Been an interesting week.  Friday the Marines had a wingfest and I did most of the cooking using Terese’s recipe.  It was a hit.  We ran out of wings so I went to the refrigerator in my shop and retrieved another 4 kilos.  All and all, we cooked 24 kilos of wings and still ran out.  That is 52 lbs.  Next time, we will start with 30 kilos, 66 lbs.  Below are the original 20 kilos before cooking.

Since I only had a few wings that evening, I decided to award myself with my own.  I have an air-fryer which is a contraption that fries food with hot air, without using a politician.  Takes about the same time, but with no oil.  They came out very well.

On the Sao Paulo compound, I have 57 cameras to take care for.  These are scattered all on the perimeter fence and some inside the buildings.  I had to go to each one and get the serial number off it for the upcoming inventory season, which meant dragging a 25 foot extension ladder around.  So, I got Bulldog to help, and with the golf cart I have access to, we puttered around the compound completing the task.  Every time, we placed the shaky ladder against a tall pole for me to climb, Bulldog would touch my shoulder and look into my eyes and say, No fear, Meester.  I need to get his picture sometime.

I was on the roof of one of the buildings the other day, and when my Friend Francisco found out Bulldog was helping me with the cameras, he climbed up on the roof to tell me that next time I need help, to come get him instead.  I just smiled.  Here is the first picture I took of him some time ago.

Here is an extremely interesting picture.  On my way to work, I happened across the little girl looking in a window.  The window and little girl were not there a few days before.  What you see is artwork by a sign painter on a green wall.  This shows a bit of the incredible artistic talent these people have.

Now, here is a picture of me and my friend Ricardo when we went to a local Irish pub that we go occasionally.  Ricardo is the one smiling.

After drinking slowly throughout the afternoon, I wanted some chips and queso to squelch the alcohol, but when I ordered it, they were baffled.  I was taken back by this, because Brazilians love cheese.  So, I explained how it has melted cheese.  They asked me, what kind of cheese.  I said, I don’t know. Cheddar I guess.  The bartender had a baffled look, but said okay.  So, a few minutes later he brought me a bowl of melted cheddar cheese.  I forgot to tell them that queso also has chili in it.

Here is something I thought about the other day.  When I first encountered Marines in my work in Moscow, I was at awe.  I called them sir, as they did me.  I looked upon them as the heroes they are, and held them in admiration.  Over the years, I began to view them as just good men that I fully appreciate.  Eventually, as I encountered them on a personal level, I spoke with them about their desires and goals, and even their fears, and I began to see them as incredible individuals that I enjoy being around.  Many are ornery, and a few don’t really seem too bright at times.

Now it’s to the point that I see them as my kids.  I don’t hesitate to chew their butts out then the use a fly lock to hold a FEBR door open.  And they know they can ask me to man Post One (main control center) when they need to run to the bathroom.  When they call me to report a problem, I just answer the phone with, What did you break?  The other day as I was leaving the Consulate, several of them were heading home and before I knew it, a bit of my dad came out, and I told them, No damn-fool shenanigans!

So, I have come a long way with them.  During the wingfest the other day, I told Gunny (the head Marine), that I need to get a picture of his Marines with me for my 900-year-old mother.  It will happen soon.

Oh yeah.  One more thing before I tell you to kick butt.

This week, former President Obama is in Sao Paulo for a personal visit.  I am guessing it is to make a expensive speech.  Luckily, I don’t do much with presidential visits, but I am at awe at the expenses that takes place.  I would estimate upwards of a half-million dollars, just so he can fly here and probably make a speech which pays him that amount.  It is one of the perks of being a former president.

Okay.  Until next time, kick butt.  D.

In the places I work, I deal a lot with the Facility people.  These are the Electricians, Carpenters, Plumbers and Laborers at the Embassy/Consulates.  Same as here in Sao Paulo.  I find these people much more enjoyable than the stuffy and arrogant officers I deal with.

We have already discussed the diminutive electrician named Francisco, who has the nickname Chequeno.  He is so wanting to help me, that if he sees me walking with tools he will follow to see if he can assist.  A few weeks ago I had to crawl down into a manhole to cut and retrieve a cable.  I asked him to help me because he knew where all the manholes are and how they connect.  After we got the cover open he started to crawl down inside.  The manhole had a sewer line that ran through it that was cracked and had some sewage in the hole.  I wasn’t just about to let him get down in that, so I stopped him.

No, my Friend.  I will go down.

No no no. I go, my Friend. I go!

No! You stay here, my Friend.

No No No!  Please please …

So, I had to pull rank on him.  “Francisco, I am your boss.  I will go”, as I started to lower myself down.  (I’m not really his boss)

At this point, he became very agitated.  “Oh my gosh!   Oh my gosh!   Oh my gosh!  Oh no, my Friend!  Please, please … I go!  I go!”

As I mentioned before, he is the nervous sort, always moving.  Usually twitching his shoulders or adjusting his pants.  So, when he grasped the horror that I would be the one going down in the hole, he was in total despair.  I thought he was going to rend his garments and cover himself with sackcloth and ashes.

I did what I had to do and pulled myself out of the manhole as he chastised me for not letting him be the one to crawl down into the sewer laden manhole.  As a consolation, I let him pull the heavy cast iron cover back over the hole by himself.

Now …. Bulldog.

Bulldog’s real name is Rogerio, which translates as Roger to us.  To pronounce it correctly, the “R” is spoken as “Ha”.  So, the pronunciation would be “Ha-jario.”  I started calling him Bulldog because of his stance.  Imagine a bulldog standing on its hind legs, but with a happy face.  … and clothes;  but also, I couldn’t remember his name.  I didn’t think he knew what I was saying until someone pointed out that Bulldog translated to Portuguese is Bulldog.

He is a mechanic.  Much like Chequeno but with more weight and no twitching.  And like Chequeno, he wants to do everything for me.  He calls me Meester.

Once a month I have to do pre-maintenance on the Delta barriers.  These are big gates that will stop a 30,000-lb. truck traveling at 50 mph.  Mostly it’s simply lubricating everything and Bulldog does that very well.  To the point, I have to say, “Bulldog, nós terminamos.  (we are finished)  And he will say, Okay Meester, but he still adds one more squirt of grease to the gate.

When I get a chance, I will tell him my 900-year-old mother wants a picture of him, and will post it for you.  It has worked with everyone else.  Until then, kick butt and head to the next adventure.

D.

Oh wait.  One more thing.  My body, at this point does not want me to eat anymore beans.  Every time I have even a moderate helping of beans, I get cramps in my upper belly immediately.  Hopefully, my belly will soon forget and I can indulge in another one of my gourmet masterpieces.

There are consequences in Life.  Take for instances, eating two large helpings of beans and cornbread for lunch, and then two more for dinner.  The resulting effects of beans have always been cherished and enjoyed by the masculine gender, but as with all things good and bad, there is a limit.

Never in my life have I been kept awake throughout the night from a near continuous barrage of flatulence.  It was enjoyable at first, but then it wore me down, and I swear I saw my sheets flapping.  I only wish I had the damn cat sleeping with me.

I did not eat the remaining delicacy today, but will finish them off tomorrow.

Kick butt.  D.

I have discovered I am a Bean Master.  My fourth batch of beans were incredible!  I realized the best way to season beans is only with the sausage I add to them.  Today I made a healthy batch of beans, both black and kinda brown, and sliced up about a foot and a half of the flavorful sausage I get at the store down the street, and around the corner.  When I came home I prepared a pan of cornbread and sat and engulfed a savory bowl, not once, but twice.  Afterwards, I jumped out onto the balcony and thumping my chest, announced to the world, “I am the Bean Master of the World!” to the point that the players in the soccer field below stopped to look at me, and started applauding.

…. well, not really, but I wanted to.  It would have been cool if I did though.Kick butt.

D.

Here is a picture of two good men I work with, taken just before going home.  It is in front of my shop.  The little one is Fransisco that I mentioned in the previous post, who is the head of the electricians and the larger one is Tisano, who is the Facility foreman.  Both of these good men make my job easier and I do my best to help them out.  A win-win for all.  I told them my 900 year old mother likes pictures of the people I work with.  MotherDear, Tisano sends his regards.The character in the middle is unknown.  Heading to Texas tomorrow.  Life is good.  Kick butt.

D.

I have discovered bleach.

I saw an ad on Brazilian TV where you can buy this liquid stuff and dip your off-white shirts in, and they will come out pure white.  Since I have a mess of white shirts that have lost their innocence, I decided to get some.  I haven’t tried them on my shirts yet, but one weekend I was trying to convince myself to clean the apartment and decided to pour a little of the liquid in my bathroom sink, to see if it would remove the weird stuff growing in it.  It was 50 shades of brown.  Not pretty at all, but was pleasantly surprised to see the stuff disappear.  So I took a paper towel and moved it around until it was all gone, then rinsed the sink out.  Clean as a whistle.  Then I took the liquid to the kitchen sinks which suffered the same malady, except it was black/gray, and lo and behold, it made the disease vanish. This made me realize the products bought overseas are unlike the American stuff.  No FDA that keeps good things from working for us.

Likewise, my sinks had a problem draining.  I believe it is because I tend to treat them like there is a garbage disposal in them.  There is not, so unsurprisingly, the drains do not work well.

So, I went to the grocery store down the street and around the corner and bought what I pretty sure was drain cleaner.  I poured some of the weird flat crystals down the drain and had to use the end of a wooden spoon to force them down and left for work.  When I returned, lo and behold, the drains drained properly!

So I also used it on the bathroom drain.  It worked.  For those of you who used drain cleaner in the States, you will know they seldom work.  So, I assume the drain cleaner had bleach in it.

There is a spot on my balcony that is open year-round.  So as a result, with the high humidity here, mold and/or mildew started growing on the floor at that spot.   It got to the point that when I walked in that area, my shoes became sticky.  So, I threw some bleach down on it and took a new mop I had, and swished it around.  The mildew disappeared, but so did the color on the mop.  It was originally yellow, but now it is white.  Pretty cool, huh?

I work with many good people.  The head electrician here is a little guy who cannot stand still.  I get to work with him occasionally, and each time I fall in love with the little guy more and more.  His name is Francisco, but his co-workers call him Chequeno, which is supposed to mean, Little Guy.  He is diminutive, but with a lot of energy.  When he talks to me, he cannot stand still.  He is either adjusting his pants or twitching his shoulders.  When we meet, we always address each other as “My Friend” and we shake hands.  His pinky sticks off in a strange direction, so I have to be careful not to hurt him.

Wherever he sees me working on something, he will stop by to help.  He speaks fairly good English and loves to talk.  Like my friend Hiwot from Ethiopia, she loves to talk and like Hiwot, I only catch every third word or so, but can usually figure out what he is saying.

I told him my mother is 900 years old and he believed it, and allowed me to take his picture for her.  Unfortunately, I am still trying to get it off my phone.

The State Department loves parties, so every time you turn around there is a party going on.  Every year, the embassies and consulates have parties to welcome the new people and say good-bye to those leaving.  So, this year, it was at the CG’s house.  The CG is the Consulate General and takes the place of the Ambassador who does his thing at the embassies.

As with most of these things, it incorporates the local traditions which in this case was samba dancing.  This is a high energy dance that makes my joints hurt watching.  About a half-dozen men came out of the woodwork with loud drums, followed by two semi-attractive women in small dancing outfits, jiggling with the drums.

Now this was interesting to watch, until the women jiggled into the crowd and started pulling people in to dance with them.  The only time I danced sober, it was with my daughter when she was a little one with her feet dangling away.  I had no intention of joining this fiasco, so I had to come up with a quick plan to keep from running out the door in a panic.

I happen to see a young lady standing nearby holding a baby about 6 months old, so I went over to her and told her I would be glad to hold her little one so she could dance with the now crazy pack of jigglers, and she happily obliged.  It was perfect. I could watch the craziness while getting to hold a baby.  His little head was against my chest and my hand was covering his ear because of the loud drums, and no one came to drag me into the dancing inferno.  Afterwards when I had to return the little guy to his mother, she was surprised he had fallen asleep against my chest.

Life is good.    So, kick butt.