Our Store

I can smell the stench of old beer and urine already, it is Queen’s Night here in Amsterdam, the eve of one of the messiest, nuttiest, look-i’m-wearing-my-orange-shirt days of the year. But let’s leave that for tomorrow, today I’m telling a story from my childhood:

Growing up in Newark, my parents had a store in the Ironbound (Portuguese section). As far as I can remember, this store sold – generally speaking- Portuguese things. I remember records, shirts, table cloths, and oddly enough- large virgin mary statues. The store was called Voz de Portugal (voice of portugal) and everyday afterschool that’s where I would be, in the back room watching cartoons and building McGuyver like objects out of the spare radio parts I found. Oh yeah, we had a homemade recording studio in the back where we would record a weekly radio show for the Portuguese Community.

The one thing I remember about this store, was that it really wasn’t about selling things. It was a front. Not for drug running or money laundering – oh no… it was a community center. I remember everyday the same old men and women would come in looking for my mom or dad, always toting letters in English that they just couldn’t understand. Tax forms, green card renewals, letters from that dam phone company – they brought them all for my parents to transcribe. Often times the regulars wouldn’t bring any letters at all, they would simply bring the problems of the day. Or maybe some gossip from the neighborhood.

While at the time I didn’t think anything of it, and just kept doing my McGuyver thing, looking back, I still carry the lessons I learned then. Like my parents, I too specialize in helping random fish at the fishtank with their life problems. Even if I’ve got tons of things to do, I still put it aside, and help the frustrated international student understand the letter from Canal+ or the foreign police. Only one difference of course, after they leave, in my mind, I’m completely fed up with this inability to say NO.

I digress, the Voice of Portugal was an amazing place to grow up.

Oh and rumor has it BlondeButBright‘s blog is all the talk in Minnesota.

AudioCommunique#29-Interview with a Famous Lesbian

I have tons of catching up to do with podcasting, still lots more to share with you, and much to learn when it comes to audio editing on a MAC. But I did this whole show in garageband (nerd talk) and it works fine. I had a fun time interviewing the internets’ own Madge Weinstein during my lunch break yesterday, so this one runs half an hour just to keep the interview somewhat in tact.

AudioCommunique #29(mp3)

31min+, 64kbps, 14Mb+

Featuring:

Yeast 2

Madge Weinstein: I got a vagina in the mail today.
Madge Weinstein: Someone sent me a silicon vagina with lube
bicyclemark: Really! scented?
Madge Weinstein: i didn’t smell it
Madge Weinstein: no batteries, though. and girlscout cookies!
bicyclemark: thats sweet
Madge Weinstein: it’s fucked up
bicyclemark: I want those cookies with the peanut butter in the middle
bicyclemark: the vagina?
Madge Weinstein: it has like a little bit of fake hair on it
they have a fetish site and want me to plug it
Madge Weinstein: so they sent me a cunt
Madge Weinstein: Maybe chauncey will lick it

— Will Chauncey the dog lick it? Find out, on the next edition of Yeast Radio.

My Favorite Day

It’s a bit pathetic, yesterday was my most favorite holiday EVER, and I didn’t even notice. I didn’t flip open the Portuguese newspaper, I didn’t reflect or write, I didn’t salute a beautiful event in the history of the world. I just kept repeating the date to myself like an old man losing his mind: 25 of April. 25th…. April… 2o plus 5. And only now, after receiving an email from my father, do I realize why the date echoed in my head. It’s the anniversary of the Carnation Revolution in Portugal. April 25th 1974… 31 years ago.

31 years ago a country that had lived under decades of dictatorship, torture, and lies, awoke from a long slumber. Led by the armed forces, who were tired of fighting brutal colonial wars, people took to the streets. The tanks rolled down the streets of Lisbon, but not with the intention of killing. In the barrels of their weapons, carnations, what would become the symbol of the revolution and later, the socialist party. A symbol that stood for peace, democracy and human rights.

People tend to say that it was one of the few bloodless coups in the history of the world. Though that’s somewhat true, people did actually die on that day, when the murderous secret police opened fire from their headquarters, on the singing masses outside. But beyond that, the revolutionaries successfully booted out the dictator and the fascists behind them. They demanded socialism (their form of it) and a society opened to the world.

Of course, 31 years later, it’s pretty telling that even a fairly intellegent boy like myself forgets to celebrate. My generation doesn’t really notice or remember. They see Portugal and it’s many problems, and don’t feel much like cheering. The reality of the situation is that the global economy hasn’t worked to well for the average citizen. Quality of life is good for some, but everyone knows it’s far below what it could and should be. The ideals of the revolution were discarded along the way, the political class has firmly implanted itself, complete with the same ol rhetoric of empty promises and populist ideals.

Still, as is clear from my post last year, I love allowing myself to get caught up in the romance. Because it must have been an amazingly romantic time. Everything I read and watch about that time oozes hope and passion about the future. Who doesn’t like feeling that?

Feliz 25 de Abril Portugal. O povo é quem mais ordena.

Moving Pains

No, you’re not lost. I’ve moved. Just down the block from our old place, and a much easier address. More importantly, no more blogger. No more delays or system down or whatever the hell was wrong with blogger. My move has lots of bugs in it, lots of problems to be fixed, please don’t bombard me with “fix this bm” emails, because that will make my head explode. So-to-speak.

I’ve been having great skype chats lately. This evening with Madge Weinstein, who will be appearing on my podcast this week. And looking at the news about the train derailment in Japan, makes me think of the conversation I had with Scott from Tokyo Calling last night. I do hope he and his family are ok.

Both these conversations reinforced the fact that blogging… podcasting.. it’s all related to personal connections. You come to know someone, to some extent, and you grow/explore ideas with them. Just as I’ve come to know many of you reading this, so too have I come to know other podcasters, and it’s always amazing how easy it is to get along with them. Like we’ve known each other forever.

Yet another example of this would be the Sloeries, Holland’s beloved podcasting couple, who came over to the bicyclemark ranch yesterday and filled my powerbook with yummy goodness. (thanks duc!) Still getting the hang of lots of these shortcuts and software, but I can tell you now, I’m sold, this here powerbook is Quality with a capital Q.

NonSmoking

It’s good to get back to the ‘dam. If there’s ever any question as to whether or not I’m in love with this city, that question is answered the moment I land back in the NL and I breathe in the moist air and involuntarily smile following a long sigh of relief. I’m home! No not New Jersey. No not Lisbon. Home in the present tense, no offence to the latter two wonderful places.

Sweden is obviously a wonderful place. Huge, with lots of space, is what I can conclude from seeing it from the plane. Diverse and modern is what I can conclude from walking the streets and watching the people. But there was one aspect of people in Sweden that I wanted to point out – and that’s their use of tobacco.

I’m not talking about smoking. No no. You can go into any club in Stockholm and I’m pretty sure the air will be breathable, not including the stench of man-hormones as they try to pick up all the females in the vicinity. You won’t smell smoke, yet everybody is using tobacco. How? Through these little baggies, which come in a little circular case. You place these miniature tobacco pouches under your upperlip, and apparently it just soaks into your system. (and gives everyone a temporarily fatter lip)

Now no offence to my friends up there, but to me — this is scary! Tons of people are doing this instead of smoking, yet I can only imagine the effects. Though apparently it’s not ALL bad for your health, it seems just as addictive as cigarettes, and worst of all its going in your mouth, so in theory – isn’t that dangerous in the long run?

Believe it or not, I’m not a doctor. But I do play one on the internets. And I’m worried about Scandinavians and their love for this habit.. which I believe is called Snus. I’m not a guy who panics about people smoking or preaches to others about what they should or shouldn’t do with their bodies, but I had to mention this and how odd it made me feel to see it.

Now go read TPB on the literary world. and then take notes of how Madame Levy cons people out of rugs.

Today’s Sounds: Weezer = Make Believe

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