You can go to all the green rallies you like.
You can write your congressperson in an inflammatory tone.
You may be outraged about the environment, and you may think you can do something to help.
You can't.
Try driving 90 minutes through bumper to bumper traffic in Sao Paulo and see how your lungs feel, and imagine what it would take to change things. Now imagine Beijing, Rio, Moscow, and Mexico City, a symphony of atmospheric sodomy.
You may want to consider the neutron bomb for starters.
I staggered into my hotel room, nauseous and dizzy from the fumes of 50,000 diesel trucks, cabs, and fiats. I showered the grime off of myself and took a nap. I dreamt that I was in Pakistan, underneath a pile of sand, struggling breath by breath.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Brazil beginnings
i packed earlier today. I filled two backpacks, thus making both of them difficult to deal with at once. this packing technique, as well as an unshaven face, torn up cargo pants, and a bad attitude were my attempts to look non-rob-worthy . collecting my bags, i walked down liberty st to valencia, taking my first steps of a long journey. i dont think it matters how many times i get on airplanes to strange countries , those first steps seem daunting, that so many things can go wrong between departure to return. i carried my packs downhill to find a taxi to take me to the airport, and, as i somehow expected, my cab driver was from Sao Paulo. he warned me , as so many had before, on the dangers of this trip, not to wear watches or jewelry (covered! no bling, not for me). victor seemed to be doing ok for himself. the back of his head seemed healthy and he and i shared a penchant for bushy sideburns and the three day stuble (well, six in my case). driving this cab, riding out his soon-expiring visa, Victor was taking this time to learn "the english", and using it well, despite an occasionally superfluous definite article and other linguistic curiosities. twice he suggested that i make sure my door is lock-ed and my window is clos-ed. both times, they were.
i made it through miami easily. recent travels have given me a bit more confidence managing airports and itineraries, and i constantly think of the sales force at our company -- some of whom need explicit instructions on how to wipe their tight asses -- and how these folks manage to navigate the worlds transportation infrastructure just fine. anyway, Miami was a success, and despite my early worries about the relatively short layover period, i hit my plane early enough to steal off for a cigarette in a poorly ventilated room where the questionable air quality, coupled with the south florida humidity, made for an interesting 3 and half minutes for my lungs. when i arrived at D46 , the reclining brazlieros suggested that there was plenty of time to spare. they reminded me in several ways of israelis -- they maniacally waved their hands when they spoke and they over applied varies creams and lotions. another unfortunate commonality: women often chose not to respect the inevitabilities of gravity; denial can have such unfortunate visual repercussions! but there was also something new world about them. certainly , most of these people were white, but their complexions varied all across the board and the men (who were far less ostentatious) looked positively american. i read earlier in my brazil book about the terrible favelas, and the destitution amongst them and i considered whether the intensity of modern social ills is directly proportional to the length of forced labor in a country. brazil did not outlaw slavery until 1888 and they were by far the greatest importers of human labor. now, descendants of this massive slave class live in areas that make me miss the tenderloin. no public power and rampant violence which has caused the brazilian authorities to shrug off any discussions of human rights -- assassination attempts from the police are common and sanctioned practice. reading about these conditions, and their inevitable spill over into more affluent neighborhoods, I wonder distantly, if there is a man or a group of men in brazil now -- perhaps sitting around the bar drinking caiprinha and laughing, maybe they are tending to their sick mothers or children, or sleeping under a piece of corrugated cardboard at this late hour -- with whom i share a fateuful meeting place. i often think of the unlikely rendezvous, like the mountain and JFK -- seemingly such unrelated entities, one providing the lead which happened to be cast into the shape of a projectile, the other encased within an all too penetrable target of flesh and hubris.
in this ultra modern aluminum boat, the tenderloin is disappearing fast behind me, but through pitch black night, i train my eyes to a northwesterly bearing, and i swear she is out there, surrounded by a warm , settling glow, smelling like sunshine, letting me know that she will be waiting when i return .
i made it through miami easily. recent travels have given me a bit more confidence managing airports and itineraries, and i constantly think of the sales force at our company -- some of whom need explicit instructions on how to wipe their tight asses -- and how these folks manage to navigate the worlds transportation infrastructure just fine. anyway, Miami was a success, and despite my early worries about the relatively short layover period, i hit my plane early enough to steal off for a cigarette in a poorly ventilated room where the questionable air quality, coupled with the south florida humidity, made for an interesting 3 and half minutes for my lungs. when i arrived at D46 , the reclining brazlieros suggested that there was plenty of time to spare. they reminded me in several ways of israelis -- they maniacally waved their hands when they spoke and they over applied varies creams and lotions. another unfortunate commonality: women often chose not to respect the inevitabilities of gravity; denial can have such unfortunate visual repercussions! but there was also something new world about them. certainly , most of these people were white, but their complexions varied all across the board and the men (who were far less ostentatious) looked positively american. i read earlier in my brazil book about the terrible favelas, and the destitution amongst them and i considered whether the intensity of modern social ills is directly proportional to the length of forced labor in a country. brazil did not outlaw slavery until 1888 and they were by far the greatest importers of human labor. now, descendants of this massive slave class live in areas that make me miss the tenderloin. no public power and rampant violence which has caused the brazilian authorities to shrug off any discussions of human rights -- assassination attempts from the police are common and sanctioned practice. reading about these conditions, and their inevitable spill over into more affluent neighborhoods, I wonder distantly, if there is a man or a group of men in brazil now -- perhaps sitting around the bar drinking caiprinha and laughing, maybe they are tending to their sick mothers or children, or sleeping under a piece of corrugated cardboard at this late hour -- with whom i share a fateuful meeting place. i often think of the unlikely rendezvous, like the mountain and JFK -- seemingly such unrelated entities, one providing the lead which happened to be cast into the shape of a projectile, the other encased within an all too penetrable target of flesh and hubris.
in this ultra modern aluminum boat, the tenderloin is disappearing fast behind me, but through pitch black night, i train my eyes to a northwesterly bearing, and i swear she is out there, surrounded by a warm , settling glow, smelling like sunshine, letting me know that she will be waiting when i return .
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