Really swell talking with you yesterday, in a variety of languages. As you know I am still confined to my robot ankle brace - more machine than man - following a check-up with my foot guy, who confirmed that I need to just wait it out until it gets better / less purple.
Undeterred, I've been out and about a fair bit, including a drive to São Bernardo do Campo for a gourmet-burger-making session with some of Gaby's schoolfriends (I was on caramelized onion duty), a hobble round the local trendy food truck scene on Friday lunchtime for polenta and a "papelón" (a non-alcoholic mojito from Venezuela, apparently), and a trip to the cinema to see "It", a nice film about dancing clowns, while Aerosmith played next door. I've been asked to do another Travelling Spoon gig, but it's in a city two hours away so we're trying to figure out when we can duck out of work...
In the meantime I've made a new compilation, as is my wont, and my phrase of the week is one that has irked me in recent times - it seems people in the service industry (waiters, Uber drivers, etc), cowed by demanding customers and a rocky economy, have taken to apologizing preemptively for anything they might have done wrong ("sorry for anything"), which seems a bit needy even to someone from a country as apologetic as England.
On a related (and topical!) note, Uber's recent ad campaign in São Paulo has been amusing me no end - billboards with talking heads saying that they drive for Uber to "look after my daughter" and "take care of my house", which are worded so it sounds like the company is literally holding their family hostage until they work off their Uber-debt. A chilling glimpse of the late capitalist dystopia to come? Or just a bit of fun?
Where we go from there is a choice I leave to you.
The Fred Pill
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