What I Should Have Written in the Family Christmas Letter

At some point you have either written, received, or been unwittingly exploited by a family Christmas letter. The typical format gives about a paragraph or so to each person in the family. This time around I thought over some possibilities for my entry.

Option #1:

Michael told us in a letter last week that he's doing really well at rehab. He and his new friend Bob saved Margaret from slitting her wrists last wednesday. He has also converted to Judaism and has become lactose intolerant. Merry Christmas.

Option #2:

Michael is surfing in Vanuatu as you read this. He has started a new company that sells exotic fruit juice and smoothies and writes political satire on his successful blog (and is also a major contributor to the New York Times, the Washington Post, and advises Obama on strategy on Thursdays). He is also making real estate investments in northeastern Brazil and has purchased an island off the coast of Spain.

Option #3:

Michael is currently single. He enjoys long walks on tropical beaches after sumptuous romantic meals complete with candles and rose pedals. He is also not averse to bubble baths. His number is 657-123-4567.

Fortunately I wrote something way better than all of that, but you won't get to read it unless you're on the family Christmas letter mailing list.

The call of the ocean

I was listening to Hawaiian music in the shower this morning. The sound of the ukulele and the amazing vocal range of an almost 800 pound man named Israel Kamakawiwo'ole filled me with a longing for the ocean. The tropics. The beach. The surf. 

Part of this longing has to come from the fact that it is getting colder in Utah. That, and as it gets colder, the trees shed their leaves and I can see more of the barren desert that surrounds me. I get this feeling of distance from the sea. I almost believe it is gone. There is only a vast sea of brown earth. Oh sure, there are multiple shades of brown, but it's still brown.

I hate to see my surfboards idly leaning against the wall with nothing to do but hope. They were meant to ride the waves. I was meant to ride the waves. 

The ocean has always inspired men. It beckons like an unconquerable expanse. It is truly the last frontier, regardless of all of man's peregrinations and circumnavigations. We know very little about it. It's mystique and seemingly endless grip on the horizon fills the soul with wonder and contemplation. You can allow your mind to slip into an infinite blue that has no master. It liberates me. It is somehow home.

Well, I guess there's only one way to solve this problem. Ditch Utah. Go to the coast. Marry a mermaid. Live underwater with clownfish and sea turtles. And surf.

The Brazo-Austra-American Connection

There are three countries that I put in the same category. We're like blood brothers. 

Brazil, Australia, and the United States (Pictures in order - BR, AU, US).

You can agree or disagree, but the people in these places share a lot of similarities, as do their histories. All three were colonized by European powers. All three were exploited by those same powers. All of those countries were made what they are today by waves of immigration from all over the world. All of them also have vast untamed stretches of country. From the Amazon in northern Brazil, to the Yukon in Alaska, to the Northern Territory in Australia. Another cool fact is that all of the countries have great surfing, surfers, and beach communities. All three have vast mineral resources, mining operations, and stable economies. They all have beautiful people. And, another similarity is that all three countries share my love.

A short brief on my travels

So, for the past couple days...and actually almost 2 weeks, I have been traveling in the beautiful country of Brasil. Notice that I spelled it 'Brasil' and not 'Brazil'. That is because that is the correct way to spell it. However, the anglicized spelling allows for english speakers to get the pronunciation a little more right than otherwise. However, the word sounds more like (Bra-zi-oo) because the 'l' doesn't close in portuguese like is does in english. But, enough with the linguistics lesson.

I drove with my friend Mario to Maceió from São Paulo. The trip takes 2 days of straight driving. The roads were precariously formed at best. There are parts that are reasonable, but there are huge stretches that are full of holes, bumps, and cracks. The reason for that is because even if the government sets aside money to resurface or fix the road, it generally ends up in some local construction guy's pocket, or gets signed off by the government as having been done and the governor, mayor, or whoever is responsible puts the money in his account in Zurich. But it was a pretty decent drive, with pit stops for gas, salgados (snacks) and lots of guaraná (an energy soda). I traveled across the states of São Paulo, Minas Gerais, Bahia, Sergipe, Alagoas, and I even visited Pernambuco when I went to Recife with Mario to do some business and visit the Mormon temple there.

We arrived in Maceió around 3:30 in the morning last monday, slept a little in the car for an hour or so in a town just 30 minutes north called Paripueira. The town sits right on the water and there are beautiful reefs, fish, manitees and local cuisine, but at that hour we were hardly conscious of this. We then drove around Maceió a bit, and eventually got in touch with our mutual friend Meri. She let us stay at her house for the week.

Without going into too much detail, I will say that the beaches in northeastern Brasil, and especially in the state of Alagoas (where Maceió is situated) are some of the most beautiful in the world. I'll have to attach a few photos to this blog post later to show you. While there in Maceió we went to Jatiúca beach, Ponta Verde beach, Francês beach, Paripueira, the Barra de São Miguel and visited old friends, acquaintances, and pretty much gorged ourselves in all the delicacies that Maceió has to offer. We had a cheesy shrimp called bubble gum shrimp, had lots of pizzas, exotic fruit juices, crabs, and every other delicious sea food or land mammal that was available. I did not get to surf because they only took cash at the rental place, and my bank card is without a pin now for weeks because my bank is inept. But next time I won't miss out on it.
I've decided that I'm going to buy a beach house in a town north of Maceió called Maragogi. I had dinner there and asked the waiter how much a beach house would cost. He said R$40,000. In dollars, with the current exchange rate, that's $25,000. Hard to refuse a piece of paradise at that price. Maragogi sits just 2 1/2 hours north of Maceió on the border of Alagoas and Pernambuco. The sand is pearly white, the water a turquoise and emerald color, and it is full of coconut trees, old buildings, churches, and hammocks. Ideal. And the taxes on a house like that would run about $250 a year and utilities wouldn't be much more than that. I could even rent it out while I'm not there and make a profit. Sweet deal.
Now I'm back in São Paulo. I got to visit a beautiful Ibirapuera Park, and I went to the Museum of Art yesterday. Today I'll have lunch with some friends, and as usual, I'll keep it crazy at night. All my best to you. I return friday to the US of A.

Australia the Beautiful

While I was visiting the San Diego Zoo, I came upon a shocking sight. I'm sure you've all seen pigeons. They all live in big cities of America, are relatives of doves, but are about as dirty as rats (if not more so). In fact, they are called rats of the sky. Now, it caught me by surprise when I saw what pigeons look like in Australia:



All I could do was be envious. Man, why don't we get cool pigeons that don't smell like trash and look like something found between the cheeks of an elephant?



But, if that were all, I think I could cope. But they've got Koalas down there. They spend 20 hours of their day sleeping and the other 4 eating or cohabiting with other Koalas. Oh to be a Koala! We could keep them as pets. All we'd have to do is give them eucalyptus and they could babysit the kids while we go out for the day, or the weekend.



Oh, and then there are the Australian beaches and women. And the surfing....just let me go there. I'll renounce my citizenship (not really). But live wouldn't be half bad if I were Crocodile Dundee.

Why DC is so great.

Well, if you didn't know already, like it or not, DC is awesome. Yep, you might as well just face the music, bite your upper-lip half-heartedly and dance. The reasons are so astoundingly atestable and verifiable there truly is no sensible line of reasoning that could take you elsewhere. DC takes the cake.

First. DC has a thriving job market. No where else on earth do you have such a dependable job market. Why is that you say? Well, the big bureacratic beast with lots of fangs, rabies and a leash made up of red tape lives here. Right downtown. The world's most powerful, but strangely inept government. It doles out millions of new jobs each year for all the fabulous new cubicle mice who are bound to sit in dark cement-laden bomb shelter government offices for new agencies to act as middlemen for other agencies that society already thought were middle men. Yay!

Second. Everything is free! Oh yes, you can go just about anywhere in DC and see works of art, ancient artifacts, and years worth of archives and memorials without paying a dime for admission. And how can this be? Well, surprise surprise. You pay for it. You ever wonder why you pay so much in taxes when you live out in the middle of Wyoming? It's so all the illegal immigrants who protest in DC can have a great weekend planned out with their Aunts, Uncles, Grandparents, and children who are citizens and demand representation without taxation or legal entry. It's so they can see all those monuments and museums that you paid for. Oh DC.

Third. You are surrounded by water and don't even have to deal with all the icky sandiness that you would get from other cities that have a beach close by. You are conveniently placed in between two possible entry points of the sand abyss, but are fortunately sheltered by the most wonderfully smelling and attractive bays in the world. The Chesapeake! Oh what pride. And let's not forget the Potomac. Beautiful brown and gloriously full of treasures like free pianos, tractor tires, refrigerators, bowling balls and old cars...you don't even need to go shopping here, just go fishing and hope an angry minifridge takes your bait. Oh yes, and if you do have a hankering for some blue saltiness and want to get skin cancer you can drive 3 hours north to Bethany Beach Maryland or 3 hours south to Virginia Beach. See, in DC you're lucky.

There are many reasons that DC is the best, these three are just a start. Come on down and check out what all the Peruvians, Hondurans and Guatemalans are raving about! DC! DC! DC!