30.05.17 - Matar fome

Oi!

Hope all well over there, and looking forward to seeing you soon...  Over here we've had a relatively quiet week, the highlight of which was going out for an all-you-an-eat fondue extravaganza for our 3-year anniversary.  As well as the standard cheese-and-bread variety there were meat skewers in boiling wine (!), plus chocolate AND caramel fondues for desert, with an assortment of fruit and cakes. Getting up to leave was a struggle, put it that way.

Elsewhere I've got my hands on my driver's licence proper, hit a purple patch of scoring at the footy, and sampled sonhos near the Paulista at the weekend - basically a fancy doughnut plied with creamy fillings and, in my case, lemon ice cream. Would recommend.

Here's yer compilation for the week, and today's expression literally translates as "to kill hunger", as in, "to fill the gap".  Usually used as a post-prandial question ("matou fome?", or "so, did that meal KILL HUNGER?"), and the same format can be applied to scratching a proverbial itch ("matar vontade", or "to kill desire") or seeing someone for the first time in ages ("matar saudades" / "killing, er, saudades").

UPDATE: I've been told there's another variant on the phrase, for when you're done eating something you had a particular craving for: "matou o que estava te matando?" / "did you kill what was killing you?".

And I'm spent.

Fred On

23.05.17 - Cachorro com dois donos morre de fome

Greetings from across the pond, where work has ramped up again after a week of flopping about (good thing too, as I'd like to get the bulk of it out of the way before we travel...).   

On Saturday we went to Taynah and Rafa's for their Alice in Wonderland-themed birthday party, which was most amusing - Gaby went as the Cheshire Cat, Taynah as the Mad Hatter, Rafa doing some sterling cross-dressing as Alice, and I went as the White Rabbit (or the Playboy logo, depending on your perspective).   We helped with the set-up, including some very elaborate world-building on the rooftop terrace and tiny syringe-filled cocktail bottles marked "Drink Me", and had a grand old time with other oddly-dressed souls.

In other news I've been haggling with the DMV for a new, permanent driver's licence (having gone a year without mowing anyone down), letting plumbers in to bash down our walls in search of a leaky pipe, coming to terms with a new phone that actually works, and trying to sellotape my ribs together for good.  We also went en famille to check out the new Burger King that's opened up in front of Ridaut and Adny's building, and shake them down for protection money in the process, obviously.  Exciting times...

My phrase of the day translates as "a dog with two owners starves to death", a rather morbid spin on "too many cooks spoil the broth" that seems to have been adopted by corporate types to warn against appointing too many middle managers to delegate basic tasks.  I've no cause to use it.  And it's a Chris Cornell tribute special with not one but two compilations, if you can play them...

That'll do, pig.

Fred xx

16.05.17 - Não põe água no meu chopp

*100TH POST KLAXON*

Hallooo!

Good to speak to you the other day - as you may have gathered on call, we had the extended family round on Sunday for a Mother's Day BBQ, featuring plenty of meat, grilled pineapple and 'appy laughter.  And the night before Gaby and I went out for a romantic date at Pizza Hut, which is bizarrely seen as quite an up-market restaurant here, despite the pizza not being any better than across the Atlantic (still hit the spot though).

Otherwise the week was spent stumbling around the flat fighting the twin scourges of early alarm calls for work and rib-ache, for which my doctor has prescribed a sort of old-lady corset to hold everything together until it heals. I'll be wandering around in a muumuu and orthopaedic shoes by age 40 at this rate, but whatever works...

We're gearing up for Europe in less than a month - as is my way, I've channelled my excitement by turning our itinerary into a compilation, on top of this week's regularly scheduled, and rather mellow mixtape... And my phrase of the week ("don't put water in my pint") translates roughly as "don't kill my buzz, Captain Buzz Killington". A "chopp" being a mainstay of Brazilian bars, often derided by tourists for being very small and mostly head, but that's another story for another entry.  

Speaking of, please accept this complimentary lemon scented towelette to mark Gringolândia, SP's hundredth entry. Until then it's goodbye from me,

And it's goodbye from me.

Fred & Butter

09.05.17 - Por fora bela viola, por dentro pão bolorento

Tally ho my fine young fillies,

The nights are drawing in over here as the actually-quite-warm hand of winter tightens its grasp.  We spent most of last week trying to work our way through the leftovers from my birthday BBQ (including a truly post-apocalyptic amount of rice; we've learnt several new recipes for shifting it, but any others would be much appreciated!) and going to physio sessions for my ribs, although a 5:30am start time for work usually means I fall asleep face-down on the operating table and wake up dribbling profusely - not a good look.

On Saturday we went to the Mercadão to eat massive pastéis and haggle with outrageously camp fruit vendors, before heading east for Bruna's new man's birthday party, which was most fun and involved cake, a DJ and an after-hours jam session spent trying to cater to the guests terrible, terrible taste as best I could (Whitesnake? John Mayer? They'll get "Kiss" and a string of Beatles covers, and be grateful for it).

Otherwise we've all but wrapped up the transport and accommodation side of our Eurotrip and can now focus on what we're actually going to get up to in, say, Marrakesh on a Wednesday afternoon. I've made a compilation (new LCD Soundsystem!) and my phrase of the week loses quite a lot in translation as "on the outside a pretty guitar, on the inside mouldy bread", which seems an oddly specific way of referring to people whose good looks mask the flaws in their personalities.

And that's the waaaay the news goes! Speak soon,

All My Freds

02.05.17 - A noite, todos os gatos são pardos

 Bom dia!

Lovely to speak to you at the weekend, as I turned 30 in style with a weekend-long bash. 

The preceding days were spent in preparation, from getting in supplies, setting up a caipirinha bar and blowing up balloons to strong-arming our estate agent after it transpired (the day before the party) that he'd failed to pay our building upkeep dues for the previous month, jeopardising the whole thing. We also had to take Roniron to the vet on Thursday after a bout of vomiting, and ended up holding him down and shaving his belly for an ultrasound, before trying to mend the irreparably damaged trust between us afterwards (he's fine now though).

After much commotion the party ended up a complete success, with a rotating cast of guests, presents (champagne! Baci! "The Force Awakens" on DVD!), free-flowing drinks and MEAT on tap courtesy of an elite BBQ team outside, an amazing chocolate and fruits-of-the-forest cake by Adny ("such an emotional day, even the cake was in tiers", etc), a brief unplugged concert and jam session, and a frantic clean-up and stocking of fridges around midnight.

Faced with a surplus of leftovers, we had Adny and Ridaut round the next day to break in our flat's BBQ, which worked a charm - plus a couple who turned up with their baby, obviously a day late and unaware, but we incorporated them into our lunch seamlessly and had a lovely time. And yesterday was a bank holiday too so we're now fully rested and relaxed for the week ahead.

In the meantime, here's a regular compilation, and another one charting the end of my twenties - a rollercoaster ride from denial to acceptance and back again. My phrase of the week translates thus: "at night, all cats are dark", i.e. anything goes under cover of darkness. Make of it what you will...

Speak soon!

Fred xx