rua prada junior, copacabana – the best steak sandwiches in town.
pollyanna, bring it on.
i gotta tell you. i’m not usually the chirpiest bird on the block, but there must be something in the water today. in discussing with a friend the world of dateable guys we know, i touched on a certain one with truckloads of charisma, a great smile, and a personality to match. this super-guy has harbored a crush on yours truly in the past, only i was too daft and wingnutty to realize the opportunity knocking, and now said super-guy is [obviously] dating a very lucky ducky.
so what do i do? after briefly bemoaning my mule-headed missed-chance, the thought strikes me: even though super-guy is clearly taken and i’ve missed the boat to great-boyfriend-land … the fact remains that i’ve finally developed a heart-thumping crush on someone who’d actually be … a great guy for me.
then i did a little victory dance for passing another marker on the road to sanity.
the road to hell is paved with … blasphemy!
there are people out there who are religious. they believe in these two funny things: “heaven” and “hell”. heaven is all puffy white clothes after labor day, stringy harp music, and general smug self-satisfaction. hell, on the other hand, is all stylin’ black and red clothes, fire sex and torture, and loud thumping music.
let me break this down for you, all simple-like -
option one: listening to mewling string instruments, always looking a little fat and shapeless in your heaven-issued robe, and discussing the merits of abstinence with the likes of woodrow wilson, queen victoria and emily post, while sipping on the ambrosia you got sick of after the first day here.
option two: sweating it out to hot jazz in a smoky club, where everyone’s drinking absinthe and smoking cuban cigars. the regulation leather bodysuit might chafe a little, but who cares when you’re ha-cha-cha-ing it up with frank sinatra and trading stinging witticisms with oscar wilde?
come on, people. i’m all for religion and all, but if they were trying to make heaven sound like my ideal night, they utterly failed. give me forbidden pleasures and the rat pack any day of the week.
*looking up for lightning bolts*.
and finally -
petit hiboux announces the March Internet Crush! we’ve gone sapphic this month, kids, but she’s such a bombshell, she deserves it.
*drum roll*
the stellar fish: for her sexy redesign, her hair-tossing, goddess-like defiance when it comes to Stupid Boy Syndrome, her determination, wit and style, and her fantastic writing – to her i raise my Fruity Pink Beverage and say:
“forget needing a bicycle, darling. the bicycles of the world need you.”
amen and pass the cocktails.
coconuts, copacabana beach, rio de janeiro
slouching towards ennui
it’s one of those afternoons. i can’t quite locate what’s tickling my irritation. perhaps its:
this weather making me wish i was traipsing down fifth avenue in a flouncy skirt with my best girl friends, eating ice cream and giggling at cute boys. or drinking sundowners on a west village rooftop with a host of fabulously interesting people. or walking a dog down the hudson river, holding hands with that non-existent wonderful man i have yet to find. this weather reminding me that i’m doing none of these things.
return from brasil. see above photograph. ‘nough said.
my suddenly free, suddenly lonely heart. having made a conscious, timely choice to face reality about the boy i pine for and accept that i cannot wait – nor should i – has been both, well, freeing and saddening. suddenly, i have to face two frightening facts – that i am ready to try love again, and that i don’t know the foggiest clue about how. no longer held back by self-imposed invisible ties, my heart suddenly finds the edge of the cliff into the unknown.
working at a job i know i do not enjoy, in an industry i don’t plan on staying in, and simply treading a holding pattern until the law school dream gets close enough to peer into it and get excited all over again.
loving the city in spring, but desperately wanting to be someplace with a car, lots of open space, and a hammock.
feeling adrift for soul mates after a week of engaging conversation, belly-aching laughter, and life revelations with erin.
not having any patience. and needing it – for everything mentioned above, as well as growing out my bangs.
*sigh*
tuesday night at vinicius
it was a humid night. we slid into sexy night clothes and hailed a cab from our apartment on avenida nossa senhora de copacabana, in the bustling south end of copacabana beach. the cab left us in front of the club, there in ipanema – at the famed intersection of rua vinicius de moraies and rua prudente de moraies, where tom jobim and joão gilberto wrote their famous song – the bars everyone hums when i mention my roots.
olha que coisa mais linda
mais cheia de graça
e ela menina
que vem e que passa
num doce balanço
caminho do mar….
and as we climbed the steps to the club, vinicius, those bars sauntered down towards us, swaying hips to the rhythm of the song. we smiled at each other, and found a little table in the corner of the crowded room.
moça do corpo dourado
do sol de Ipanema
o seu balançado
e mais que um poema
e a coisa mais linda
Que eu já vi passar…
and as i sat there, listening to the daughter of a famous brasilian singer and a famous brasilian composer croon those familiar words in lilting portuguese, it took me a minute to realize i was crying and smiling at the same time in the smoky, dark club. my cheeks realized it, when salty tears brimmed out and i reached to wipe them away, almost spilling my caipirinha. i couldn’t help myself – her voice as it moved through the song like the girl walking to the beach – it reminded me with astounding force why i love brasil so much.
ah! porque estou tão sozinho
ah! porque tudo é tão triste
ah! a beleza que existe
a beleza que não é só minha
que também passa sozinha…
my mother was born and raised here in rio. she’s a carioca of european descent. her childhood was my childhood’s fairy tale, even though she did so much better by me and gave me a multitude more chances. her simple life, full of friends and socials and strolls through ipanema with her girl friends, and cheek-to-cheek dances with handsome ipanema boys from good families .. it all sounds so beautiful. and i was crying, thinking, my visits to brasil are my glimpses into her past, into her childhood – and this street corner, this neighborhood, these smiling, carefree people – this is her brasil.
Ah! Se ela soubesse
Que quando ela passa
O mundo sorrindo
Se enche de graça
E fica mais lindo
Por causa do amor….
as the song ended, i realized what it was about this language, these street corners, this music. especially the music. what is it about simple songs, songs about love, songs about the people, songs about being alive, that makes the edges of my hair tingle like i’ve just experienced music for the very first time? what is it about brasil? i often joke, as much as brasilian men are macho and domineering – how could i spend the rest of my life with someone who didn’t understand that music? didn’t feel that rhythm?
at the club, crying ocean-salted tears to brasil’s most cliched song, i realized – it’s a part of a soul i never had, a connection that began before i was born. it’s about the words, it’s about the smiles, it’s about the way of life and the sun and the music and the mountains. even the favelas. it’s about brasil, and how my spirit feels filled when i come here. it’s a little corner i never notice is empty – and now it’s suddenly full of light.
and i sat back, wiped my tears, told my mother a silent eu amo voce, and let the language and the music flip the switch.
erin go bragh, y’all.
i know, i know, you’re all clamoring for details from the fantastic vacation. all i can tell you is, well, i can’t tell you anything yet. i’m still breathing in brasilian air, closing my eyes and thinking brasilian thoughts, and smelling my skin for the remnants of salt.
as such, telling you all about it would really kill the buzz.
but i promise – more to come.
until then, these irish eyes are smiling – happy saint patrick’s day.
erin go bragh!
i’m going where the sun keeps shining …
i hate to remind you of this painful [for you] fact, but in 48 hours, i will be getting on a plane headed for sunnier climes. my six balmy days in rio de janeiro, brasil, will be spent engaging in the following activities:
* lounging on the beach in a skimpy barely-there ‘kini.
* shopping for kicky little summer clothes that will be all the rage here in america.
* wearing sunglasses.
* getting a tan.
* drinking straight from the coconut.
* watching tanned, muscular men play beach volleyball.
* drinking delicious coffee every morning on a veranda overlooking the beach.
* strolling down the famous black-and-white tiled sidewalks of ipanema.
* spending quality girl-time with best gal-pal erin.
* going out at night to cozy little waterfront bars.
* drinking delicious brasilian cocktails and eating delicious brasilian food.
* hailing taxis on avenida nossa senhora de copacabana.
* buying cute local souvenirs for pals back home.
* buying awesome home-decorating pieces for self.
* speaking a lot of portuguese.
* doing it all with only about $200, thanks to the rockin’ exchange rate.
i know you’re hurting right now. but chin up – the bright side is i plan to bring back two things for you to enjoy: really nice weather [i'll need it, for all the new summer clothes and the wicked good tan] and lots of pictures with new loaned-from-work digital cam. the only down side is – only certain people get to see pictures of me in a skimpy bikini. sorry, lads.
scenes from a small town i know
this weekend i went home to rhode island … the state affectionately known as ‘that little screw-up state’, pronounced rhoe dyelin’ by the natives. between mob allegations, high petty crimes, and fires, we’ve got some pretty picturesque little corners. here are a few of my favorites. [hover for details]
this is a little neighborhood the locals call federal hill. the feds call it “shooting fish in a barrel”.
<img src="http://petithiboux.blogspot.com/toscansmall.jpg" alt="this is where the mafia hangs out a perfectly innocuous gathering-place for people of italian descent.”>
<img src="http://petithiboux.blogspot.com/pizzasmall.jpg" alt="more mafia hot spots pizza. everyone likes pizza!”>
downtown providence
and last but not least, the very best roast beef sandwich you’ve ever feasted on:
two is a crowd
okay, this is getting crazy. i’m stepping in, here.
there are two gregs! and when i said greg was wicked cute, i meant this greg. there’s another greg. this greg. being the fair, greg-accepting person that i am, i’m going to issue a decree:
greg #2, here at petit hiboux we really value your imput and your wit. we think you’re undoubtedly a smashing guy, and entirely deserving of going by your name. but here at petit hiboux we’re also a bit distracted and flighty, so we request that you slightly alter your name when posting here so that we can differentiate between the two gregs.
my rationale for this request? simple playground rules – greg #1 was here first.
