Souvlaki Space Station

So if Pawlenty becomes VP does that mean we get to pick a new guv’ner?

I just got my hair cut today. It looks pretty fit everyone agreed. Normally I get my hair cut by Jen Hughes who travels across the country giving lectures on new styles for Juut and Aveda. Only the most extreme metrosexuals in the cities get their hair cut by her because her fee starts at $100. I, of course, do not fit into that category, and wouldn’t dream of paying that much for a haircut. We worked out a deal years ago when I was still schlepping wine that would get me a cut for three bottles which cost me next to nothing back then. Now I have to pay retail, like a sucker. Even still, it’s a pretty good price for her services. But today I spent 5 euro for an Indian dude in Freguesia Socorro to cut my hair. It was the fastest cut of my life. I’m used to about two hours, and this cut took 10 minutes. While my barber was watching the Olympic ceremonies, the entire time he whacked away at my pompadour and shag with alacrity and precision. The scariest moment was when he took out the straight edge and, as he glanced now again at the areas he was cutting, I kept having visions of the opening scene of “Un chiên andalou” by Buñuel in which the director himself slices open a woman’s eye while the scene is montaged with a skinny cloud cutting across a waxing moon. He slipped the blade across my forehead, ears, neck, spinal cord and cheeks. Not a drop of blood. I was pretty impressed. So score 1 more for the Portuguese service sector, albeit not at the hands of a Portuguese.

So everyone from the prior semester has left the country. Pictured right is my former class. The only people that are left are the two Asian kids on the left of the photo. I still don’t know either of their names even though we have become good friends. I think I need to be able to spell out a name in my head in order to remember it, and I can’t even start spelling their names. Every trick I’ve been accustomed to using in Minneapolis when I forget someone’s name doesn’t seem to work on them. Apparently they don’t like saying their own names. So this guy (he's the one with his thumbs up (which I guess still means "heeeyyyy, all's cool...")--his squeeze is in red next to him, they're a couple from Macau) I think has some weird ideas on the nature of relationships in the United States. I don’t know which American TV programs he is watching, but he seems to think that American men always hug and one guy should always put his arm around the other and sort of slacken himself a bit when they are talking to each other or others. Sometimes he puts his whole arm around my shoulder and sometimes he puts his hand on the back of my neck. No matter what its very awkward, and since he doesn’t speak English, and I can’t understand a word of his Portuguese nor he mine, I don’t know how to explain this concept to him except by slowy shifting myself away from him when we are hanging out. I have lots of Asians in my class and now I can do a super-wicked Asian Portuguese accent that I hope I can remember when I get back because people die laughing when I do it. Well, not the Asians yet, but I’ve been careful not to do it around them because I really don’t think they would get it, or maybe would even be offended. ‘Twas all in good fun. This other Chinese guy who sits next to me in class who’s name is Henry, but calls himself Harry—“Is Harry, you know like Harry Potter”, is an extreme close-talker and always gets my attention by doing this fluttering movement on my shoulder which I find a bit disconcerting since I’ve only known very coquettish girls to do that. Harry and I are involved in many scholarly projects together since we sit right next to each other. Today he suggested to me (as we were walking a foot behind the professor during the coffee break) in very clear and loud Portuguese that, instead of doing the writing assignment we had been assigned for the weekend, he will just copy it directly out of the book he has with all the answers. I am looking directly at the Professor who just looks back at me as Harry is saying this and gives me this look and wry smile as if to say, “Yeah I know ridiculous, right?” while at the same time saying “this is a very standard practice for a guy like Harry.” I tried to insinuate that maybe this wasn’t really the point of the assignment, but he wouldn’t have any of that and then immediately left to go see the opening Olympic ceremonies instead of returning to class. So I guess that assignment is taken care of.

On a final note, I recently came to the realization that if the gods are practicing a slow food movement, this could explain the amount of beaches there are in Portugal. If one considers the fact that typically, the longer it takes to cook most of the foods that are really worth eating (as opposed to a micro waved wiener) the better they are, then the beach scene is the divine equivalent to a demi-glace. As they lather themselves with oil and bake for years under the perfect convection oven, they are making themselves into an exquisite human confit. As they smoke cigarette after cigarette while sunbathing they are also basically smoking themselves inside out (although I imagine the gods prefer the non-additive brands like American Spirits to reduce their exposure to harmful chemicals). The ocean provides the right salinity and seasoning to effectively cure the flesh at a glacial pace. And the Caparinhas, Caparões, Margaritas, and Mojitos we drink are a very efficient pickling method. I couldn't be the first who's picked up on this...