, and seeing nothing.  I saw--found--much that night.


Amidst my smiling observance, a German man began insulting Americans. I let him shoot me down and I immediately and unconsciously began to insult Brazilians to the Brazilian man next to me to make myself feel better. I instantly became conscious of what I was doing and I stopped, feeling sheepish. 


I was dead set on going to worship, the next morning being the day of Christ's resurrection. Going to mass in Ouro Preto on Easter could not have excited me more. I got to bed at 11 on Saturday night in preparation to wake up at 5:30. My alarm went off at 5:30, so I rolled out of bed, stumbled into the kitchen, only to see that the actual time was 8:00. Mass was already over. My clock must have stopped in the middle of the night and then started again, because it was 2 1/2 hours behind. 


I was miserable. Enraged with the world. Felt victimized. 


But the sun, Lou Reed, tobacco, fresh fruit and bread, and JC Himself curved my lips upwards. I need not be so attached to things. Why do I need to be in a colonial church in Brazil to celebrate Easter? Step 2 is finding calmness without the gifts of food smoke music weather and even Christ. It is realizing that we have all of that in ourselves and that we are nothing at all.

The next day brought us outside, to scale the heights of Pico (or pica, depending on how you see things...) do Itacolomi.  Upon reaching its base, it became apparent why a guide was advised. We were faced with 100 meters straight up of deep dense brush 8 feet tall and 500 meters wide. Sensibly, 2 of us turned back immediately. It was just me and the Australian. After half an hour of bumbling through brambles, he declared his plans to return as well. I told him I must go on. His jesting words "Dude, you are so American..." pumped my pistons just that much more. 

I plundered through those trees for hours. I got scratched, scraped, stung, and even feel into a precipice, luckily landing in water below. I was famished and dehydrated. I was not only American, but I was stubborn, and determined, and convinced that I was a fucking animal at the front of evolution. 


When I reached the top, I took of my clothes, whooped out, and collapsed. I felt accomplished and proud. My body hurt. Coming down through the same foliage, my mindset shifted. I was foolish to try to conquer nature with such an attitude. I was irreverent. And I payed for it. My body looks like it went through a meat shredder. 

But I was happy. 


Returning back to Salvador was difficult. I wished my plane was bound for America. I felt sad. I felt fulfilled and glad to have taken my trip. I felt wonderfully alone and painfully alone. Knowing that this is my home for 2 more months was tough to face. 


Yes. As you well know, I have spent all of my waking hours since returning in front of this screen. Yes, I would have been anxious if I did not. But I am still anxious. Ready to get on my bike and zip. 

My body was not meant for clothes. I am naked when I can be. 


So what can we learn from all this? The same things we already know: seek calmness only through the solitude of realizing that nothing is of consequence. 


And after a day back in my city, I already feel adjusted. I feel...well, home. Salvador is a great and difficult city. Brazil holds many different worlds within her. And mine, I like.

Unfavorable Realities

Current list of things to do:

Go to Facebook and download all photos of me
Look at other people's photos
Blog post
Stop being so obsessed


And I shit you not. 


Having arrived home 5 hours ago and only been on the computer ever since, we have a serious problem here. I am not joking. I am scared. Unpack should be on that list. Sleep should have already happened. And I am here, unable to stop. I cannot stop. I am frenzied. Must. Be. Strong. Presence. Social. Media. Websites. Now. 


This is really fucked up. I need to go. But I won't either. 


(my trip was really wonderful and I am so excited to write about it....)

Viajando

Gente

Tou viajando para Rio por uma semana e depois eu e alguns amigos vao para Ouro Preto em Minas para Semana Santa--so para divertir, descansar, conhecer a terra, etc. E um feriado, viu?

Bom sucesso e como sempre muito amor a voces. Fotos vao seguir. 

Tchau. Nicholas.

Flat-lined

It has arrived. Thank you for a normal, solid, balanced, mediocre, not wonderful but not awful week.

This is the key to happiness. These weeks become the great ones. Let them be the norm!

Decadence

It has been awhile since something worth writing about has occurred in my life (that is obviously false). 

I woke up this morning feeling like a rock. Well, more accurately, all I wanted to do was be a rock. Life got me down this week. The monotony of classes has set in and nothing besides lying in bed smoking felt appealing. 

But I had to drag my ass to a free Afro-Brazilian percussion lesson and then to the beach to play with little boys and girls.

Wait a minute....something is not right here. You had to "drag your ass" to do these things? What is your deal, dude? These are things you chose. Fun things. Things not many people get opportunities to do. And you are complaining. You would make a good rock. Go passively collect moss you pitiful child. 

Well, this seemed worth writing about--and so it got out, and in doing so, I gave it some thought. It is no coincidence that immediately after putting on some music written by perhaps one of the greatest rock & roll bands of all time (it has been TIME since I let myself sink in a metal flying machine....) I was electrified into life again. Gratitude was granted to my sick mind. And instantaneously I felt cured of my melancholy. I stepped outside, smiling, sin shining, with a whole new perspective on life! Everything had changed! All was well again. Well thank God!  


Some consistency of feeling would be extremely calming--any kind of perspective, thank you. 


Well, biking across town and back was without difficulty (the class was legAL too--and not the opposite of illegal but rather ilegal--but of minimal relevance to this story), and all I had to do to continue my wonderful new changed happy life was lock up my bike, get a plate of rice and beans, and hop the bus to the orphanage!


SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH


And it stopped. There before me was my beautifully tubed chain, destroyed padlock, and a newly naked sorry looking column. 

I calmly addressed my doorman...what happened? Well, a crazy lady who rents out the parking space next to the column was threatening to call the cops if the chain was not removed immediately, so I had to break the lock.

(I am feeling the rage return just thinking about this...I need to pause. Breathe.)


I have already thrown at least one extremely destructive fit about this today. I will do what I can to tell it like it is. 


I was instantly enraged. And I am talking blood rushing to my temples not able to stand still or stop from shaking or even look up. I wanted to be violent. To strike. Everything rushed--the 50 bucks I spent to keep that bike locked up, the countless hours, the innumerable anxieties (I was too sucked up to consider that without these difficulties we all would have lost Bike Art...)....

As calmly as I could, I verified that I can no longer keep my chain around the column. And why? Just because the lady who owns the space next door, that the chain has absolutely nothing to do with, is crazy. I just...do not understand it. I do not get this upset at things that make sense. It is the utter irrationality of it all that enraged me. I just cannot understand it. 

(sidenote: this will not go uncontested. Brain beats bitch, says the child)


I entered my apartment, screamed anatomical profanities, slammed doors...


Grown up: And then got down to writing again. Something worth writing about it. And it is not the writing that makes me feel better--it is the thoughts that follow. That is right--words first thoughts after. 


And I realized how destructive I was being. This woman, this chain--not worth my energy. And another ride on the sea dragon. All this instant fluctuation takes a lot from you. As I was forking pineapples with the same utensil I had just used to spread hotsauce on my lunch the taste that immediately followed inspired me to make NACHOS. Rather, the necessity I felt to do something positive in my life rather than continue to feed my anger inspired this decision. And what could be more positive than nachos? It was a time for creation. 


I channeled my energy towards the nearest Wal-Mart (yes they have them here too--just called "Bom Preco" or "good price") and my feet followed (warn't no way I wuz gunna rahd that durned bi-cycle!). More 1970s classic British rock followed and I was happy about it--especially because I could not relate to the deafness, dumbness, and/or blindness of the subject matter. 


I filled my baskets with fruits and vegetables. My hands with cheeses. My mouth with donuts. And my fear volitized: tortilla chips are as unknown to Brazilians as hockey (some people have heard of them). But this discouraging sprinkle could not dampen my recently whetted pallet--I colocared 2 bags of 6 dollar imported Doritos in my basket and headed to the check-out. 


And again inspiration struck!  Why use chips when I have bread? And so as Tommy ceased, I entered my domain--in the house, in the kitchen, in my own consciousness. Locked in. 


Nick's Nachos:

*note: recipes and plans will only get you down

Slice bread (add some crushed sour cream and onion chips that you just had to buy anyways if you so please) and set aside




Begin to cut vegetables. You will do lots of this. If you dare, make sure you have music outside or inside you--both is good, especially if they are in dialogue.


 

Here, you see the nacho mixture: red onions, green peppers, garlic, lime juice, beans, fresh tomatoes

Lay out bread in baking pan
 

  
Grate various cheeses with unknown names

Stack and organize your bread, nacho mixture, and cheese as you please. Do not forget to sprinkle vegetable juices on top. 

Fruit salsa: mango, peach, pineapple, pimenta, fresh cilantro, fresh basil, fresh mint, fresh lime juice, fresh orange juice, a fresh splash of vinegar, fresh tomato, green pepper, red onion, garlic, scallions...and maybe more

Guac: avocado, fresh tomato, green peppers, red onions, garlic, lime juice, fresh cilantro, fresh mint, fresh basil, fresh lime juice, fresh orange juice, a perhaps overripe splash of vinegar...basically the same thing as the salsa but with avocados and without fruit. Oh and don't forget salt and pepper with everything, of course! Fresh pepper. And pimenta. 

A dirty kitchen is essential to the creative process. 

An almost forgotten desert! (still have not touched what lays beneath the marker yet--oh, am I waiting for that moment...)

Let the nachos bake and then marvel at how much food you just spent the last 6 hours making and how it cost less than 20 bucks.

 Make a plate...

...and do work

Always respect your kitchen 

And make a mango skin smoothie for tomorrow's breakfast!!!!

Good things do not happen without bad things--in fact I theorize that good things only happen in direct result of bad things. And THUS his life is changed again. 


Needless to say, my afternoon turned out to be wonderfully productive in culinary (perhaps the photos showcase obvious oral pleasure), cerebral (in addition the the intellect we are talking severe anterior cingulate gyrus impulses here folks), and deital senses. And this evening, I do not feel great. I feel just fine. And because of this, I feel GREAT!! 

I get frustrated with cultural differences. I make unfair comparisons. They don't have tortilla chips in Brazil! Well, hell--they don't have maracuja in America. It is all the same difference man. 


Who knocks Wagner lacks a flare for the dramatic perhaps.