As I look back now, I think of all that used to be good. I can remember it like it was only yesterday. The warm air, the breeze coming in from the ocean. The luscious green trees, and plants that flow throughout the walkways let just that glimmer of sunlight stream down onto your skin. It was a magical place. If I think hard enough I can still smell the seasoning of the cuts of meat at the churrasco. I can still remember the cold of the ocean as I walk out further, my feet sinking deeper into the sand. It feels like it was only last week that I was standing with water up to my waist, and as I turned around I was met by a giant wave. I was crushed, sent tumbling underneath the water. Now, though, I’m sent tumbling by school work. Im drowning in 2-3 inches of snow. Instead of getting burnt by the hot, hot sun, I’m getting freeze-burnt in the wind of thirty degree temperatures. It’s a sad thought that it wasn’t so long ago things were much brighter. Now I’m back in Columbus, the “city of champions”. The “city of snow” is more like it. I guess since I don’t even step foot outside of Knowlton it doesn’t matter. I’m home, but why can’t home be Rio de Janeiro?
Author: Jay Schlesinger
Samba Samba, Don’t you wanna?
Don’t you wanna?
Let the music take over you. The subtle sounds of the bass guitar. The acoustic beats of the samba drum. The soulful voice of the woman in purple. And the complimentary sounds and beauty of the lady in blue. With each step, the Samba entered the soul and took control. You don’t move to the beat drum. The best of the drum moves you. It picks up your foot, gently taps it on the wooden floor. The tambourine grabs your hips and moves back and forth, swaying and swelling like the ocean. The guitar, feeds your soul, you’re desire to let the instruments move your body. And the voice, the voice is soothing, it lulls your consciousness to sleep, but you’re awake the whole time. You see all around you. You feel the warm people all around you. Inhibition is gone. The woman next to you smiles, and you grab her hand and hip. Both of you are puppets to the Samba, moving back and forth, side to side swiftly.
Then the music ends. The sweet voice that had hypnotized your every move fades away. The drums last beats rumble into an echo. The strings of the guitar vibrate back into their place of origin. Body’s stop moving. You and you’re partner let go, and you patiently await the return of the puppeteer. The Samba.
Grande Lobster
The date was March 20. The year, 2015. It was a Friday. Never has there been a day quite like it. The specifics were awe-inspiring. Almost 6 feet tall! A creature of that size, just chilling on the beach! Who would have thought? First the rumors started after a 9 foot long catfish was caught by an Italian fisherman. People passed It off as an anomaly, but I knew better. I knew that something was up. I mean… 6 foot LOBSTER? What? I guess I’ll have to explain more about how this happened.
It all started in the morning. The waves were breaking 30 meters out at 3 meters to 5 meters high! It’s no wonder such a creature washed up on the sand. Anyways, though, it was a beautiful day, the Sun was shining high in the northern sky, and the two brothers were as clear as can be. The islands that lie 2-3 kilometers out looked as if I could swim to them with ease. Initially, I brought my sunscreen with me, but the mistake was not putting it on before hand. The Sun had already penetrated my skin. The others wouldn’t arrive for another 20 minutes or so and I had no one to apply the sunscreen to my back.
Ashton and I took immediately to the ocean. Our skin was dryer than usual and the ocean salt stung like jellyfish. The omens were compiling. Ashton was somewhere in the water, and I had just come up for air when the next wave hit. 15 feet tall, and I froze. All I can remember next is waking up with sand in my shorts on the beach. I looked up and there was Chloe, Ashton and Wiatt looking over at me. I waved, “Hey guys”.
They looked at me strange, and I could feel the sting of the sun as well now. My back must have been badly burnt.
Then, the locals and my friends shouted “Lobster!!” “Grande! GRANDE!”
Lost in the Hippie Fair
I looked everywhere. No where, could the item I desired to collect, be found. One by one I scoured the hippie fair for a pair of well-made, fashionable flip-flops. They eluded me. Like the Sun and Moon which can never touch. Rotating on opposite ends of an invisible string that somehow, keeps them from drifting too far. Tent after tent, there was hand-crafted leather belts, hand-woven bracelets in a rainbow of colors. Green, Red, Blue, Purple, Black. Mixtures of some, mixtures of the others. I wandered by shops full of paintings on canvases of landscapes, architecture, favelas, the glorious human body in female and male forms. There were nick-knack stores filled to the edge with Christ the Redeemer carvings, key chains. More and more key chains. And when I thought there no more key chains to see, My expectations were shattered. More key chains. There were bird carvings, music CDs, coconut water kiosks, large sculptures of birds, elephants, people, etc…. The search went on.
Finally, I found them. A tent that specialized in leather work, and even more specifically, flip-flops. I gazed across the spectrum of styles and sizes. “Quento Custa?” I asked. The man standing behind the rows of leather feet liberators typed into his calculator. He held it up, the number showing was 75. 75 Reais. They wouldn’t even cost me 30 US dollars. What a bargain. I didn’t even want to haggle, I already felt like I was robbing the Carioca senior.
I picked my style, and the man asked me to sit so I could find the right size. I took off my current footwear and continued to size up the flip-flops. After two or three pairs that were a size or so too small, the perfect fit was found. I was the male version of Cinderella, and this flip-flip was my glass shoe. Perfect.
The Great Escape
As I prepare to take flight to Rio de Janeiro, I can recall the turbulent journey it took to get here. To get to Atlanta. It started when Jon Dai suspiciously tried to woo a TSA agent and it turned into a 8 hour epic of wandering hall after hall seeking a restaraut that would fill our needs. Nothing world work. A burger joint? Too specific. A pizza place? To greasy. Finally our group, the Fluffy Bunny Slippers Football Club, found what we were looking for. The buckeye cafe. It was the beginning of a beautiful meal, with beautiful people. It ended in the destruction of a chicken fingers, pizza and a large burger with fries. Bite after bite the delicious morsels of fried and baked goodness were decimated. We left no survivors. Not even the H2O could withstand our reign of terror. Little did we know, the sustenance would get its revenge.
Only an hour into the flight, they rebelled. They came with a vengeance like the men of Troy swarming from within the wooden horse. They ate at us from within. They gnawed, and chewed untill the revolt was quelled by none other than the H2O itself.
“It’s our duty” it said. “We cannot fight them”
The H2O had an influence like no other. One bye one, the sustenance lowered its shoulders and bent the knee to the charismatic molecule.
The rebellion was over. And now, that all is safe, I can calmly move on with my life. I can take flight to the city of Carnival without hesitation and enjoy my trip.
