Two lessons that are very different

Dear Blog,

Today as I was recovering from our 4 am stay-up-and-watch-Constantine session and Leonardo was teaching his girlfriend how to ask me why I cut my hair, it was eventually made known to me that we were attending a brass concert in about an hour. Since I had no plans, I decided to tag along to the event and see what was what. But as I was putting my shoes and socks on (I learned from a rather outraged 7 year-old the other day that it was most strange to wear socks about the house), I noticed that everyone else was making much more elaborate preparations--changing outfits, putting on make-up, etc. It was at this point that I realized a rather major error in packing that I'd made: I thought to bring 7 days-worth of "casual" clothes and a couple sets of "dress" clothes, but I failed to bring into consideration the necessity for "sexy" clothes. Even having read in a book about Brazilian culture, I failed to comprehend what it meant by Brazilians putting great emphasis on attractiveness. But I am not entirely without the potential to be attractive--I need only remember to never, ever, ever again wear that lumpy, unsightly sweat-shirt that I decided to wear in the rain tonight, to buy some suitable clothes, and borrow some of Leonardo's hair cream. I am actually rather excited at this prospect--I've never "styled" my hair before. I'm sure it won't live up to the hype I've created, but at least then I probably won't get addicted to hair products. :)

The second lesson involves us ditching out on the second concert we attended tonight (and it's understandable that they wanted to, because really, who goes to two concerts in one night, much less the two YAWN-fests that we attended?). Anyway, after we ditched, we had to walk home. It was about nine o'clock, and at first we were rather easy-going--Leonardo told me about how during the day, there are lots of people shopping here. But after we left the "heavily-lit" district, we entered the "dimly-lit district," and Leonardo told me, "Stay close. I think, this part is dangerous," to which his sister Aline replied, "'I think?' It is dangerous." And so our journey took on a more urgent mood: I noticed how we began to arrange a more strategic formation--Aline and Jessica (the two youngest) about ten feet in front, then me, and immediately behind me were Leonardo and his girlfriend (also named Aline). We would periodically look over our shoulders; our pace seemed to quicken depending on how treacherous we deemed our surroundings; and our eyes all seemed focused on the same bit of sidewalk in front of us the whole time. As people would walk past, it's hard not to suspect them of being that which you have feared happening upon this whole time, but what helped me avoid losing trust in every Brazilian person I see alone at night is to not fear the people I see, but to fear the unseen specter that lurks perhaps just behind them.

On a similar note, later this evening (about 11:30 at this point) Lidia, my host mother, was driving Aline (girlfriend) home with me and Leonardo tagging along (I tagged along because Leo asked me if I wanted to and I said sure because really, what else am I going to do? Stay home and blog like some loser?...). As we drove I noticed that we seemed to be running a prodigous amount of red lights. Leo later leaned over and told me, "It's best not to respect the lights, because it's dangerous, depending on the street. Avenues are the most dangerous." Every now and then we would stop because we couldn't see the oncoming traffic, and every moment stopped seemed to be in expectation of a window being bashed in a few inches away from my face. But not every sinister aspect of the city is so macabre: at one point, as we began to pass through a number of narrower streets that resembled alleys, Leo leaned over to me once again and said, "Dorian, are you ready?" "For what" I said. After a few misfires at the word, I realized that Leo was saying "Shemales." We both laughed, and then he pointed some out and we laughed harder. So you can imagine how strange it must have seemed to me when we began to pull into a rather shady looking lot, just after Leo asked me what the English word for a male prostitute was (we settled on man-bitch, since I said we don't have a word for it). But as it turns out was just a grocery store. But after the initial relief I felt faded a bit, a new oddity in the situation revealed itself to me. I looked at my watch. It was 12:15. Leo told me it was open all night, and although it made sense to me to be open all night (we have Wal-Marts and Taco Bells that are open all night), I never thought that anybody other than stoners or people whose car broke down and needed something would ever actually take advantage of those hours. But here we were, examining the fruit and the cheese and the dairy sections of the supermarket. I suppose it was on the way, so why not? What a wonderful country.