Saturday, November 04, 2006
Well, I'm not sure what this bit is about yet.....to come up to date on life in Saquarema....not much is happening.....since Hannah left 2 weeks ago, I've mostly been fending off online Fascists or offline dodgy property owners...sometimes it's hard to tell one from another.....
I noticed from my site meter that the Fascist from Norway has made his third visit to the site he deems disgusting and written by a subhuman earlier today. Strange behaviour for one so alienated. One of my correspondents suggests he shows classic signs of being a closet homosexual. If so, I just feel sorry for the closet!
Anyway, no nearer to getting an answer to my ultimatum on the tennis club. I'd be quite happy to write it off once it's off, I just wish they'd give me a yea or a nay.....and I'm already looking at other properties, but then I always do that anyway.
This week went with Maria to get my CPF, an official number/card which gets you into the tax system here, and without which you can't buy a house, or get utilities etc. The first stage is at the Post Office.
So I stumble in with my crutch to the back of the lengthy queue, only to look up with horror to see Maria striding to the front and claiming priority for the foreign cripple with no legs and the crutch.....
......doesn't she realise I'm English???....we can't take that kind of thing!.....I wince outloud in embarrassment, but manage to strangle it into an apparent cry of pain, whilst stumbling a little over my crutch for effect.....
......the queue concedes, the Post Office operative concedes, we are at the head of the queue, although I am unable to raise my head above staring at the floor......unfortunately the computer is down, so we'll have to come back another day.
OK, I will plan ahead for next time, two crutches, some carefully choreographed stumbling up the steps, and some louder, more convincing cries of pain.
( And sure enough, next time when I arrive, again with the longsuffering Maria, I am fully equipped and prepared.....two crutches and a practiced range of groans.....but there is no queue, not a soul in sight, and the computer connection works faultlessly....I mean, where's the fun in that???)
..........however I see the beginnings of a short term, on-the-spot hire business.....Rent-a-Moleta....rates by the quarter hour.....15 Reais per crutch......stalls outside every beaurocratic institution in Brasil.....and inside, long miserable queues of tired, bored, guilt ridden apparently crippled people.
And I already have enough hardware to get started!!
So when you break a leg, or otherwise make yourself sedentary for any length of time, who knows what else happens? Something that doesn't obviously spring to mind when you think "broken leg", for example.
And something that doesn't spring immediately to mind when you think "gringo in tropical country"....in fact rather the opposite......anyone there yet??
Alright then.....we're talking about constipation.
In the tropics? A freshly arrived gringo? Surely not.....diaorhea more like. Well, in my experience yes. But this time no. Factor in a broken leg, and the ensuing weeks of arse sitting, and you get constipation.
And when I refer to the Worst Shit in the World, I don't refer to the usual Blair / Bush suspects....
This time, I mean, it really was.
And don't give me that "men have no idea what it's like going through childbirth" stuff....how many women do you know that have given birth to a sixteen pound four foot long conglomerated mesozoic rockjam through their back bottom ???
Just for reference here, you know those floating "problems" that occurr only at your Aunties, or at your new girlfriend's parent's house.....well on this occasion I left four of those "problems" behind. I had to bring the gardener in with the chainsaw. He can't look me in the eye any more. He just quakes and runs off. I feel shunned. Unclean. And he still owes me 15 Reais for crutch hire.
(( This is very much a cleaned up version --no pun intended-- there is no way to describe this event without causing great offence to a great many people.....however if you really want some graphic details, you can email me, but I'll have to be in the right mood.....mind you, so will you....))
So why. you might ask, the photos at the head of the post.....what, why, who, where? When and perhaps which? Probably not which.
These are in fact frame blow ups or similar from my great epic of bad taste and nightmarish morality "Gordon the Movie".....as I mentioned in a previous post, "Where Daydreams are Nightmares, and Death is a Way of Life...."
Actually when I say frame blow-ups, some of them were actually taken by casually holding a slide up to a light bulb with one hand and snapping with a digital camera with the other....real hi-tech precision stuff....the kind of work I'm famous for......done in my shop when I was bored!
I'll post more Gordon related stuff soon unless people beg me not too......you have been warned......
I noticed from my site meter that the Fascist from Norway has made his third visit to the site he deems disgusting and written by a subhuman earlier today. Strange behaviour for one so alienated. One of my correspondents suggests he shows classic signs of being a closet homosexual. If so, I just feel sorry for the closet!
Anyway, no nearer to getting an answer to my ultimatum on the tennis club. I'd be quite happy to write it off once it's off, I just wish they'd give me a yea or a nay.....and I'm already looking at other properties, but then I always do that anyway.
This week went with Maria to get my CPF, an official number/card which gets you into the tax system here, and without which you can't buy a house, or get utilities etc. The first stage is at the Post Office.
So I stumble in with my crutch to the back of the lengthy queue, only to look up with horror to see Maria striding to the front and claiming priority for the foreign cripple with no legs and the crutch.....
......doesn't she realise I'm English???....we can't take that kind of thing!.....I wince outloud in embarrassment, but manage to strangle it into an apparent cry of pain, whilst stumbling a little over my crutch for effect.....
......the queue concedes, the Post Office operative concedes, we are at the head of the queue, although I am unable to raise my head above staring at the floor......unfortunately the computer is down, so we'll have to come back another day.
OK, I will plan ahead for next time, two crutches, some carefully choreographed stumbling up the steps, and some louder, more convincing cries of pain.
( And sure enough, next time when I arrive, again with the longsuffering Maria, I am fully equipped and prepared.....two crutches and a practiced range of groans.....but there is no queue, not a soul in sight, and the computer connection works faultlessly....I mean, where's the fun in that???)
..........however I see the beginnings of a short term, on-the-spot hire business.....Rent-a-Moleta....rates by the quarter hour.....15 Reais per crutch......stalls outside every beaurocratic institution in Brasil.....and inside, long miserable queues of tired, bored, guilt ridden apparently crippled people.
And I already have enough hardware to get started!!
So when you break a leg, or otherwise make yourself sedentary for any length of time, who knows what else happens? Something that doesn't obviously spring to mind when you think "broken leg", for example.
And something that doesn't spring immediately to mind when you think "gringo in tropical country"....in fact rather the opposite......anyone there yet??
Alright then.....we're talking about constipation.
In the tropics? A freshly arrived gringo? Surely not.....diaorhea more like. Well, in my experience yes. But this time no. Factor in a broken leg, and the ensuing weeks of arse sitting, and you get constipation.
And when I refer to the Worst Shit in the World, I don't refer to the usual Blair / Bush suspects....
This time, I mean, it really was.
THE WORST SHIT IN THE WORLD.
Three quarters of an hour of absolute hell. Actually through the gates and right on into the flames.....And don't give me that "men have no idea what it's like going through childbirth" stuff....how many women do you know that have given birth to a sixteen pound four foot long conglomerated mesozoic rockjam through their back bottom ???
Just for reference here, you know those floating "problems" that occurr only at your Aunties, or at your new girlfriend's parent's house.....well on this occasion I left four of those "problems" behind. I had to bring the gardener in with the chainsaw. He can't look me in the eye any more. He just quakes and runs off. I feel shunned. Unclean. And he still owes me 15 Reais for crutch hire.
(( This is very much a cleaned up version --no pun intended-- there is no way to describe this event without causing great offence to a great many people.....however if you really want some graphic details, you can email me, but I'll have to be in the right mood.....mind you, so will you....))
So why. you might ask, the photos at the head of the post.....what, why, who, where? When and perhaps which? Probably not which.
These are in fact frame blow ups or similar from my great epic of bad taste and nightmarish morality "Gordon the Movie".....as I mentioned in a previous post, "Where Daydreams are Nightmares, and Death is a Way of Life...."
Actually when I say frame blow-ups, some of them were actually taken by casually holding a slide up to a light bulb with one hand and snapping with a digital camera with the other....real hi-tech precision stuff....the kind of work I'm famous for......done in my shop when I was bored!
I'll post more Gordon related stuff soon unless people beg me not too......you have been warned......
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