I Like Cereal Like I Like World Peace...A Lot

Cultural differences. You want 'em? I got 'em, beautiful. Let's start with cereal, because I had that business for breakfast my friend. In addition, I believe that food is one of the easiest ways to identify and share some culture with you people, so expect to see more funky food photographs. And quit whining about hipsters, these aren't pictures of my cheeseburger because it had organic parsley on top. Chill out.

Sucrilhos. The  box is different, the name is funky and directly translates to "Cornflakes", WHICH IS A LIE, A BIG FAT FIB, and they're still delicious. So relax. The frosty deliciousness that Tony promotes is safe in Brazil.

You want some milk? No problem, buddy. Lift a flap and cut it right off. Kinda different, I guess, the carton's a little weird...

BUT HOLD UP we need more different. Let's store the unopened milk in the closet. Here, milk is magic. It does not go bad like milk, by nature and reputation, is supposed to. This frightens me on a primal level, but hey. I like cereal, man. What am I supposed to do?

Good job, you are now more cultured and will be able to eat cereal in Brazil like an educated gentleman or gentlelady. If you seek more of these scrumptious tidbits of Brazilian-flavored culture, please, come back soon. If you're on the internet, chances are you already have too much free time. May as well do something interesting and semi-productive. Come and learn my friends. 

Much love and adoration,

-Ooo Cereal, Get In Mah Belleh

I GIVE YOU...FUTEBOL

Well, I suppose I should...get down to the business of living in Brazil. I've been in this spectacular country for a little over a month now, and I am now many things. More versed in the Portuguese language, a bit more tan, probably a little heavier, sporting a ravenous appetite, saturated with new friends, experiences, and knowledge, and above all, entirely exhausted.

I love it all.

I've seen, heard, felt, and generally experienced thousands of little things since arriving, but you want the big ones, I'm sure. In that case I'll just start rattling off experiences, and you stop reading when you simply can't handle it anymore. There are a lot.

We'll start with futebol.

Yesterday, I was reminded of just how bad I am at the fine sport of soccer. It was awesome, and truthfully, I really enjoyed it. 

    I went to play soccer at 7:00pm with my Mexican fellow exchanger friend Osvaldo, and his host brother, Fernando. Fernando is a quirky guy, not very big, with short, dark, curly hair and glasses. He looks like he would enjoy reading, tea, intelligent TV programs and video games.
He was decked out in full soccer gear. and there I am standing in my worn out Toms, paint stained basketball shorts and a striped v-neck. This should be interesting, I thought to myself.
    We arrive at the small, lit field down the street  and I see a bunch of guys, all similarly outfitted in futebol garb, warming up and joking around. Introductions are made, seconds pass, and gameplay begins.
    Fernando removes his shirt to reveal a giant, Chinese dragon, emblazoned across the entirety of his back, and I do several double takes at the small-framed man. I then noticed that most of these people were tatted-up, and not just a little symbol on the shoulder. I mean sleeves, crests, snakes, ornate stars, tribal banners, all of it. Then I was thrust into gameplay.
    I was playing goalie. I felt incredibly dazed, and after I was scored on twice, a man who looked to be in his late 30's to mid 40's shook his head, beckoned me out to mid-field, and took my place. Again, I did nothing besides give the other team the ball once and assist a pass. I think that's what happened. I could very well have been a tree. Or a hippo. Either one would have been just as helpful and situationally aware as I was.
   The game ended with a head to head collision resulting in a man down (he was fine). We slowly shuffled off the field, sweaty and tired, and everyone shook hands and talked humorously about the game. I heard the word "Skywalker," followed by chuckles several times and I immediately understood, smiling knowingly and receiving uproarious laughter in return. Osvaldo and I left the field grinning and sauntered off up the dark street, talking about how it felt like we had arrived only yesterday, or maybe years in the past.

I'll be back with more cultural experiences soon, you lovely people. Stay tuned. For a more lively and slightly more styled depiction of my Brazilian exploits, head on over to lukethurmondstuff.blogspot.com
It's a wonderful read.

-The Guy Who's Bad at Futebol