Not everything that looks like a cucumber is...

Has anybody eaten a vegetable sponge? I am not talking about those that grow in the ocean, this is something common in Brazil and people use it to scrub themselves when they take a shower!!! I ate one and I am going to confess right now!!! Considering that I am the one with whom so many things happened because I am not so normal I hope no one will doubt my story. Too bad aunt Nair is already gone because she would confirm this very fast. Now, before I tell you the story, let's establish that everyone knows what a vegetal sponge is. Some of the English speaking readers of my blogs (there is a mirror of this blog in Portuguese) I know that there will be people out there (and maybe even some young Brazilians) who never saw a "bucha" (pronunce boo-shah), the luffa. 

Here goes: You can see up there some dried vegetable "buchas" cut in pieces. It looks ugly but it was just like that and if it is still popular in Brazil (tell me if you are in Brazil) and we would buy them in the street market to use when we showered. They invented the fake sponges eventually, but who knows from what time they started using buchas? The vegetal bucha is the fruit of a vine that bears green and yellow flowers, from African origins, taken to Brazil by the slaves. Here is an example of such flower which by the way is beautiful: 

 For those who don't know, the Brazilians improved the way they market buchas and I was looking in the internet and found this:

As y ou can see there are wigs made of bucha, bucha mounted in fabric whic is better to hold when you taking a shower, and Lampião and Maria Bonita (Brazilian Bonnie and Clyde) made of bucha. 

Well, the story is that I went to visit my aunt Nair in Ferraz de Vasconcelos (a city in the state of São Paulo, Brazil) one day. I liked going there because the majority of the streets were not alphalt and it was interesting to explore for they were not like the streets of São Paulo, they had trees and hills that I liked climb down... not up... but I liked everything there. There was also a lot of cousins that I loved to play with. But one day, I am not sure why, I was alone exploring the region. In a street that was not very far from Aunt Nair´s house, I saw a vine of this kind: 

     

If you have never seen a cucumber vine it looks just like it. And that is exactly what I thought. I saw a whole bunch of cucumbers hanging on that vine and I could not resist. Do you think that the cucumbers that are hanging on the side of the street are for you and you are not stealing? I hope not. The vine had a lot of "cucumbers" that were hanging on "my side" of the fence giving me the right to get one, what I did in a second. Don´t think that I am crazy, take a look at the buchas before they dry them and sell them in the street market!

Well, I took a bite of that strange "cubumber" and immediately noticed that the flavor was not right. I thought it was not ripe and that was what was wrong with it. So, I took it to my aunt and showed it to her. I still remember laughing at me. "Mineiro!" (that was my nickname because I was born in a state called Minas Gerais) "That thing is a bucha young man!" Ahahahahaha... I did not think it was funny then but now I remember that moment tenderly. She was laughing there not believing that I had taken a bite of a bucha. I am not sure how I survived by childhood anyway. There are lots of stories to tell you here that if my mom was alive she would pass out because it was like falling from a wall here and another one there and losing my breath and staying on the ground trying to breath again, things that moms are not suppose to know. She ended up knowing about the bucha because Aunt Nair told her. Now you are all warned. You can use it as a popular proverb: Not everything that looks like a cucumber is!

Growing up in Brazil, I liked to watch a very special TV show in the 60's called Lost in Space. The picture here is in color but I always watched it in black and white. We did not have a color TV until the mid 70's. I mean, the TV had a color, I think it was brown, but being a bit colorblind I can't really tell. Color TV did not arrive to Brazil until the beginning of the 70's because a military president of Brazil who was of German descent, Ernesto Geisel, brought it to Brazil when I was in junior high. He chose The PAL European color system insted of the NTS American system (of course just to tell the US his military regime did not care about any pressure from the Empire). It took a while to get a color TV because they were very expensive. I would walk to the Parque São Jorge State High School and would watch color TV through the windows of the stores along Avenida Celso Garcia, in São Paulo.

But going back to Lost in Space, I would not miss one episode. I imagined myself as Will Robinson of course in those incredible adventures in the planets they landed when they were able to go from one to another. But there were times they stayed a long time in one planet. I think they would run out of money for the stage and stuff but I would not think like that... I would concentrate on the weird and sometimes fun aliens they would find. I did not understand how Dr. Zachary Smith could be such a jerk. He would do stupid things and then would cry like a baby to get help. One day he was all silver, very powerful, and controlled an army of robots like the one they had, but in miniature.
But oh, how I wanted a robot like that, spitting deadly rays from the hook hands they made for him!!! Today I had a replica of that robot in my cubicle at work. Although I travel a lot, when I come back, I find my robot waiting for me in the office. My miniature robot says the basic:

"Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!"

"That does not compute!"

"Warning! Warning!"

OK... you may think that this is not my hand and that I got this picture in the internet somewhere, but here goes the whole pictures so you can see that I am indeed holding my robot in my cubicle. In fact I have a lot of toys on the shelf of my cubicle. People see it and it is difficult for them to think that I will ever get over my childhood... hehe.

This picture shows their traveling uniform. I sure would like to have one of those uniforms just like Will´s to travel in space. I don´t care that it looks like a silver pajama. One day my wife will come to the bedroom and see me wearing a pajama like that and will then understand that I have arrived to my mid age crisis... hehe. Her mom warned her but she would not listen...

But it was in that outfit that they would enter that "freezer" (cryogenic chamber) and travel very far in the flying saucer. The next picture is a scene of the show when they were about to take off. Don´t we all want to do that sometimes? The advantage of the cryogenic chamber is that we would not get old. It starts right there. Then there is the fact that you don´t have to pay bills anymore, and who knows what other things people would like to get if they could visit the stars.

There were some unforgettable episodes, like when they go back to Earth in the 50´s and Dr. Smith says he is from "Cachoeirinho do Sul" (I wonder who invented that translation to Portuguese... it was great!). I remember when they found an android woman who ended up crying and the space merchant was convinced to not disassemble her. He would hit his mouth with the palm of his hand, fix up his mustache and hit the shoes together before marching to his space transporter. The machines of the interstellar market were incredible. They were boxes with some cheap graphics but very convincent for people my age at the time. Lost in Space kept me in the air. There was a chocolate factory (Dizziolli) that made a promotion in which you could win a flying saucer just like Jupiter 2. I never bought any of those chocolates but I would go Mr. Alfredo´s grocery store and would look at them, take them in my hands, and "play" right there.

One day I invented a comic book that I used to make them myself, with 3 sheets of typewriter paper. I would fold them in the middle and sew them in the sewing machine that my mother had, thus making the magazine. I would put crosswords that I would create on my own, and a page for coloring, code words, and stories. I will put the whole magazine here later, but here goes some pages that I made with the story of Lost in Space the way I was able to draw back then of course.

You will see below page 1 of the story of Lost in Space in my actual hand made comic book. The way write the names is silly... hehe.. I am Eduardo Robin (I could not write Robinson because it would take too much space). Pay attention to the monster that ends this story written around 1966 then think of the monster Dr. Smith turned into in the 1996 version of the series in the big screen. I think is freaky that I got that close to what they envision the big problem of the Lost In Space movie would be. Here goes:

Click the image to see it closer.
After that use the back button to return to the blog.

Here is how Dr. Smith ends up in the featured movie of 1996:

When my son turned one year old in 1986 the cake was in the form of Jupiter 2, the flying saucer of the Robinson family. I made a replica of the the thing, with the window and you could see the computers inside. The flying saucer was the box for the frozen cake my mother-in-law made. The pieces were wrapped in aluminum foil which made the party look very out of this world. I think that´s when I close the chapter of the flying saucer that was missing when I was little. Here is a picture of us on Danny's first birthday... Look closely at the Jupiter 2 on the alien planet table and the planets that were hanging from the ceiling. I still love the show. It is on its third season on Netflix in 2021. Thank you Netflix! It is simply fantastic!

Here are some wallpapers of the new Lost in Space...

Watch the trailer on Season 1 (still available)

LOST IN SPACE NETFLIX OFFICIAL TRAILER

National Kid

Another show in television that I would not miss was National Kid. The show was in japonese, and there was this guy who turned into National Kid, who was a giant that wore a silver costume made of rubber (in fact it could be yellow but our TV was black and white, so let's stick with silver for now). The mask added a special detail for the eyes like giant sun glasses. People would make that mask with their hands by placing the thumb and the indicator fingers together forming a circle, and placing that circle above the eyes while turning the palm of the hands toward the forhead... it looked just like it! Look here, I will show you an example so you can do the same and show it to your friends during a business meeting just before you close a contract, or in a very fancy restaurant, wedding, wherever you want:

Well, National Kid was always fighting rubber monsters who were always destroying Tokio. I think Tokio was rebuilt a thousand times because every other episode there was another mad lizzard for National Kid to fight with. He would cross his hands and from there these rays would come out and get rid of the monster, but before using that lethal weapon, he would kick and punch them a lot... a little slower than the normal speed of the movie of course that when he was his normal size as a person. Sometimes he would turn around very fast, but when he was in slow motion he was being very serious. Ah... TV was always so violent!

Then there were the Venuzian Incas! What was the name of that sexy alien woman that was their leader? Humm, I can't remember, but she was amazing. I remember when he wanted to steal the cobalt bomb that the Japonese invented that healed everything, or gave power to the whole city, not sure, but it was a big mistake. I know that it was important and she did what she could to get that cobalt bomb. I remember when the Venuzian Incas left in their flyaing saucers when she lost to National Kid. It was a happy day... I was already tired of them anyway. And who invented that concept of Venuzian Incas anyway? Such a mixture of things!!! I have not seen imagination like that on TV for a long time!

Take a look at the show's opening. I used to sing that to Dona Maria, a Japanese lady that lived in the villa next to my house. She was Japanese alright and used to call my mom "Orega" although her name was "Olga." We loved Dona Maria! But I will talk about her later. This is the theme song that I sang to her and never left my mind:

Barbershop - Continuation

Continuing the subject of barbershop which I was talking about earlier, my mother would ask the barber to give me an "American" style. The American style was very simple: very short, almost bald, leaving some hair in the front. I think when they said American they meant military.

When it was my time the man would put a wood on the arms of the chair and I would sit that confident that I would not fall. He would put an apron around my neck that would cover my whole body, then another smaller one above that arong. I never understood why!!! Now time has passed and I cannot ask him! I should have... it will be one of those mysteries in life that I will never understand. As the time passed my mother started entering the barbershop (I had made a comment that the conversations in the barbershop were not appropriated for women. Everybody would be quiet and then start again when she left). Time changed the conversations and the rights.

All along I would look at my faze in the mirror changing with the passing of the years. I never liked my face to be honest, but I can admit that it improved with the years (I must admit). For many years I did not smile with my mouth open because a canine tooth grew on the left side, above the others, way up there on my gum. I remember the volume it made on my mouth. To be in front of the mirror seeing that was a torture. One of the best days of my life was when my mother took me to remove that tooth. After that I could smile and that pointy thing would not show on the side. But that the chair in the barbershop was sometimes like the electric chair when that tooth came along, it was!

One day I did not need the wood on the arms of the chair anymore, my face was at the hight of the mirror and I would not cut my hair in American style either. When I stopped cutting my hair American style and the 60´s required a longer hair style I did not know how to fix my hair in the front. My hair would make this wave in the front that grew in a very disorganized way. I tried to go to sleep wearing a pantyhose on my head to force it back but it was useless. To see that mirror sitting on the wood or on the soft chair was not a pleasure. My hair was weird, and the distance between my nose and my mouth was too long. My eyes were too big, I always wanted to have small eyes. Can you tell that I did not like my face?

The only thing on my face that was right was my nose. If I could change my whole face I would but I would keep the nose intact! What can we do? Some are born thinking they are very attractive even when they are not, some are perfect and can see it, some will always see themselves ugly and clumsy (my case). They should remove the mirrors from the barbershops! It does not help us to see what they are doing anyway. We have no control! If they were the only ones seeing their work, it would be the same thing and we would not get tortured so much.

I went to that barbershop for many years, even afterwards, when my mother did not have time to take me there anymore. I remember the barber but his name has been erased from my memory. I remember chatting with thim, when he made a mistake and I would not care because my hair always grew back very fast. I don´t remember when it was the last time I went there. I just know that everything disappeared.

The chair went away and with it the piece of wood, the leather strap, the razor, the bowl and the brush. The scissors disappeared along with that machine he used to come up with the American style. The men that discussed so many subjects: many are gone from this world. Time, which eats everything and takes everybody, left me memories that even uncomfortable are mine and are precious.

I see the Avenida Celso Garcia, kissed by the morning sun, I hear the noisy sound of the buses stopping at the bus stops on both sides of it trying to distract me.

Standing ther in front of the barbershop, I hold my mother´s hand firmly and let go a sigh for all that I miss so much.

Soccer and I

Here goes the Anthem of the Brazilian soccer team Corínthians for you if you want to hear it:

Hino to Timão!!!!

I should tell you how I am a fan of the soccer team Corinthians and all that. I always considered myself a Corinthian and I like very much when my team wins. I was very sad with the story I heard that Corinthians is now one level below among the other teams in Brazil. For me, Corínthians is a national institution, it is more than a soccer team. For tome it is a religion. For other it is life itself. For me it is a part of my life that I cannot deny although as soccer is concerned I am less than zero.

I was always sorounded by Corinthians. By all the influences I should be a true blue Corinthian but I am kind of colorblind so I could neve be that. Here goes my confession:

My inaptitude for soccer always made me half and I think I was considered by friends and relatives as incomplete in that sense. I was at least considered inferior by the boys that did know how to play soccer and I did not, I have no questions about that.

What kind of boy does not understand soccer? In Brazil you have to know how to play and talk about soccer. I never memorized the names of the soccer players neither the rules of the game. It is a shame for sure, but I thought that reading about the life of Julius Caesar was more interesting, that drawing something until it looked real was more exciting. I don't know if I ended up liking art and literature because I did not like soccer or if it was because it made me look stupid. When we can't do something right we have the tendency to avoid it and go do something else. I confess that in the area of the national sport in Brazil I failed.

I remember clearly the comments that they made when I ran or walked. For some reason people laughed at me. My mother, my cousins, my sisters, my brother, my friends in the neighborhood or school, they all at least once criticized me or laughed about how I walked or ran. It was just run and they would say I was running wrong. When kicking the ball they would say I was kicking it wrong. They never told me how to do it right. So I kept it to myself and they kept their secret to themselves. I always had and have this concern about running and I think that people are looking and thinking, since now they won't say it, that I am running wrong.

In school the P.E. teachers were lousy and instead of giving us exercises to tone muscles they would tell us to play soccer. Whoever is reading this in Brazil could confirm this and go to school and see if anything changed in the past 30 years or more. We would exercise a little and then it was soccer for my torture... more "you're running wrong” and more “kick the ball sideways" and other abstract and irritating stuff. It was a torture when the teacher chose a captain for each team and they would take turns picking the guys to be in their team. I knew that when I was picked it was because a friend picked me for friendship not skill. When the time came to play I would avoid the ball at all costs. If it came close I would pass it to another player immediately and even so I had to concentrate a lot to do it right.

When one day they told me to “get the ball” (that was in junior high and I could not have committed a greater sin) I bent down and got the ball with my hands!!! It was a disaster! They were all angry at me and from that day on the lousy teacher only let me watch. A lot better! The few times we ran I did something. One day I even surpassed the others on long distance jump, but gymnastics was for rich people who could train for the Olympics, not for the students of the Osvaldo Catalano State High Schoool.

I am so glad that the torture has ended and I did not have to practice any more any game that was forced on me. I was never going to learn to walk, run or kick that ball... why learn the rules or that game anyway? If I could turn back the time I don't think I would have done it any differenty. No one realy stopped to sincerely teach me: my brother did not teach me, my cousins did not teach me, no uncle bothered to do it, no friend. Maybe they knew you cannot teach soccer so they would not waste their time. I think that it is in the blood and mine was a lot thin for soccer. I also think that the problem was my walking and running and no one would change my lega so they would just not bother. I was a lost case in that sense. But I did not grow angry at them because of that. It was my problem, not theirs. Happy is the one who is born walking right and playing soccer right in Brazil.

Maybe if my father would have stayed in the story he would have taught me what I needed. In my mind, growing up, I always thought that he did not play soccer. It was not until 2003, when visiting my uncle Ginho that he told me that my father played soccer. It took me 45 years to learn that about my father! At least in my mind my father did not play soccer! If he has stayed in the house as I was growing up I imagined that was would be reading. If he was in the barbershop he would be talking about politics and women but he would not say anything about soccer. But I also imagined him as someone who did not speak so he would not teach me soccer even if he had not left us.

My destiny really was to leave Brazil in the end and go to a place where not even in the barbershop people talk about soccer: The United States of America - where I ended up. I cut my hair the American style so much that one day I ended up cutting my hair the American style every day and did not have to talk about soccer ever!

When I go to Brazil it is the subject of conversation with my sister Joceli, very very true blue Corinthian! She was even in a national news crying in the stadium because Corinthians lost one day. It was her birthday poor thing, but like all Corinthians she survived. One of the more touching moments was when I found out that some of my grandfather siblings were still alive, great-uncle Jamil Feres who had been a director at Corinthians in the 40's for a couple of years. More recently I met a cousin who was an Administrative Vice President of Corinthians -- Antorio Jorge Rachid Jr. -- and he gave me some souvenirs of Corínthians in 2007, showed me the relics of the soccer team and all that. I don't play soccer, I don't understand the game, but I have experts in it in my family. Long live Corínthians!!!

Here goes the anthem again to those would like to hear it: Hino to Timão!!!!

Barbershop

“Iala, iala ehme!”, my mother would say taking me by the hand. I would get distracted looking at the houses along the way. To be honest I hated when she held my hand. I never liked anyone holding my hand. It made me look like a little kid, and athough I was one, who said I liked that the world knew that?

On this particular day she was taking me to have a hair cut. We went down the Rua (Street) Henrique Sertório and waited to cross at the light on Avenida Celso Garcia. The barbershop was to the left, on the other side of the avenue, at the glass door close to the corner.

I remember that place vividly. The furniture was dark and there were chairs to sit down and wait for your turn. The blows for the shaving cream were made of metal but looked like porcelain with this white paint on the outside. The brush showed signs of the years of use by the curved form it had even when it was just resting on the little bowl, like the people who curve with time. Maybe life is the hand of the barber and we are the brush. It brushes us back and forth, molding us with the white, warm foam of happy moments that are so aromatice, or on the rough surfaces, like the rough face of difficulties. Oh well, I did not think any of this on that day, but it sounded good, come on!

Continuing: the leather strap on the side of the chair was shiny because of the many times the barber passed the straight razor on it for sharpening. The sound of the straight razor hitting the leather strap is something I never heard again. How many time have I watched that razor run on customer faces! I would imagine when it would be my turn to shave! Gedo (my grandfather Issa, or "Seo (Mr.) Luiz" as he wa known) had a straight razor, but I remember when one day he stopped using it and started shaving with a save razor from Gillete. The safe razor had a handle that you would screw to a two piece metal holder for a very thin blade. If he was not cutting himself with that I was sure I would not cut myself either. Good thing I had Gedo to make my calculations!

My mom would not enter the barbershop because it was a place for men. The women would go to the beauty parlor, the hairdresser. “America style, please” she would say. “It´s all right, Dona (Mrs.) Olga, please come back in one hour” the barber would answer. Sometimes it would take longer, but it did not matter how long it would take, to me it was an eternity.

I would stay there listening to politics, soccer and women. By the level of the conversation I knew why she would not stay. And when there was a soccer game going on it was SO boring! I never understood the guy talking on the radio and those men would sit there for hours listening to that thing, all excited with what was going on. My own grandfather had a radio that he would hold very close to this ears and by the expression on his face it seemed like he was in the Stadium seeing it all himself. On my mind nothing was happening. By the way, I will stop talking about barbershop for a while and talk about soccer or my frustration with soccer.