Yep. Scream it from the rooftops folks, cuz I am back on that blog-wagon.
Why?
Well, I suppose it could be for a number of reasons, and for the sake of fun (because, IM4FUN), I'll give you a number of options, and you can choose whichever you like best.
I googled IM4FUN. Yep.
–I have been mulling over a number of critically important insights over the past year, and I cannot hold myself back from sharing them any longer.
–I found out that a number of folks (read: one person) have been sincerely and deeply inspired by my words and musings, and so I am returning out of a sense of service and heart felt gratitude.
–It is really loud outside because of some stupid opiateforthemasses soccer game, which makes it impossible to sleep and so I might as well blog because I've already played all my scrabble games for the night.
–I'm at the cusp of a huge life transition, the edge of something really new, so I've got some serious shit to discuss here.
–The quiet undulations of the keyboard are sweet therapy to me, a soul soother for this sooth-sayer, and I could stray no longer. It's an unavoidable vocation, a call I must answer obediently.
Yeah, it could be any of them really (probably not the last one though…I am dramatic at times, but that's a little overboard). You pick–the result is the same: more sometimes yellatious and mildly yellatinous blogposts coming your way. Let's have some fun!
So the other day I was enjoying another wonderful walk to work, watching the buildings I always pass slowly get taller, and enjoying the fresh clean air. Oh, and yes, of course, yelling at the cars that almost hit me as I cross the road. This time, right after I screamed a quick “OI!!!!” at the passing car full of women who were on their way to some important salon appointment, I looked behind to find a young woman in trendy sunglasses (read: Ray Ban's from the 1980s which are for some reason enjoying a renaissance of sorts with the younger generation here in Brasil), and I smiled at her as if to say “Yeah, I got your back, don't worry.”
She responded differently than I would have assumed: “You scared me…,” she said, in a low sultry, insistantly laid-back voice. “Oh,” I said, “I'm sorry, but I think it's important for them to understand that the law says they need to stop for pedestrians who are crossing the street in a cross-walk.”
“You're not from here, are you?” she said, in her best yousillytouristyouobviouslydon'tunderstandbrasil voice. And then she continued to explain to me why here in Brasil, it's just best to let that kind of stuff go, because it will never change, and your life will be so much better if you just forget about it. And I responded with my best American politeness that I completely understood what she was talking about, and that while I value the same kind of serenity in my life, I could not disagree more with her statement and found that she was completely wrong. Was she aware of the laws? Weren't they written there for some good reason? To which she languidly responded that she was in fact aware of the laws, and also was studying to be a lawyer, but still, she argued that my attempts to raise others awareness were going to do nothing but make me more and more angry.
Studying to be a lawyer, eh? She obviously had no idea who she was talking to. I was born a lawyer. It's in my blood. Bring it on.
You see, don't all people deserve respect, whether they are in a car or not? And if we cannot respect these laws, how can we be expected to follow any of the laws? And without laws, how can we call ourselves a society? or part of the civilized world? And was she also not aware that there are also plenty of places WITHIN BRASIL that people are already obeying laws, respecting each other, slowing down to let others cross the street? In the end, she saw my position, and then quickly ran into a bank before she lost too much ground in her argument. A good lawyer in the making.
That is the problem with living the good life–you have to give up a lot of things that would make your life easier; things like ignorance, self-indulgence, and laziness. And then you have to continuously ask your self (and your friends if you're brave) the hard questions: How can I give more respect to my neighbors? How can I care for the widow, the neglected, the overlooked? Who is my neighbor?
Not an easy way to live (I don't do it very well), but the alternative is just empty “beleza.”
One helpful thing for you all who read this blog (a number which I hope is growing, if for nothing else than my terribly hungry ego) to understand is that I am…well…not always such a nice person. I think a good word to describe me could be “prickly,” but others may choose asshole, or blunt, or truthful to a fault, or something else worse that I choose not to publish here. For elaboration, I think a picture/video essay would be apropos.
I think cacti are a good “plant comparison” for me (as I'm sure you all were wondering, “Hmm, I wonder what a good “plant comparison” for Matt would be?). I have an appreciation for them having lived in the Southwest of the United States for ten years, and I do think they are beautiful. But getting close enough to touch them is not advisable! I mean, we cacti produce fruit and flowers and such, but we're also going to prick you if you touch us, because, hey, we're prickly and that's what prickly things do.
I think “dog analogies” can also be helpful, don't you? I love dogs. And of all the breeds of dogs, German Shepherds are not my favorite. Just being honest. They are a crunchy breed, often “one-family” dogs, and if you mess with them, they will bite. Also, without all that thick lustrous hair, they would not be so attractive or youthful looking.
Yes, Jerry is one of my favorites, but not only for his brilliance, but also because his character on “Seinfeld” was, well, not quite the vision of perfection himself, and yet he always seems to be looking for perfection in others. But he makes people laugh, and so they let him get away with it. This clip of different phone calls is classic Jerry: there is never a bad time for a joke. Never.
Yeah, I read the book. But more importantly, I am just the kind of person who is ALWAYS trying to improve what's inside and outside of me. Some people don't like the constant critique, but hey, I'm used to it.
I don't hide my emotions/thoughts.
This does not always mix well with the cultural syrupy sweetness that surrounds me.
Just returned from a short orchestra tour to Diamantina (one of the historic cities here in Minas Gerais)–twas a nice city, but there really wasn't enough time to enjoy it. Here are some of my reflections from the tour:
I took a taxi from my house to where we all met to catch the bus–I love that taxis here are cheap and generally very easy to come by. I called, and this one came right to my door, and took me to my destination for about 5 bucks. But when I was paying, the taxi driver got a little upset with me because the only bill I had to pay him with was a R$50. This is common: people whine and complain here when you ask them to give you change. But please, people, really? Get over it.
People from Minas really love their own food. I mean REALLY. And I like it too, for the most part, but it's just one type of food among many that I consider good to eat. We stopped for Churrasco (Brasilian barbeque) on the way to Diamantina, and one of the people in charge of our tour was ranting loudly and approvingly of the food, and going around to say “Hey! This is great food, isn't it???!!! Wow, REAL authentic Mineiro food!!! soo wonderful, eh?” It's hard for me to understand how someone can get so excited about something that they eat everyday, but I certainly appreciate the enthusiasm.
I love my job. Sure I complain about certain aspects of it, but I am well aware of how lucky I am to have a job in an orchestra. I especially love to play for people in small towns who don't often get to hear a symphony orchestra–I love hearing their sincere cheers and seeing their happy faces. Diamantina was no different–there was probably about three thousand people at the concert, and they were all so enthusiastic and thankful to have us playing in their town. This concert was in celebration of Brazilian Independence (September 7th), and for the first time, I heard everyone singing all the words to the National Anthem–a difficult task considering it is a strange Verdi-esque march with lots of vocal twists and turns. Go Diamantina!
On the long bus ride home, I had the chance to watch the scenery as we rolled through the interior of Minas Gerais. Not particularly exciting stuff, but as we passed by the small towns, I couldn't help but think: What would it be like to live here? And my mind wanders to buying a small plot of land, building a house, having a garden, chatting with neighbors, playing the cello and receiving students from all over the world that can't resist coming all the way to Brasil just to study with me for a week or two.
Hey, it's fun to let your mind wander every once in a while.
This was one of those days that I always dread: I had to go to a government organization (Detran: the Brazilian equivalent of the DMV in the US) in order to get the official documents for the car that we recently purchased. It is always a pain to go to government organizations here: long lines, delapedated buildings, and usually more than one trip back home because of some incorrect form or missing signature.
The Throng of Those Awaiting Government Documents
I had done my homework: prepared my papers, made my copies, checked my directions…Alas, when I arrived, I was informed that I had filled out the wrong form.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Things were looking positive before my arrival; I had followed the directions correctly, and I was even able to make a left turn where I needed to, just like Google maps said I could. But it's hard to describe the stark reality that met me–the closer I came to my destination, the more I began to be surrounded by what only could be described as some kind of government services bazaar. There were people all over the road, trying to entice me into their offices and to convince me that their service would be much easier than going into Detran myself (here, they are called Despachantes). And there were those selling the goods that might make it easier to pass the inspection, and those selling food and beer (mind you, it was only 8:30 in the morning) and any number of cheaply made goods. Somehow, I was able to see through the spectacle and arrive within the gates of Detran for my inspection. Here is where I found out I had the wrong form. Sigh.
The Inspiring Waiting Area
But then I thought, surely someone from the circus outside might be able to help! Aha! A glimmer of hope! I had forgotten of course, that the circus is only there to entertain…and also, in a cash driven culture like Brazil, a pocket full of credit cards will not buy much of anything.
I returned home…sitting in the remains of morning traffic for about 45 minutes…thankful that my new car is well equipped with a/c and a stereo to keep me calm and comfortable.
For some, the story would be over after this. Battered, downtrodden, left to lick my wounds and fight again another day. BUT NOT SO FOR ME!!!! oh no no no. This was the day I had set aside to conquer the demon Detran, and I would not let one small oversight (two, if you count the fact that I had no cash with me), keep me from vanquishing this terrible foe. I got the right form. I filled it out. I printed it off. I ate lunch. And I returned.
Oh, and yes, I passed my inspection, and received my new documents that same afternoon. Only after waiting in many lines for a few hours, mind you. The correct form indeed made all the difference.
The Entrance to the Compound
But for me, I'm still stuck in the confusion and nervous energy of the Bazaar. When I first arrived just outside the Detran “compound” (think tall grey concrete wall with steel door entrances) I felt that queezy feeling that comes when you know you are surrounded by people who are ready to take advantage of every vulnerability you have. And government agencies bring about vulnerabilities: they provide a service that I need, but I have to jump through all the correct hoops in order to get that service. It's an easy place to be preyed upon by those wanting to “help,” and of course to make a quick buck. On my second arrival, my return after lunch, the invasive zoo that greeted me struck a different, more spiritual chord. Yes, I am spiritual, and I think sometimes, I even “hear from God.” I don't use this language lightly, or even to feel holier than thou; it's just the words I sometimes use to describe an experience where I see things anew, more truthfully, more clearly and deeply. This was one of those moments.
As I arrived, I was immediately transported into the story where Jesus arrives at the Temple in Jerusalem, only to find the outer courts (and I can imagine, the whole surrounding areas) full of money changers and peddlers looking to “help” the arriving worshippers and pilgrims who were in need of the spiritual renovation in their lives that could only be found through a certain prayer or sacrifice at this very Temple. I understood that this was an even greater Bazaar than my own surroundings, and this clear and terrible image was accompanied by a simple message: “Matt, this is how I felt when I arrived at the Temple. Now can you see why I got so angry and turned over those tables? Now can you feel a little of what I felt? The pain? The anguish?”
Yeah. I'm still chewing on that a day later. Sometimes I yell, and get angry, but it ain't always with that good a reason. Perspective–it's a filling meal.
Life takes over sometimes. Blogging falls to the wayside for more pressing things: children screaming, extra practicing, visits with friends, and other inescapable indulgences such as, oh, I don’t know, for example, maybe, hypothetically… the London 2012 Olympic Games.
Yeah, I have that fever right now, and I will shamelessly proclaim it to the mountaintops. Or at least write it down here.
I love the Olympics. And I’m not sure, but I feel that it is a growing love. I mean, I enjoyed Beijing, and the last winter games wherever they were (haha, just kidding. Vancouver was awesome too), but my love seems to have grown exponentially in the last four years. I am feverishly consuming hours of the stuff–rooting for underdogs, criticizing over-pronations, tearing up for home-team wins, and always finding myself amazed at the capacity of the human body and mind. I was amazed by this from the start; even in the opening ceremony, I couldn’t really take my eyes off the screen for the procession of athletes from all over the world. Right, I mean, while the British retelling of history was cool and all, it was the parade of nations that was somehow the most captivating for me. So many beautiful young women and men, all at their physical peak, ready to show the world everything they have been training years to accomplish. I thought of what it might be like to be among them, processing into the stadium with peers from all over the world…I was, and still am, in awe.
Brazilian Gold Medalist: Rings
And it’s not just the competition, which of course is exciting. For me, the Olympics also represent the inherent human desire to be better, to not give up, to become something that is the best. I strive for this too, sometimes too often, and sometimes in the silliest of places, but I do this everyday. Heck, I hope we all do, and I think some of my life’s more frustrating moments are when I perceive that those around me have given up. Now, don’t get me wrong, I do think that giving up or letting go have their place, but not when it comes to treating people with respect and dignity, or civil rights, or obeying traffic laws, and yes, definitely not when it comes to the Olympic Games.
It’s tiring work, but it can also become addicting. I love pizza, so why not try to make the best? or find the best restaurant? or have the best friends? or play on the best instruments? or think the best thoughts? or read the most important articles? enjoy the best art? Does anyone else have this problem? I sure hope so. Go USA! Go Canada! Go Brasil! Go…Humanity!!!
Some days just turn out different than you thought.
And then some days are just chock full of life, so full in fact that things are bursting apart.
But then again, maybe the trouble is the wineskin. Maybe this one is getting a bit old. Doesn't take much new wine to burst an old wineskin, or so I've heard.
In any case, I have two images that I don't think I'll forget from today. One is Caravaggio; there is something about seeing a masterpiece right in front of you. For me it usually brings a certain amount of tears, and I'm not altogether sure of the reason every time. I remember Rembrandt's portrait of his fiance: his love for her was still so obviously oozing out of the canvas. And today? I don't know, maybe there's just something so truthful about beautiful images. Capturing the essence of humanity, of life, of reality.
And the other? Well let's just say it involves children playing games, blood all over the floor, a trip to the emergency room, four stitches, and McDonald's for dinner. Oh yes, and might as well splatter a few yelling bouts in the mix as well, just for flavor. Sigh. All's well that ends well?
And this old wineskin? Feeling stretched, leaking, a bit worse for wear…I suppose its time to decide to leave some things behind. And maybe that's right at the turning of a new year, time to grow older, hopefully wiser, and continue to leave the things of youth (but not the youthfulness) behind. I'll try. To trust more, worry less, love completely.
Maybe its a function of growing older, of being a late bloomer, or of simply being American, but I often find myself questioning whether what I have is enough: professionally, socially, gastronomically…
It's good to be the King.
I spent much of my latter college years questioning the upward mobility always need more tendencies in American culture and expectations. I went to college for the same reasons as most of my colleagues had: it was the logical next step, it seemed like it would be fun, and also the important thing to do in order to succeed in life. But I also had a love for learning (I really did), and a passion for music, and an optimism that could make flat pop bubbly again. I didn't lose those things (completely) during my four years of college, but I also didn't finish my degree “ready” for employment, or really much “ready” for real life. I suppose there isn't much that can prepare you for “real” life, apart from living it, but I think I was surprised at how NOT ready I felt. So I fell out of my career path for a while and chose another more blatantly “pious” one–the pious are still surprisingly ambitious, or at least I was.
But I digress…I think many of my questions/frustrations about ambition and upward mobility are culturally driven, and possibly cross culturally driven as well. Yes, Brasil has a slower moving culture, and many people where I live value family much more highly than any career path, and yes the United States is near the opposite, where we often move across the country for better jobs, and can't help but try to find the BEST of everything: be it toothpaste, toilet paper, or televisions (yes, I meant to be alliterative here). But I'm not satisfied with this answer yet.
Is there a point that we reach when we realize that UP and DOWN are not the only ways to move? What does sideways look like? Diagonal? Parabolic? I seriously don't know which is happening in my life now, but between kids, professional mediocrity, personal vacancy, artistic spasms, and consumeristic daydreams, I hope that in the end, I make something pretty.
Just read an article that got me thinking about race…well, actually I had been thinking about it recently anyway. We often watch movies together as a family–sometimes more recent ones, and sometimes movies that I or my wife grew up with. Netflix has expanded some of their Musical offerings, and I just can’t help but get excited about showing these to my kids. Emblazoned in my memory are extremely happy moments where I was either enjoying, re-enacting, rehearsing, performing, or listening to many of the masterpieces of American musical theater.
Yes, I very often do “feel a song coming on…”
Our last movie night the musical offering was “Oliver!” and I had a wonderful time sharing “Who will buy?” and “Oom Pah-Pah” with the kids. But one thing REALLY surprised me: I had never noticed the strong Jewish stereotypes in the character Fagin–he is dressed like a raggid Hasidic, secretly rich from thievery, and always singing in suspiciously placed augmented intervals (oh that darn augmented second, just so…Jewish?). After a little “wiki”-research, I found that Dickens’ original novel has often been condemned for the overt anti-semitism portrayed through Fagin’s character, and that Lionel Bart’s intention was to lesson that effect by making the character more of a loveable theif rather than an outright villain. But I’m not sure what’s worse: suspiciously copious augmented seconds or straightforward semitic stereotyping.
I ask the same question a lot here in Brasil. When I first arrived, I could see that the colors of this society were much more integrated, and there is definitely a different racial “feel” here because the history of slavery, while still prevalent, did not leave such an indellible mark on society (but don’t worry, there are recent dictatorships and rampant corruption to fill that void). Instead, class differences linger, and divide, and in many ways, continue to drive Brasilian society. Under the surface, racial tensions aren’t that much different here than they are in the United States; while there is racial integration in all levels of society, it’s still a pretty safe rule that the darker the skin gets, the poorer the population becomes.
And amidst all this, what IS a parent to say? The issues (if not the solutions) are obvious to me, and I am always tempted to make them clear to my kids as well. So, what did I say about the movie? I think I first remarked out loud how interesting all the stereotypical Jewish references were, and then I told the kids (who were already tired from a 2 1/2 hour movie) that sometimes people like to have an over-simplistic version of certain groups of people because they feel it is funny, or at least easier to understand. “What is over-simplistic, Dad?” Well, I tried.
As I have said here before, living in any foreign country is no easy task, and usually there are many moments of each day that I am reminded of the difficulty.
I regularly have the opportunity to explain Brazilian laws to other Brazilians: they always appreciate this, and while they usually respond with a raised voice and claim that I am wrong to think that a crosswalk would be for pedestrians, I usually find I can yell louder.
This tendency to find ways around the law can be “cute” sometimes, other times frustrating, and other times horrifying. Last night, a large truck carrying steel rods overturned on a road near where I live, killing at least three people, possibly more. By law, that truck was not allowed to be driving on that road. Not such a “cute” cultural tendency when it turns out this way.
There are a number of things that happen in daily life here that cause me to pause, to reflect, to pray, to yell my head off. And then there are the things that happen that make me think: My God, we have GOT to get out of here!!!!!! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!!!!! well. I can be a bit dramatic sometimes.
A good friend of mine visited recently (he is Brazilian) and we had some time to just sit and chat. We talked much of the things we love here, of life, of faith, and some, yes, of our concerns for this growing giant, Brazil. He too has noticed many of the things that concern me (he lived outside of Brazil for 5 years from which he gained a certain amount of perspective), and for me it was enlightening and confirming to share my thoughts with a native. I believe that cultures (just as people) have fantastic, wonderful, and one could even say, “holy” elements–characteristics that enable them to rise above pain, to create beauty, to foster love, to harmonize people. The opposite is also true: cultures have sins, diseases that fester and threaten to break them down, to limit their ability to grow economically, spiritually, creatively. I realized many of these cultural truths while living in the US, and they are becoming clearer and clearer to me here in Brazil as well (some I have already shared here). But recently I have considered some of these malodorous elements of Brazilian culture and I have wondered, or worried: are they catching? contagious? I do not remember much envy in my thoughts before living here (judgement, yes, but not so much envy), but now I find it creeping into my thoughts, my decisions, my desires. I would never before have considered the possibility of just “parking wherever I want” no matter the consequences for others or the law, and yet many times I find myself making choices while driving that show no regard for my fellow citizens or for the law.
And maybe that’s why some days I find that I’m so tired. It’s like my mind and spirit and soul are fighting off a cancer, and that can be hard work. Constantly sifting through the elements of my day, searching for what can be kept, discarding what may be harmful, adapting my character, my ideas. Gruelling work, revealing my ugliness, my holiness–yes, sometimes I yell, but I’m finding other things surfacing under that rage, pushing their way to the surface for air: sorrow, and hope.
A good friend just returned, and I’m so happy to have him back in town. I picked him up last night, and he remarked about how much my driving had changed. “Dude, you drive like a Brazilian now! Hahahaha!” Yes, I said, BUT I do one thing different. I stop for pedestrians.
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Sometimes I yell... 