A Baiana, Barbie Pimp and Tulião

I recruited two friends from high school to accompany me as we jolt from small beach cities, to world-renowned urban planning achievements, to postcard peaked cliffed landscapes, to epitomizing quaint colonial cities, to uber contemporary capitals, to western frontier one horse towns, to even further western frontier no horse towns, to Eco-tourism nature reserves, and finally to the aortal megacity that drives the country; all while partaking in debauchery along the trail. That's the easy part, the hard part is saying goodbye to the city and friends and students I've made. Brazil has a way of captivating people unlike no other. It's no coincidence that you or probably someone you know has a friend who has packed up and moved to Brazil after falling in love with it on a trip. The people, the nature, the culture are all mesmerizing in their own right. I certainly have been taken under it's charm. After soul searching, and decision changing, and arguing with myself I eventually decided that I'd come back to the states. My students and friends all tried to convince me to stay, making persuasive arguments but to no avail, I could not be swayed.When asked as to why I'm leaving this seductive country, I say my return ticket was too expensive to be wasted, I say I'm homesick and I miss my family and friends, I say I'm sick of Brazilian TV and food, all truthful reasons but not really quite good enough to appease my students and friends. I guess the real reason is despite all the friends I've made over the past 10 months, and as hard as I've tried to delve into the culture and people of this world, and though I've made a place for myself in this world but I've never truly felt at home. Perhaps it's the lack of Jewish humor, perhaps it's the lack of El Salvadoreans and Peruvian chicken, (go figure) perhaps its the lack of Andy Rooney bickering on my television every Sunday night, but all these little factors combined to push me over to the side of returning to the USA just in time for Thanksgiving. (no cranberries here in Brazil.)
So this week I've undertook the bittersweet task of saying goodbye to my students and teachers who have really made my time here in Floripa worthwhile. I ate a delectable lunch with my Portuguese teacher Dona Valda on Wednesday. She insisted I drink a beer at lunch, and we enjoyed a salad featuring carrots, lettuce, avocado, tomato and a Brazilian vegetable called xuxu, topped off by vinegar. The main course was a beef casserole that she pretexted with a disclaimer that it had been the first time she'd ever made it. The meal was capped off with a chilled banana served with a sugar cake doused with a sour grape sauce. The meal left me drowsy and I fought to stay awake during our subsequent class. My classes with Dona Valda helped me to smooth out many of the rough edges Portuguese creates.Valda lived in Germany for 35 years, raised a family there and only recently came back to her hometown of Florianopolis. She instilled upon me that during her time in Germany she felt many of the dual contradictory feelings of the loneliness of being a foreigner mixed with the fascination of a new culture.
The day continued with a guitar lesson with my teacher Leo Garcia. I met Leo my first week in Floripa when I stumbled into his classroom at the local university. We played a few tunes for the students to demonstrate improvisation. Afterwards we exchanged information. It wasn't until July when Leo could take me on as a student. We mostly worked on Bossa Nova guitar these past few months. Every week Leo would challenge me with a new song. You can all expect a concert when I get back. Our last lesson was spent running through all the songs we had learned over the course of the semester. Samba de Uma Nota Só, Samba de Verão, Wave, Corcovado, Chega de Saudade, Aquele Abraço, Insensatez amongst many others. Leo is a great teacher and an excellent player. He also speaks English quite well, but we generally relied on Portuguese during our lessons, with the exception of the occasional expletive.
My city tour was finished off by my final dance class which was spent dancing with 15 year old teenage girls or 45 year old MILFs and not anything in between. I'd been taking ballroom dancing classes with the anticipation of meeting friends and taking advantage of my time in Brazil. The classes were fun and my teachers, Tatiani and Raphael were a passionate duo of lovers. We danced a variety of styles but my favorite were Forró and Samba de Gafieria. I left the class just as my hips started to thaw through the thick dense ice that being a Caucasian North American has congealed upon them for 23 years.
Then I began saying goodbye to my students.My students took me out for a going away party last night. We went to a fancy restaurant in a neighborhood called Santo Antonio de Lisboa, a traditional Azorean neighborhood located on the northwest side of the Island. They explained the fish heavy food we ate such as moqueca, and pirão (a paste made of all parts of stewed fish including the eyes, heads, and poop.) We recounted dramas of the school, and gossiped about the staff. My students have all adopted Nicknames during the semester. Baiana was a TOEFL student I taught at a breakneck exhaustive speed over the past two months. We called her Baiana because she talks very slow, she's lazy and she's always late. But in actuality she's one of my brightest students and she's a unique girl who is trying to become a jewelry designer. In fact we made a bet, and we wagered one of her pieces. Tulião is a sponge. Any slang, term or new vocabulary I throw at him he can regurgitate with the utmost of ease. He gives me a ride home every night after class and he insists that I practice Portuguese with him. He's easy going, and welcoming. He's one of the best friends I've made here in Brazil. He's even said that he'll invite me to his wedding.
Barbie Pimp is perfect. To give you an idea, generally my group of 4 Mechanical Engineering students scidadle their way out of class leaving a trail of dust behind. The other day Barbie Pimp showed up early and the 4 guys lingered around and I had to mop up the drool off the floor. She's a civil engineer who is applying to schools in the states for her Doctorate. She's going to be riding the crest of the wave of green engineering. Her catch phrase is, "It's perrrrrfect" The combination of her and Tulio in my class is like a pair of co-hosts from a children's afternoon program.
It's hard to sum up how great of a work environment the school was and the only shame is I didn't spend the entirety of my time here in Brazil working at it. I really learned a lot about Brazil through my students and I was in contact with some of the brightest minds this country has to offer. (although most of their hard drives are filled with soccer and sex).

Oktoberfest

I was told Blumenau, Santa Catarina hosts the world's 2nd largest Oktoberfest . I boasted about this fact to my brother and told him I would be attending, he disagreed with the statistic and said that he had been to Cincinnati's party and that they in fact held the world's second largest Oktoberfest. Wikipedia to the rescue. We were both wrong.

The largest Oktoberfest outside of Germany is the Kitchener-Waterloo Oktoberfest in the twin cities of Kitchener and Waterloo, Ontario, Canada (700,000+ visitors). Other cities claiming to be the largest Oktoberfests outside of Germany include Blumenau, Brazil (600,000+ visitors) and Cincinnati, Ohio, United States (500,000+ visitors, )

My friends and I, mainly from the UN of soccer had chartered a booze bus to take us there. Compiled of a multitude of nationalities, the bus was the most inebriated collection of international students since the Quiddich Cup. My friend Peter from Jundiaí arrived the morning of the festival. I met him at the bus station. I gave him a brief tour of the city and neighborhood and we congregated at the grocery store. We stocked up on booze, mostly cheap whiskey. I suggested we buy "Wall Street" brand liquor, because it would make us all collapse. It was without a doubt the wittiest thing that has ever been uttered from my mouth.
We caught a bus just as it started pouring rain. It took us down to the bus terminal where we caught the hired vehicle that would escort our drunken selves all the way to the festival. My friend Katherine was running late. I love her, but she's lived in Brazil so long that she's beginning to forget the fact that Germans are supposed to be prompt. I spotted her running through the rain just as the bus was pulling out of the station and she caught the second bus just in the nick of time.
As soon as we hit the road the drinks started flowing. It was one of the most entertaining bus rides i'd been on since the 8th Grade Florida trip, and I think most of the fun from that nostalgic ride was determined by pestering the Greek hearing-impaired science teacher. (sorry Mr. Antonokas) Drinks were poured, clothing was doused. I'm sure we were a terror to the other half of the bus who were largely quiet and not drinking. We were a rowdy crowd of Argentines, Germans, English, Swiss, French, Chilean, Peruvian, Dutch, Colombian, oh and a few Brazilians were allowed to come along. By the time we were halfway we pitted at a truck stop. Most of the gang was already spent and wondering how we would keep up the partying at this pace until we would get back on the bus at 5:00 the next morning.
When we got to Blumenau we got let off at the start of a traditional German parade. The city's charming German architecture is the backdrop of the parade as polka bands and scantily clad blonde German descendants bounce their way through the streets. We bought beers while weaving and wandering through the parade aimlessly and unsuccessfully searching for food as night descended upon the city.
A large group of us got pizza at an all you can eat restaurant. I was hoping for German food, but at that moment I was delirious with hunger. We bought our admission and loaded up on beer tickets. The festival is a large operation that has been going on strong for 25 years. Oktoberfest Blumenau features large tents with pulsating German brass band music to aggravate even the lightest headaches brought on by beer, bratwurst and strudel. The tents and campgrounds were crowded, humid and filled with women and men dressed in costume and the latest in Bavarian hat ware accessories. The night was a constant see-saw of finding my friends and within minutes losing them. I eventually gave up looking for them and almost got in a fight because I accidentaly stepped on a guy's hand who who had been sitting on the ground. I walked off without formally apologizing and as a result he chased after me. I told him sorry but he said at that juncture it was no longer acceptable, so I told him to go have his way with himself and walked off.
I grew wary of the party, as my money had run out, my friends had run off and my energy was running short. I was going on a combined 8-10 hours sleep from the previous two nights, so I was just about spent. I walked back to the bus and immediately passed out. At 10 to 5, just before the bus was about to leave I received a call from my friend who had no idea where the bus was leaving from. I told him in between the two local grocery stores which confused him. Thankfully he made it to the bus on time, however so did my French friend Antonio who was still fervently in the mood to party. We got into a yelling match, and I hope that I didn't tell him that we were right to have changed the name to Freedom Fries.
We arrived back in Floripa and the bus driver dropped the lot of us at our respective locales, but not before lots of beer was consumed (and subsequently vomited), polkas were danced, and German paraphernalia was purchased.

Ice Cream

I've started eating a lot of sweets since I came to Brazil. I rarely ate candy, cookies, ice cream or the like in the States but here I've resulted in indulging, all too often. It started when my roomate started offering me this donut holes called Sonho Americanos. (American Dreams) I've moved away from this as they raised the price by 30 cents and I'm a frugal consumer. One day when they were out of sonho Americanos I tried a new item called a bretzel. The girls at the bakery find it adorable when I request one. It's basically challah wrapped in the shape of a pretzel sprinkled with sugar. Sometimes when they don't have that I'll get a slice of strawberry cake. Every Friday I'll treat myself to soft ice cream at the stand on my way to work. These stands are all over the place and Brazilians often can be seen licking to their heart's content from early morning to late at night. The last time I went to the ice cream shack the guy, who'd waited on my several times proudly thanked me for my patronage in English. I suppose he was pleased with his performance when today he not only thanked be but asked me to please come back. I think he's going a little bit overboard and he's wierding me out. Don't worry I'm not getting fat. I assume this increase in sugar is due to the fact I was eating significantly less when I first arrived in Floripa and the sugar has a way of filling you up. I've actually lost weight since coming to Brazil. We'll see how I tip the scales when I come back in November.

Gramado/ Canela

Two weekends ago I attempted to buy tickets to get away from the hustle and bustle of Florianópolis. Unfortunately I assumed that I could arrive at the bus station a few hours before the bus left and I would be OK, however I didn't factor in that it was an election weekend and a majority of the population had to returned to their hometowns to vote. All the tickets were sold out and I had to wait until the next weekend.
This time I went a day early and bought my ticket. As soon as I got home after purchasing my ticket I discovered there would be numerous activities around Floripa that I had unknowingly excluded myself from, by my excursion. Anywho, I was dying to get out of town, not having had left since I went to Foz de Iguaçu. As I was walking to the bus station I was listening to a new podcast I hadn't heard before called, "How Stuff Works". The program deals with a variety of topics, however this particular topic was about cannibals. They introduced the topic of cannibalism with the referral to the ghastly murder on a greyhound bus in Manitoba Canada which occurred a few months back. Needless to say not the ideal material to be listening to before an 10-hour overnight bus ride. I suffered and fought for arm space throughout the night with the obnoxious passenger who sat to my left. Thankfully the next day I arrived in Gramado, Rio Grande do Sul with no apparent traces of rider inflicted cannibalism.
Gramado/ Canela are two tourist towns which have used their alpine styled architecture, frigid temperatures, and Gaúcho traditions to turn themselves into one of Rio Grande do Sul and Brazil's most popular tourist destinations. For citizens of this mostly sun-scorched country, snow is all but a fantasy so when temperatures dip down and the grass is dusted with flakes the tourists come in droves in anticipation of seeing snow enchanted by the city. In all honesty the city is quite clean, situated on the plateau of a gorgeous mountain range with stunning valleys, quaint villages, and charming vineyards. However I felt the kitschy novelty quickly wore thin.
Saturday was dreary as it rained the entire day. My umbrella was abysmal as a crucial piece was missing and the top would unlatch and or not open. My shoes and socks got soaked. I walked miles in the rain exploring the two cities and taking a mini-bus tour.
The tour was shortened as the only guests were myself and a elderly lady from São Paulo. The guide stopped at the various post card images, gave quick explanations and continued on. The banter between the two of them was as if it were scripted by the city itself. "Here in Gramado, we are a small city of 50,000 habitants. We have a high standard of living. We aren't plagued by the violence or pollution that affects so many of Brazil's larger cities. Everyone here has a job and everyone is happy. Here is our free health post. Here is one of our more impoverished neighborhoods, which is completely supplied with plumbing, pavement and other basic amenities. Here is our public bathroom, which is kept impeccably clean by the citizens of Gramado. Here is a spa where the actresses from the soap operas come to get their botox. Here is the biggest house in Gramado. etc." At every stop the little old lady cooed with delight about the picturesque houses and whimsical streets. The bathroom is the pride and joy of the city due to it's cleanliness, the cars give pedestrians the right of way, and all restaurants feature fondue. That night I went out to a bar/club with some lawyers from the Northeast of Brazil who have been working in Porto Allegre, the capital of Rio Grande do Sul. We played bowling, or Boliche. I played alright but I still can't seem to wrap my head around the notion that all the pins here dangle in the air by a mystery chord as if they were holstered by a puppeteer. The night was capped off by me falling asleep on the shoulders of my new found friends.
The next day I woke up and signed myself up for a tour. I thought that I was getting a tour of the massive, breathtaking canyons, however I was misinformed and the only tour left was of Museums and a Cable Car tour of the Caracol waterfall. I cut my losses and signed up. I walked around the town and ran into a Portuguese girl who had been studying in Rio Grande do Sul and had stayed at my hostel. As we were chatting and I was difficultly deciphering her peculiar Portuguese accent a ludicrous man dressed in Gaúcho costume began picking up trash in the park in front of the café at which we sat. He loudly talked to himself and started up conversations with all the naive passerbys. His colorful comments overheard from our table ranged from " Good Morning? Your mouth doesn't work? Bitch!" to more cleverly phrased one liners such as " I'm not ignorant because I was born this way, Its more fun to be stupid." He was old and grizzled but surprisingly was quite gentle and decent with the Portuguese and myself. I became worried at one point when the Gaúcho asked, "Can I ask you an indecent question?" She didn't see any reason as to why not to allow this and he surprisingly only inquired to as what her age was. He had a thick Gaúcho accent which derives from the cattle drivers from the North of Argentina to the South of Brazil. Anyways he gave me a rock and suggested that I take my new found friend to a hotel room. I walked the Portuguese to the bus station and she got my information in case she comes to Floripa.
That afternoon I took my tour. I quickly realized I had been suckered into a tour that eerily reminded me of excursions from my childhood with my grandparents and siblings. However the events of the day paled in comparison to such family revelries such as the Baltimore Industrial museum amongst other oddities. I made friends with the members of the group who happened to be tourists such as myself from a variety of other cities and states. The most memorable of the group were a group of two women from Salvador, Bahia. The people from this state are known for their excessive laziness. They certainly didn't help their cause by showing up 5-15 minutes late for every scheduled departure. The highlight of the day of tours was the cable car which ascendant to a magnificent miranda overlooking the Caracol waterfall and surrounding mountains and valleys. The low point of the day was a miniature mechanical device museum.
I said goodbye to Gramado/ Canela and arrived in Floripa at day break. I took a power nap before work and when I woke up I was surprised that my computer and ipod were an hour ahead of my alarm clock. I rushed out the door to work only to greet my co-worker who was the only other gringo in town who had made the same mistake I had. The first and last time I'll ever be early to work again.

Curb your enthusiasm, the lost episode

PART 1 July 31st 2008

Like so many other Brazilians, her low-cut shirt showed off her shapely, tanned lower-back accented by two prominent equidistant dimples which cradled her spine. As I was chaining up my bike at 8:00 in the morning she was entering the florist shop next door and we locked eyes. I said hello and went and taught my first class of the morning, which consisted of showing Curb Your Enthusiasm and stopping ever minute or so to have my students regurgitate the sophisticatedly superior American humor which their soap operas, Mad-TVesque sketch comedy shows and predictable sitcoms have not prepared them for.
After class was over I talked myself into stopping in the florist store to feign interest in buying a plant. She came and reluctantly attended to me. She told me her name, El-ee-A-Nee. I pretended to understand however the bizarre combination of vowels and consonants didn't sound remotely familiar. We made chit chat I went in for the standard kiss on the cheek greeting and she forthrightly told me that it was inappropriate for the setting. Shot. Down. I asked her what she did when she wasn't working, she told me she had just moved to the city, and spent most of her free time on the internet. I thought to myself If she frequents backgammon forums, NPR podcasts and the occasional latin porn site this courtship just might work. I told her that we should get together that night and she hesitantly accepted. I figured this would just another one of the many promises Brazilians are so keen to break.
Later that evening I left my class and there she was, as promised, waiting for me with her 3-inch soled shoes. (Clarification: The 3-Inch Soled shoes weren't part of the promise, but nevertheless were a welcome surprise.) She gave me a brief tour of the florist shop which I was hoping would turn into a horticultural related romance scene. Unfortunately it did not. She said the accountant was there or something, anyways garden sheers aren't that sexy. We went to BIG, the Brazilian Wal-Mart where i quickly noticed that the wall she had put up in the florist store earlier that day had been taken down. I'm not sure what the give away was but it might have been making out in the school supplies aisle. I offered to buy her anything in the store that was under R$3.50, like 2 bucks. She decided on chocolate on the double. (Don't worry she's not a big chick, that phase of my life is behind me.) For anybody interested starting a date out at Target, or Wal-Mart is a winner.
We went to Midnight a local pool hall, where she got her ass whooped by yours truly. 5-0. I probably should have let her win at least one, but in the spirit of the upcoming Olympics one must represent. In fact I've resorted to wearing the same tattered,beer-stained USA: We Speak English, novelty t-shirt on a daily basis. Between the impromptu make out sessions and the billiard onslaught i noticed she was a bit of an aggressive kisser, in fact she was purposely biting me. It dawned on me that she wasn't the first to do this, nearly every single Brazilian girl, (and transvestite that passed as one) had done the same exact thing. It got a little painful at times. I told her that if she was going to continue doing this be ready for when it's my turn and she provocatively responded , "now you're speaking my language." She later in a fit of rage slammed her palm on the table, drawing blood. When I expressed my concern and she told me not to worry as she was in fact rather fond of blood. We paid the tab, or rather I paid the tab as she conveniently dipped out to the bathroom as we were about to pay. I tell you florists are all the same.
As I was walking her home she requested that if I hadn't already mentioned out date to any co-workers that I refrain from doing so. Suddenly she frogmarched me down an alley where an intense canoodling session ensued. I asked my roommate about this biting peculiarity and he told me that I got off lucky, one time a girl bit him so hard he started bleeding.
I got a few drinks the following Friday with some colleagues from work and after tossing a few beers back I couldn't help but resisting to tell the story to my co-workers.

PART 2 August 2008

I went back to the flower store a few days later and asked her to go out that upcoming weekend. She smiled and cheerfully accepted, however when the day of the date arrived she stood me up. I wrote off this occurrence as another consequence of the unreliability of Brazilian honesty. A few days later I saw her at the supermarket and she cut in line 30 spaces to come and talk with me. We both paid for our items and when she pulled out her credit card to pay I didn't recognize the polish last name on the front. I asked her, "I thought you were Italian?" She logically responded that is was her daughter's savings account, and that her ex-husband was of polish ancestry. I was a little heated, I grilled her as to why she didn't mention that she had a 7 year old daughter nor an ex-husband. She told me that if I had asked she would have told me. DUH. Anyways she told me that she couldn't see me again and that she was sorry that night she had stood me up. I asked her why she couldn't see me again and she responded that she had a boyfriend, and he happened to be my boss. I thought this was but an over the top ploy to get rid of me but nonetheless I obliged to take a step back as I'm not really ready to be a Step-Dad to a pain loving mama.

PART 3 October 7, 2008

I had all but forgotten about my brief romance. I had seen her from time to time on my way to work but had largely put her out of my mind. As I was fuming and typing away at my blog which described being accused of hitting on my pupil my boss walked in with an awkward question. Generally if you give my boss the chance, he'll talk your ear off. He's a really nice guy, but we've all got responsibilities and he has the tendency of deeply wounding free time. Anyways when he approached me with this particular inquiry I was already having a less than ideal day and he came right out and asked me if I was still dating the girl from the flower shop downstairs. Without mincing any words I told him that we'd had a date but that it hadn't been anything more than that. He frankly explained to me that in fact he was dating the girl and had been dating her for the past year. He wasn't upset with me, I believe he was looking to vindicate himself from the accusations this girl was throwing in his face. She'd had suspicions that he'd been dating his students and he was looking to fling some mud back in her direction. I assume that I was only but a simple pawn in this love triangle. He said it was no problem and that he'd appreciated the honesty.
The next day as I was outside of the school drinking a water chatting with one of my students when sure enough she stormed up to the school with a sour look on her face. She darted at me like a missile and demanded to talk to me. I told her that I couldn't, that I was working but she wouldn't hear it. She sequestered me off in the corner and my student absolved himself from the situation. She harangued me as to how I could be so insensitive to tell my co-workers. She cursed me as to how I had ruined her relationship. She commanded me to look up idiot in a dictionary and I would find myself there. Harsh! I generally allow my Portuguese to mysteriously disappear in these confrontational situations. If you play deaf and dumb it generally works. Anyways I let her get the final word and she stomped off. My student acted as if nothing had happened and I just had to laugh.

Pork's

Last night I went to a Palmeiras soccer game with my student and good friend Tulião. Tulio is from São Paulo and all the Italians in the region root for this particular team. They are currently in second place, and considering I haven't been to a soccer game since my first time in Bahia we made plans to go. I was feeling down and out because of my recent problems at my job but Tulio is an extremely affable fellow and he cheered me up. We picked up his cousin, who spoke English, because he had spent some time in Vancouver learning the language. We arrived at the stadium in a neighborhood of Florianopolis which Tulio and Ana, my other student, had dubbed the Bronx of Floripa, not knowing that Yankee stadium is located there, just hearing that the boogie down is a rough and tough burrough. As we walked through the crowded, active streets Tulio took in deep whifs of the BBQ meat pretending to express his interest in the taco bell quality meat. We got a beer before the game and watched the team arrive in their plush bus less than 2 hours before the game. I was surprised as generally American professional teams arrive significantly earlier. We sat in the Palmeiras section of the stadium which was rowdy but well behaved. The fans were predominantly male, and predominately dressed in green showing their team colors. The crowd belted out their team anthem, which happens to have the same melody as many other team anthems only the lyrics change. Palmeiras has over 20 hymns devoted to their nickname, Porco, or pig. It dawned on me, this must be my kindred team because of the Washington Redskins hog affiliation. During the half I braved the penguin-paced crowd to go to the bathroom, which was oddly like a trough, and to get an ice cold beer. Unfortunately after buying the beer I realized that because of hooligans they no longer serve beer with alcohol and I unknowingly had bought a non-alcoholic brewski. Tulio's favorite player is name Rocke and Tulio has dubbed him Predator because of his hair which is strikingly similar to the super-villain. Tulio and his cousins said that the entire soccer team would most likely be heading to one of the high class strip clubs after the game. The game ended in a tie, which is good as in I woke up today avoiding any soccer riot related black eyes or bruises.

0-5

So I've been splitting my time between two schools less than two blocks from each other.
At one school I work 25 hours per week. The walls are a cheerful blend of pastel hues, interactive computers in all class rooms, and the bathrooms smell like lavender. My students are a hodgepodge of retirees, young professionals, and jaded teenagers. I feel a strong repoire with my pupils and I believe that while my classes are unorthodox and I fly by the seat of my pants, I've explained them the essentials they need to learn English, for example last class I gave a tutorial on to how to form the "English, Shminglish form." I explained that if someone wanted to modestly dismiss a compliment the grammatically correct way to do this was to say the word immediately followed by the Shm-ing prefix. The students were slow at first but after the 3 hour lecture which further developed the idea I believe they can now use the form correctly. Anyways the school is professional, and I believe that while it is lax, the environment is conducive to learning. It feels like they should be serving Yoo-hoo the chocolate beverage.
The other school also has pastel colored walls, and there is also a potpourri scent emanating from the bathroom, however my luck has been less than savory there. My first student was preparing for a English test called the IELTS. I have prepared students for this test before, and they have passed. The IELTS is a high level test for proving academic and work proficiency. Therefore mere mortals need not apply. I was teaching a student in the class using a book and was painstakingly making headway page by page, before she fired me. She said I wasn't prepared and I needed to grade more outside of class. So be it. The second bunch of students I had at this school were a fun group. In fact the secretary often had to come and close the door because of our incessant rowdiness. I was told the class wanted a conversation intensive program, so I brought materials,then sent me a harmless e-mail saying that they in fact wanted a grammatically intensive class so I complied and shifted directions. Often they would ask confusing questions like when should we use shall? I bet no American has ever learned that in an English class before, so I right then and there consulted grammar girl, a popular grammar resource on the web. I constantly do this in class to reiterate to my students that Americans don't learn grammar- per se- we learn the difference between a metaphor and a simile. The truth is, I've truly only begun learning English grammar since becoming an English teacher a little under one year ago. Anyways sometimes I want to tell my students their questions are stupid, but, that would be mean and I don't wish to be. Anyways the group changed their minds again, they got frustrated when I gave them a 5 minute tutorial as to how to use the F-word. Because while this tricky four letter word is desired by every Brazilian who has ever seen an American actor slip the F-Bomb between every other word, when used incorrectly it can certainly make the speaker look like quite the fool. So I explained that the F-word can be an

adjective, This blog is a fucking joke.
verb, My students complain I fuck around too much.
adverb He fucking killed him.
and noun. Why they fuck am I writing about this anyways?

And I didn't even delve into the wonders of phrases featuring fuck such as Fuck up, Fuck Off, Motherfucker, fuckin' a etc.

Anyways they gave me the sack too. I guess I was too real for them.Which brings me to my last student.
I began teaching this student as a preparation for her study abroad experience next year. I found out that she would be studying at my Alma Mater, Temple University. What a Koinky Dink! I used the class as a chance for her to practice her e-mail writing skills seeking out roommates on the social networking site Facebook, applying for jobs found on the classified site Craigslist, and teaching her how to write a bullshit cover letter and resumé worthy of Websters. I felt I was being an impromptu ambassador for Temple University. Some of her biggest worries were about the violence, and large Indian population that plagues the school. I allayed her fears by telling her that she comes from Rio, I don't think Philly can compare, (sorry homicide rate of the city of brotherly love but you just can't hold a flame to a cidade maravilhosa) and the Indians are nice and just a little cliquey is all. I thought everything was going on well until last week in class she seemed particularly inattentive. Let me back up a minute, we had run into each other at bars around the city from time to time and I was introduced to her clean-cut boyfriend and was affable with the both of them. In fact these were of the times when a few drinks had allowed her to let her hair down a little from the bun of the uptight, nervous wreck of an individual that she truly is. So I told her that she would need to bring a bottle of tequila to class so that she could speak as boisterously as she was outside of it. So when after class last week I saw her talking to my boss with a combined look of disdain and distress ( when the dis- prefix comes up, look out) I knew something was awry. I got call yesterday, and my boss said she needed me to come in to talk to her tomorrow. She might as well had told me that I was getting the boot right over the phone and spared me the formality of entering that peculiar smelling commercial office building in which they work out of. Anyways I could read the look on her face that something was fucked up. So she explained that of the 5 students that I had at the school all of them had fired me for varying reasons. I said I didn't know exactly how to explain it, but hey, shit happens. In fact I believe it has something to do with the management and the fact I never felt comfortable on the proverbial unsteady ground of the school. Anyways this last redundancy was the most odd of all as the student had called me lazy both in and outside of class, be that as it may, she continued, saying she had felt violated. I thought to myself, wow this girl never seemed that interested in the English class, nor going to the United States, and here because I'm lazy she has brazenly gone on to say she felt violated. I didn't know what to say, I told my boss I was sorry it didn't work out and that I would come back later to have a chat with her. As I was getting up to leave she continued to express her shock from the whole situation and as I work down the street with her boyfriend and I have a full roster of students with no complaints why was my record so abysmal at her school. She explained to me that she was particularly bothered by the fact my student had felt I had hit on her. My jaw dropped. I've never hit on a single student of mine...consciously. I've figured it would complicate matters to an unbearably awkward situation to flirt with a student, so I've refrained from it entirely. Not to say that the opposite hasn't occurred, where a student has not so subtly hit on me! Anyways I was completely flabbergasted as to how she could have thought that I was hitting on her. I went back in my head retracing my educational steps, remembering greeting her and her mother as "lindas" when they gave me a ride, inviting her out to a class outing and she assumed that I was asking her and her alone out for a date, sitting next to her as I almost exclusively use my laptop in class utilizing the plethora of materials available on the Internet, and I aggravated the situation most recently by presenting a list of relationship related phrases that can be particularly nettlesome for learners of the English language. Anyways I guess that was the straw that broke the camels back and she fired me. Oh well, she gives her self too much credit.

Jesus! Yes That Is My Final Answer.

Who knew that such an innocuous purchase of early 2000 memorabilia could be taken with so much offense. I have a T-Shirt that I bought in high school at the Rehobeth boardwalk that posts in grand letters, JESUS. Yes that is my final answer. Needless to say if I get hollers, hoots, exclamations and excitement wearing this shirt in the US of A, one can only imagine the reaction I would get wearing this shirt in the world's largest catholic country. The joke is lost on the majority of the people here, they don't have Who Wants To Be a Millionaire, and I don't know where they would find the equivalent of a Brazilian Regis Philbin. During my dance class tonight nearly every woman I danced with wondered if I was from the Church, many assumed I was Mormon, as a majority of the non-miscreant gringos evade Rio and the Sultry Northeast to make an attempt at the salvation of the Southerners of this great land. I think they've given up on the lost souls of this nation. Upon reflecting, this is one of the oldest pieces of my wardrobe and has held up not only in durability and resiliency but also in comedic value, as in every passing year the joke becomes more ironically outdated and hipster-worthy.