Anyone Can Fight and Dance in this Place

His name is Anderson and he wanted to teach me how to do that.

I have strep throat. I really think I do. It’s a self diagnosis, but I seem to be susceptible to it and I get it just about once a year. So whenever I get that sore throat that features a white splotch in my throat and a ache in my ear, I know. Fortunately we get penicillin over the counter here and I should be fine in a few.

Still, I’m kind of sapped. I had a powerful weekend that started with a Friday at O Rio Scenarium, which is a huge antique shop/warehouse turned beautiful club. I’ve never seen anything like it. It is, without a doubt, the coolest club I have ever been to. I didn’t take my camera, but I plan to return and not only snap pictures, but film the place. Look forward to that.

I could think of nothing to do on Saturday and I forgot to eat. But after watching “a great piece of cycling” on the TV (Phil Liggett’s words, I think), I left for the coast where I jogged across it and back (it goes east-west-east for me). I airdrummed my way through the home stretch thanks to the drum attacks at the end of this song: Gifts Built for City Busses by Hurtbird.

So I still forgot to eat and when I remembered I decided to go walk on the beach because I couldn’t think of what to eat. I suppose this is a sign of being sick. It was then that I took the pictures that are flashing over these words. I saw this guy practicing his capoeira on the beach and I asked him if I could take his picture. Well, you know how that went.

I was impressed and he wanted to teach me more. Bless him. He started off trying to teach me how to do a one handed back handspring thing. If I learn to do one thing this summer, may it be that spring. I danced, kicked, blocked and twirled with Anderson (there are a few Brazilian first names that we call last names) until I was sweating and about to injure myself. I regret walking away, but I just wanted to walk. Maybe a sign of being sick.

I finally decided to eat something and got a mustafá, the house sandwich from an Arab restaurant around the corner from my house. Nap!

And now, I want to plow through the weekend with words, but instead of telling you about the northeastern fair, you can see it here: A Feria Nordestina. And instead of telling you about all we could eat sushi with Patricia, Carlos and Jorge, I’ll just tell you that we ate all we could. And instead of telling you about church, I’ll just say that I was glad there was a crazy guy there who kept saying hallelujah because he said it at all the right times.

There’s a cold front.

This city is cold these days. I’ve worn a sweater.