these are just notes. J., who I think it’s OK to say is from Peru, not “Argentina,” gave me a gift of “coca candy.” I ate one!! Does this mean I’m going to be up all night? The ingredients are: COCAMELO [all-caps on the package], caramelo elaborado a base de esenc la natural de hojas de coca, entre otros. If you guys think I will not make it through customs with this candy, PLEASE LET ME KNOW. Because I’m thinking about throwing it in my carry-on and… carrying on! It says it helps altitude sickness and is an “energizer.”

J.’s friend S. (yes it’s hopelessly affected that I’m protecting identities but it’s much better than the alternative which is bumming people out by writing about them without their knowledge on the internet) and her friend whose name I just genuinely forgot but it’s something festive and circular: Rudompopopo or something. They picked us up in a tiny hatchback at our hotel (J. is in the same hotel, as he is also an out-of-country panelist. I think we are the only two non-brazilians). S. is J.’s friend from something or other; friend of ex-girlfriend I think. She is a journalist at S.P.’s 2nd largest daily. We were in the tiny car listening to it sounded like that british dj who does mixes internationally as well as on KCRW — metropolis — british guy — anyway — S. made a comment along the lines of “I had a feeling” when it was revealed that I didn’t speak Portuguese and little spanish, but J., who is from Peru, claims to have a bitch of a time with Portuguese. I don’t know why I keep being surprised that Portuguese isn’t more understandable to spanish-speakers. I said I spoke a little spanish but they went on in English, but it was excruciating because their english wasn’t great and I felt like when you’re pretending to sleep in the same room where people are hanging out and everyone is pretending to whisper and I felt like an American fuckface so finally, at some pt in the conversation I “casually” replied in spanish but J. didn’t seem to notice and carried on in English but then S. said “shall we speak in Spanish?” and we crossed over and I did admirably well! That is the sound of my own horn being drunkenly self-tooted, in case you were confused about what that sound was. We went to a place in Madalena called TK I have the card I’ll record it electronically later  if you care. The policy is they keep bringing you choppes until you actually ask them not to. Waiters walk around with trays of poured smallish li’l glasses of beer and without noticiing (because you have abysmal peripheral vision) there is always a new beer in front of you. Until you say não. The place was called Genial: “Chopp & cozinha de bar.” I had a Prato [do?] Mão — tr. mom’s plate, which S. said was what Brazilians eat every day, basically: A steak with a fried egg on top and french fries and rice, with beans in a big bowl that gets passed around the table. They had tabasco sauce, too. We had some li’l dudes to start, pasteis I can’t spell anything sorry. I got in trouble at one pt when J. was talking about old men/young girl relationships, and I was so happy to be keeping up in spanish in general and then I  got  excited that I knew how to say “sixteenth century” so I was like “that’s some 16th century shit” in Spanish and there was the conversational equivalent of the record stylus skittering across vinyl and he switched icily to English and was like “what do you mean?” and I was like, meekly, “…that’s some 16th century shit?” and he was like “yes, but what?” and there was fathomless silence and I muttered, in English, “ummaii dunnoo…” wishing for the good times of me being like “LUGAR LUGAR HAW HAW LUGAR!!!” and everyone “lovin it”, but instead it was just  john digweed pounding tinnily/remotely on the hi-fi… but the moment of course passed, and it was all good once more.

Tomorrow is technically my last day, though I leave sorta late on Saturday, hence not arriving home till Sunday. I am I am I am I am writing about myself on the internet. Thanks for reading.