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
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.
...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.
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