YOU'RE WRONG
An Irregular Column
by Mykel Board
" Even Fat Mike hated Brazil, and he likes EVERYTHING!"
--Ben Weasel
The January semen freezes in my pubic hair. It's the forgotten result of a manual manipulation to the memory of the stripper-goddess of Sao Paolo. I now think ahead to April, when this column appears. Ah, the warmth brings be back to South America... Where was I?
****
Rio was great. San Paulo is heaven. I could move here. It's New York 20 years ago. The danger. The sleaze. The fun. The freedom. I've already asked a stripper to marry me and eaten Piranha soup. What more could I want? Antarctica beer? I've got a bottle of it in my hand.
Alas, (I bet that's the first time I ever used alas in a column!) I have to move on. I bid farewell to this spectacular city and my new friends. Anti- Diarrhea singer, Eduardo, brings me to the bus station. He negotiates my ticket. Lucky me. I can only imagine stumbling through bad Portuguese to find myself on the wrong bus, headed for Amazon head-hunters.
Next stop: Santos, a little town not too far away. I'm gonna meet Junior, who fronts the band, THE WHITE FROGS. A jack of all trades, Junior writes for the local newspaper, and has a radio show. He also is a booker who imports bands to play in Brazil.
I call him when I arrive. He's there in a flash to pick me up. Right on time. (On time? Is this guy Brazilian?)
Picture a guy named "Junior." He's a kid, right? A scrawny guy with baggy pants, a backwards baseball hat, a wisp of a hispanic mustache and an annoying habit of calling everyone "dude." Right?
Nope! Junior is big. Not fat, but tall and wide and very white. He looks more like a brawler than a Chicano skatepunk.
I get in his car and we're off to mom's house. First to his room.
"Here's a CD, you should have it." he says. "Here's another one."
What is it with these people? Do they take NICE pills? Not only are they polite, generous, and friendly, they apologize for it! Rarely do five minutes pass without an apology.
After giving me a bunch of CDs, Junior takes me to my own room behind the washing machine.
"I'm sorry I can't give you a better room, Mykel." he says.
Jezus fuckin' Christ. I toured with ARTLESS! I stayed in places abandoned by cockroaches because they were too dirty! And here he is apologizing for giving me a private room and his mom's hospitality.
After we're settled he asks. "Do you eat meat?"
"Do I eat meat?" I answer. "Does the Pope shit in the woods?"
He doesn't get it.
"With a vengeance," I say. "I want meat. Meat, next to sex, it's the best. Yeah!"
Junior is a vegetarian... but he's a good sport. He takes me to a Brazilian all-you-can eat barbecue.
There are a few leaves of lettuce, a couple string beans, and MEAT! They just bring it to you. Skewer after skewer. Pork, lamb, liver, chicken. Mostly beef. From the leg, the ass, the belly. Well- done. Just browned. Dripping blood. Meat. Meat. Meat. Take a mouthful, then POW! along comes another waiter with another skewerful. If I had as much sex as I;m having meat right now... I'd be shopping for a new prostate.
Junior watches me eat. He sits there, ginger ale in hand, not a speck of food in front of him. A friend of his comes along for the meal. He's a vegetarian too. They watch me eat.
Me? I've never thirsted, wished, longed for a salad before, but, as I take the next mouthful of browned pig muscle, I'm damned close.
The waiter comes over with another skewer. This one has little tubular pieces on it. They're almost black from coal.
"What is this?" I ask Junior.
He says something in Portuguese to his friend.
"Intestine" replies the friend. "I think its called intestine."
I've had enough. I pay the bill, waddle off to Junior's car, to head to the local strip club.
As we ride, Junior tells me about the trouble he had with his band.
"EMI wants to sign us," he says, "give us lots of money. All we have to do is sing in Portuguese. Nobody wants bands who sing in English."
"That's why you got your own label?" I ask.
"Yeah, besides that I want to put out bands by my friends." he continues, "There are a lot of good bands that sing in English, but they refuse to sell out."
"Isn't there any outlet for these bands?" I ask.
"Sure," he says, "there's alternative places like MTV..."
"Now hold on!" I say, already confused by the topsy turvy point of view.
"Let me get this straight," I continue, "Singing in English is punker than singing in Portuguese. And the only alternative outlet for most bands is MTV?"
Junior nods. "That's right," he says. "Gordo, from Ratos De Porao has a show on MTV. He lets the wildest, most anarchist bands play on that show. He always tells people what shit mainstream stuff is."
"You mean anarchist bands, with no major label backing, no videos, no money can play on MTV? And he can say shit on TV?"
"Of course," says Junior. "This is Brazil."
We're at the strip club. A beat-up Chevy pulls in right behind us. It's another one of Junior's friend's. A young skinny guy, he's in the car with a pretty girl. When they pull up to the front of the club, they're in heated conversation.
The young man gets out of the car, still arguing with his girlfriend. The girl gets out, looking first at Junior, then at me. She concentrates on me.
BANG! She's blabbering in Portuguese. Not angry, but pleading, worried, begging me for something. I don't understand a word. I look at Junior for help.
"She says she doesn't like her boyfriend going to places like that. She's asking you to watch him. To guard his morality."
"Tell her she has nothing to fear," I say. "I promise I'll guard his morality like I guard my own."
Junior translates. The girl smiles, walks over to me, softly shakes my hand. "Obrigada," she says, before driving away.
Inside the club is a flat area on the same level as the entrance. Then, a few steps up, is a larger area with a bar. Between the two levels is a wide wall with metal poles at regular intervals. On the wall are THE GIRLS.
There are eight of them. Four on each side of the staircase. None of them are as magnificent as Sao Paolo, but they're Brazilian, and that's good. One has the color, body, and hair texture that brings blood to my loins.
We sit at a table. Immediately, a waiter comes over to extort an order. I ask for an Antarctica. The others do the same.
Although one of the girls keeps moving her g- string and flashing me, the sexy semi-Negress is on the other side.
"Why don't we change tables?" I ask Junior.
We move upstairs and over to the other side. As soon as we sit, the girls walk off the wall. It's time to change dancers. The new crew moves on. There's one, cute, butch girl who walks to the other side. There are a few non-descript ones. There is one pale girl who must weigh 250 pounds. Her flesh rolls over itself. There's enough cellulite on her legs to fry all the meat I ate at today's barbecue. And it is she, who dances right in front of us. Is that a wink?
"Waiter, can we have the check?" I ask.
Santos is a short visit. Junior has set up a place to stay at my next port of call: Curitiba. I'm anxious to go there. I hear it's "the city that works." The only really safe place in Brazil. Yeah, right.
Junior sets me up with Julio, a punkrock architect who won a "decorate the mall for Christmas" contest. When I get to Curitiba at 9PM, Rodrigo, an email pal, is waiting for me. He takes me to Julio's place. Julio isn't there. He's at the mall. Off we go, to the mall. We get there just as it's closing. Julio is in the basement.
"Of course you can stay with me," he says. "You only have to wait until 2AM after I finish decorating."
Fine, I'll hang out in a restaurant.
"Oh no, everything in the mall will be closed. People have to go home."
OK, I'll go into town with Rodrigo, and then come back later.
"Sorry, they lock the mall. There's no way to get in later."
Does that mean I have to stay in an empty mall for four hours, after not having eaten all day with nothing to do and no place to jerk off?
"I'm sorry," says Julio.
"Thanks," I say, "but I think I'll go to the Youth Hostel."
Julio again apologizes. I tell him I understand and get back in the car with Rodrigo.
The local Youth Hostel is more accurately a Youth Hostile. When we get there, Rodrigo, constantly apologizing for the problems, reaches through the bars on the front door to ring the bell. This he does several times until a thin woman of indeterminate age, slowly makes her way to the door. She shakes her head as she walks.
She says something in Portuguese to both of us. Rodrigo translates. "You have to wait. She is helping someone else."
I drop my bags, say my good-byes to Rodrigo and his pals, and thank them for chauffeuring me around. They leave and I go inside. The place is empty. Just a hallway and an office. Lights are on, but no one is around.
I clear my throat, loudly. The woman, dressed in a housecoat, with locks of hair falling over her face, comes into the office. A cigarette dangles from her lips. She takes it out, coughs in my face, and says something in Portuguese.
"Io quero un cuarto." I say in Spantuguese.
She wants my Youth Hostel card, my passport, some money and then she says something else in Portuguese.
"Nao entendo." I say.
"Sheets." she says, the only English word she ever says to me.
"Nao teno." I say.
She asks for 2 rais more and throws a set of keys and a dirty sheet at me.
Inside the dark dormitory room, one guy sleeps silently. I chain my pack to the bed and go downstairs to get something to eat. The housemistress grudgingly shows me, Billy's, a cheap sandwich place. She's leaving, so she walks with me half-way. Then points to the place, the only light on a dark and deserted street.
I enter through the open door. A couple of long haired guys with PANTERA t-shirts sit at one of the tables. They break into laughter when I walk in.
From the counterboy with a Dominos complexion, I order something called "Glu-Glu." In a few minutes, I get a sandwich filled with what looks like "glue-glue."
Packed to go, I start eating the it on the dark road back to the hostel. Halfway there, I spot a lean and long form heading my way. It's a young man, who looks like I thought Junior would look. He speaks in an alcoholic spray. Right in my face.
I don't have to know Portuguese to realize that he wants money. He's not very polite about it. Things become more sinister when he puts his arm over my shoulder and starts a bit of pressure, forcing me toward a dark doorway.
I brush his arm off and walk into the light of a bus tube. [Curitiba has this unique transportation system where busses stop at huge turnstyled tubes. They let their passengers on and off within the tubes. You can travel as long and as far as you want as long as you stay in the system. No transfers needed. No transfer scams possible. Clever.]
The passengers waiting for the next bus watch the guy harassing me. They watch me try to ditch him. They don't say a word. They just gawk as I stand just outside the tube, finishing my glue.
I cross the street to a well-lit gas station. Then I move from well-lit (or at least lit) place to place. Finally, I'm back at the hostile-- minus the drunk.
By now, there are several people inside. No one says one word to anyone else. No one even smiles. I've stayed in Youth Hostels everywhere from Beppu Japan to Bologna Italy, and I've never seen anything like this before.
At 8:30 the next morning, I split. Get out as fast as I can. Catch the bus to Florianopolis, a southern resort city, close to some nude beaches I want to hit.
My throat hurts, and I've got the sniffles. A trip wouldn't be a trip without a cold. But fuck the cold. I'll hit the beach in Florianopolis, stay the day tomorrow. Leave for the nude beaches the next day, then Montevideo Uruguay that night.
The reality: it's raining. Drizzling. Downpouring. Chilly. Uncomfortable. Beach shmeach. Get me out of here.
My plan to ride overnight and enjoy the days is further foiled. The only bus south leaves at the ridiculous hour of 9AM. I loose all day riding. It's the same every day. Every destination.
The drivers are afraid of robbers. They don't want to drive at night. But it's okay to leave me off in strange cities just after everything closes.
In Florianopolis, I buy a ticket on the "luxury bus" to Montevideo. You get air conditioning. (Like a need it.) And a "free lunch."
On board the bus, the steward brings my feast. It's a plastic tray with 4 compartments: 1. Potato chips. 2. Bacon flavored chips, 3. Peanuts, 4. Cheetos.
I get to Montevideo an hour before the boat leaves for Argentina. I'd like to see Uruguay, but I'm in a hurry to get to Buenos Aires. I know the people I'll be staying with. They visited me in New York. Promised me the world. We'll go to the beach together. Explore the country. See gauchos. Everything.
While waiting for the boat in Uruguay, I see a man walking through the waiting room with a small thermos under his arm. He stops, sits on a windowsill, pours the thermos into a little gourd, and sips the result through a silver straw. It's mat‚.
There's another guy carrying a thermos. And a woman. It's the whole country. Like they all have tumors under their arms. Right now, there're more mat‚ sippers in this terminal than cell phones in a yuppie restaurant.
No time to marvel, though. My boat is leaving. I'm heading for Argentina...
I'm going to stop here. I'll tell you about Argentina next month. I've got another task now. While I was in South America, all kinds of zines piled up on my desk. People put a lot of time and effort into them, so I've decided to review them. Here are my favorites:
*********************** HEAVY METALLECTUAL: Subtitled The Magazine For Intellectual Metalites (Sept. 1999) My favorite article of this issue is "Use The Dialectic, Or Destroy It? Nietzsche Or Hegel, Which Way For Metal's Future?"
Other articles include "Quantum Mechanics vs Quiet Riot" and "Chaos Theory, does it work with a Gibson guitar?" You can order the zine from Ozzy Chomsky, POB 666, Cambridge MA 07231
**** EXPERIMENTAL VEGANISM: (July 1999) This is the research report magazine of SEPTEP (Scientists Encouraging People To Eat Plants). Here, they describe research on pure vegan diets and how they change people. The zine is heavy on the results of animal testing. My favorite is a report concerning laughing hyenas who were fed a pure vegan diet for six months. The result? They stopped laughing. Order it from: Peta Disbaby, 142 Broccoli Lane, San Francisco CA 91322
**** SKINHEAD CIRCUMCISION: Subtitled Why Only Have One Skinned Head? (October 1999) The magazine is devoted entirely to photos of skinheads without foreskins. Hard, soft, drooping, risen... even one or two in action. There's a darling picture of Ian Steward (RIP) with his surprisingly full throbber. I don't know how they got it. You can get it from: Not Quite As SHARP Inc, 23 Snippet Lane, Moyl PA 32411
**** ALTERNATIVE MAKEOVER: Subtitled How To Give Your Mainstream Band a Cutting Edge (April 1999) Tips on dressing, answering interview questions in an irreverent way, and more. This issue has profiles of Smashing Pumpkins and Pearl Jam. Order from: G. Streetcred, 100 Main Street, Flushing NY 11247
**** MY EXIT MUSIC PLEASE: (undated) published by The Hemlock Society, the guys who wrote that best-seller FINAL EXIT. It talks about the most fitting music to die with. They recommend Skrewdriver's "Back With A Bang" for shotgun through the mouth mode. (I'm surprised it's not something by Nirvana.) Also recommended are: Patsy Kline's "I Go To Pieces" for suicide bombing, Metallica's "Until It Sleeps" for barbiturate overdoses. On the punk side Social Unrest's "Jumping Out My Window" is an obvious choice. You can order directly from the Hemlock Society webpage at www.kickthebucket.com.
**** ROIT COSMOPLLLLLLLLLLITAN (Sept. 1999) a fashion magazine for Grrrrls. It has all the tips a modern Riot GRRRL needs. Articles in this issue include "How to Tell if Your Glasses Are Pointy Enough?" and "Ten Ways To Make Sure Your Pocket Book Doesn't Detract From Your Combat Boots." My favorite is "What Color Lipstick Brings Out The Feminist in You?" To order, Grrrls send $2 to RC Cllla, POB 936, Olympia WA 99982 (Note, Boys who want to order this need to enclose and extra $2.50 for handling.)
**** HAIRY KRISHNA REVIEW: Subtitled: The Magazine For Bear-loving Hindus (Summer 1999) One of the few foreign zines, this is the swimsuit issue. HKR takes us to the banks of the Ganges River. There we get to see MEN! MEN! MEN! all shapes and sizes, all more hirsute than King Kong. Order from: Turban Planning, 347 Leprosy Blvd, Calcutta India
**** CUTEBOY RAGE (Fall 1999) This is a glossy Rage Against The Machine fanzine. You'll see lots of shirtless pictures of the guys, along with lists of their favorite foods, colors and what kind of girls they really like. This issue has a "Win a Date with Zackie D" contest. Just Fab! Order from: Corporate Anger Inc, PO Box 471, Burbank CA 91123
**** SOLDIER OF TRENCHCOAT (January 1999) Subtitled The Gothic Guide to Mass Destruction, this zine is filled with school diagrams and instructions on how to detect structural weaknesses. Plus, "Killing Spree Make-up Tips, The REAL Lessons of Columbine" Order from PO Box 999, Littleton CO 43521
**** ORAL CONVERSION: Subtitled We Changed, So Can You (February 1999) This zine is put out by people who believe that homosexuals can change-- into dentists. Their theory: the oral fixation of many homosexuals can be sublimated into dentistry. Articles include "From Tom of Finland to Tom of Maine" and "Other Ways of Filling Cavities." Order the current issue from POB 181, Carries CA 94325
**** MINIMAL ROCK'N'ROLL (April 1999) This is a zine about politics, in-fighting groups that nobody cares about, purity debates, columnists who talk about their pathetic lives, stupid letters to the editor about other stupid letters to the editor and interviews with bands about anything EXCEPT the music they play. Lots of ads. Buy the current issue at Tower Records.
ENDNOTES: [Hey hey, I got my own website address. Check out www.MykelBoard.com! There, or via email subscription (MykelB@ix.netcom.com), you can get my columns with a few extra endnotes. I need to get rid of 'em and MRR just doesn't have the space.]
She wants to call it LawNet, and enable it to "evade the jurisdictional red tape that often obstructs investigations and prosecutions of crimes carried out on or by means of the Internet."
Yeah, those constitutional rights. Damn nuisances, huh?
I doubt the veracity of this, however, as New York... my apartment building in particular... is still standing.
Not exactly. It wasn't long before McCain recanted. It was all a joke, he said.
"I agree with you that they're being subjected to terrible influences," McCain said in answer to his critic. "Yes, I was trying to be amusing and entertaining, and it was a poor choice."
Now, I wonder who Bill Bradley's favorite band is.
I wonder what the do for the rest of the service.
I got this at the beginning of this year, but I just found it now: 1 9 9 9 or 1-6 6 6 Is the END here?
Many people believe that just as we Scream happy new year this dec 31, 1999 we will see the end of the world!!!!!!!!!
Or at the very minimum SATAN'S true reign on earth will begin. If this happens the world will turn into SATAN'S house. That's right...
HELL ON EARTH!!!
Famine, Fires, Moon turned to blood, the 7 seas boiling over, Tornados, Hurricanes, Droughts, Earthquakes, Volcanoes Erupting, World War, Total Destruction of Earth. (happening simultaneously)
No one who is left will want to stay on the horrible planet that our earth will become.
Many of us here will be taken to heaven in a blink of an eye.
THAT'S RIGHT..GONE!
Those who are left will wish they would have been whisked away to paradise!
DO YOU WANT TO TAKE A CHANCE AND BE LEFT TO
SUFFER MORE THAN YOU COULD EVER IMAGINE?... or be safe? ....1777?
If you want to guarantee your entrance into Heaven NOW is the time to act! You can guarantee your place inside the pearly gates today!
Now You can guarantee your that you will not be left to suffer the Horrific Planet that SATAN will claim for himself.
By ordering your piece of heaven you too will be whisked away when the time comes. Which may be sooner than we think !!!
PROTECT YOURSELF TODAY BY ORDERING !!!!!!!
For Only $17.77 (that's 1-777 to counteract 1-666) You can live your life unafraid of the unforeseen future. When you order Your own "HEAVEN'S CERTIFICATE" you are guaranteeing your place in eternity.
Each "HEAVEN'S CERTIFICATE" is personally blessed and prayed for you. You can live in peace knowing that you too will be whisked away to the pearly gates when the time is right to leave; as SATAN takes his reign on Earth !!
FOR ONLY $17.77 YOU WILL OWN YOUR PERSONALLY BLESSED "HEAVEN'S CERTIFICATE"
SEND CHECK OR MONEY ORDER FOR $17.77 TO: THE ALL SAINTS CHAPEL SUITE 777 9407 ATWOOD ST LOUIS, MO 63123 SEE YOU IN HEAVEN !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
D.F.C. CD: "Igreja Quadranglular do Triƒngulo Redondo" on Sonja Records, C. Postal 02445, Bras¡lia DF CEP 70849-970, BRAZIL: Hardcore like when hardcore was hardcore.
NIPSHOT: "Hot Rob“ Cassette," Nipshot@hotmail.com Fun punk snotty, fast and in English.
SHE-DEVILS: "La Piel Dura" CD sdvs@mundo.wamani.apc.org Two tough girls and a guy. Some of the coolest people I met in South America! Goddesses!
CONFUSION: "Paw! Soko!" CD acras@cpgei.cefetpr.br Melodic hardcore that sometimes moves at a furious pace.
SLAM "UP: Muerte & Nada Mas?" CD slamup@yahoo.com Anthemic punk in Bad Religion style along with a mix of ska and who-knows-what.
HOLLY TREE: "Running Out of Sense" http:/www.rocking.to/hollytree A fractured English band with a fast, poppy, and all-around smiley record.
JESUS MARTYR: "Sudamerican Porno" jesusmarter@infovla.com.ar Brutal speedmetal with English lyrics.
SATRAPA, 2-song CD satrapa@adinet.com.uy Tough hard rock, sung in Spanish. From Uruguay,
PAPPA NIKOLAU Rua do Orat¢rio 2.493, CEP 03117- 001 Mooca, Sþo Paulo SP, BRAZIL Varies from mid-tempo punk to speedy melodic punk. In Portuguese.
IGLESIA SA / SUBVERSION split cassette upthefukingpunx@hotmail.com Imagine THE BUSINESS backed by THE SEX PISTOLS-- in Spanish.
ANTI-DIARRHEA CD on Browndrip Records redstar@uol.com.br These guys are THE NEXT BIG THING in Brazil. Their hit single WEBSITE PARTY ("We're gonna have a website party tonight, alright!") follows hard on the heel of "MATŠ MATŠ Man (I Want To Be A MatŠ Man), all over local MTV. Soon to sign to a major... once they sing in Portuguese.
I'm still at PO Box 137, Prince Street Station, NYC 10012 USA. Yeah!
--Mykel Board http://www.MykelBoard.com email: TheBoss@MykelBoard.com