Tag Archives: alcir

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….. in a Rio cafe…

As I proof read these pages, I think to myself that no one will actually believe this is real.  I know, it sounds like a movie.  And I’m not even referring back to my journals right now, because somehow as I take it step by step, it all comes back in its most minute details, and I can hear his voice, and know exactly the words he chose, and when a word isn’t quite right, I just know it.  That’s how deep the cut was…

Many years later, as we sat drinking ice cold beer in the little café bar with one side open to the wandering street, the cobblestone street, the one that winds up the hill to one of the oldest districts in Rio, the one that, as the story goes, that woman came down after the wild party, walking on her hands, to save the precious nectar inside her.  Later she would produce a child who sprang from the loins of the king of Rock n Roll… Mick the man.

Yes indeedy, sprang from a party up that hill, in some luxurious mansion, and now whenever the Stones play Rio, he visits the kid at his exclusive school.  And she?  She now has a talk show, and is an edgy bitchy and rich celebrity with very stripey like a zebra, highlighted hair.

Go figure.

Anyways, so he’s telling me these tales of Rio and streets and the kids at his school, and it’s hot and steamy, and the beer is so cold it’s almost a slushy, and it feels like we could be anywhere right now.  There are these darling young women sitting nearby, they have accents,  obviously European, and now and then they glance at us and smile.  Alcir of course thinks it’s because he’s so cute ….  Soon they join us at the table, and they are tittering away with soft giggles, telling us that they are on a journey from Germany, and staying in Brasil for a couple weeks.  They are intelligent, well educated, and speak very good English.  We begin to  answer their questions of who and why We are…..how an American comes to be here with a Brasilian in Rio, and I mention that it is all a movie, that it needs to Be a movie, and then of course, Alcir smiles and asks…

”So….. who weeell play Meee?”  ……and we all laugh.

“Benicio del Toro” return the girls, and there is a pause… Alcir obviously approves, smiles, nods his head, and the chatter turns to travels and more stories.

That was his edgy side, the side those girls picked up on.  The side that was more than a little dangerous, mysterious, thrilling and scarey…… and scarred.  He loved danger.  Craved it.

His family was an old aristocratic group that had pretty much lost it all.  They lived in a multi level home, with rooms and shuttered windows, each staying away from the other, hate and disgust seething from every floor.  The house was unkempt, and slowly melting away, but at one time exemplified class and grandeur.

A karmic layer cake, I used to call it.

When he was 14, he and his buddies used to steal cars and drive them to Uruguay to sell.  He didn’t need the money, just the thrills, the bad boy thrills.  His dad paid the tab at the local bar, but he needed more.  Defiant, he was beaten continually as a child until he stood up one day at 15 and announced to his father that right now,  if he laid a hand on him, he would beat the holy crap out of him.  And he never touched him again, not physically anyway.

But cruelty ran in the group, a very convoluted history that went back generations.

His mother never wanted a child, tried to rid herself of this creature inside her that would ruin her life and her figure, was unsuccessful, and never stopped reminding him of that.  Once while I was there, she came beating on his door at 6 am, screaming that she should have killed him then, she wished she had, and now she hated him, that he was ruining her life.

His grandmother had been his salvation….. his mother’s mother.  She adored him, somehow instinctively understood him, and from the pictures I’ve seen, she was a very sad woman later in life.  But absolutely Gorgeous as a young Indian woman.  Haunting…And that is another chapter in itself, the story of the young Indian girl, and the man who waited and watched for two years, until her father gave permission for him to marry her….  that was one set of grandparents.

When she died, Alcir was the one to wash her body, dress her, and make her ready to be laid down.  She had given him his haunting, dark slanting eyes, and his ferocious spirit, wild and untamable.  She had loved him singularly, and was quite alone in her understanding.

See?  That’s what I mean.  So many facets to this man, so much anger and pain, so much tenderness and depth, so much beauty.  It was a puzzlement that I had to unwind.

 

 

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….. brasil somemore …..

Well, it’s been how many days, and I have neglected you all, busying myself with…. oh no!… making money.  Yes, it’s true… and this is the time for sure.  Things are flowing, and I’m being a good girl and doing what I need to do right now.

Finding treasures to sell is a job in itself, but of course it’s one of the funnest ones… the other being collecting the money.  In between it’s cleaning up, photographing, writing clever descriptions and posting.  Then there’s answering questions and reminding people to pay.  But really, it’s fun.

So I’ve left you hanging on two counts… the variety of stories left from that dating site that started this whole thing, and…… the continuing saga of the Alcir-Brasil Story.

Last time we talked, he had been giving me the deadly Latin Stare across the room, and I was irritated, but amused.  What a little Brat, how dare he impose his great big eyes into my psyche, and irritate my inners…   the little Punk… We ate our dinner I guess, I can’t really remember much in that arena.  I think it was better than I thought it would be, that’s for sure.

At some point later, he turned to me directly, and asked for a tour.  Now at that time my home was this conglomerate that had evolved through decades of hippies and homesteaders.  Started with an A frame, then extended lengthwise to add a master bedroom-bath, then went up from there, up narrow stairs to create two more rooms, one square with windows, one long with low A frame ceiling, the top floor actually, of that master bedroom.  All very funky, rough wood, makeshift railings, odd stairs, but it all worked to make this really cozy nest, and a great party house.

At the other end was the newest addition, a large high ceiling-ed  get away with polished floors, surround windows and husky ladder leading to my loft bed.  This was my Studio, and since it was at the opposite end from the kids’ and teens areas, I could close its glass doors and have a world of my own.  Lovely.  My favorite house of all times, with odd little decks tucked here and there, and 360 views into the woods.

So we’re all a bit high on probably beer and some greenery, and we’ve been laughing for a couple hours, so I’m fine with this ‘Tour’.  I lead him to the master bedroom, which my oldest daughter had reserved, the upstairs rooms which my two younger girls enjoy, and then it’s the other end…. This place was like a Boat, long and narrow with each room having a different flavor and dimension.  We enter my studio and loft, and he checks out my art.  At that time I was making all sorts of creatures from clay and cloth, and sometimes skulls and bones.

“Oh,”  he says…”I’ve herrrd about weeemen like you…… you do Voodoo?  You do Voodoo forrr meee.  I wan a meeeelion doelars…”

We laugh.  I show him the large deck off one side.  It’s dark, and the lights cast shadows on the huge trees around us.  There are sighs.  It’s quiet.

We go back into the studio, and he looks up to the loft.

“Can I see up dere?” he asks, with tentative confidence.

“Ok, sure…I guess…”

We climb the ladder, he behind me, and I wonder if he’s staring at my ass.      No, actually I don’t wonder at all…

The loft is basically a large bed on the floor, with some space around it.  There are little drawers on each side, and it’s draped with gauzey flow-y stuff like I like.  The ceiling is low and peaked.  We go out on the tiny deck off to the right, and check out the view.   It’s getting intense…

The quiet of the night, the shadows and light of those giant redwoods, the total lack of conversation, all lend this eerie, other feeling to our togetherness.   He’s on my left, our arms almost touching.  Then suddenly, or quite slowly actually, his left hand reaches across and touches the left side of my face.   Gently, so gently, more gently than I could ever imagine this madman could be,  his fingers turn my face to his, and in slow motion, he bends down towards me.  So slowly…. All the while my brain is on fry, I can’t believe he’s doing this, how dare he do this, I don’t even know him, how can this be happening, and then… his lips float to mine.  They touch my lips so softly, and it’s forever a moment.  They just sit there, barely touching, and do not move.  He does not move.   I do not move.  My brain continues its soliloquy, spinning it’s doubts and indignations, the how can he, what is this, what the what….?

Yet slowly, ever so slowly, the mind quiets with this gentleness, this soft respect, this non invasive invasion.  Slowly the body relaxes.  And slowly, ever so gradually, I surrender in parts and pieces, tiny sections at a time.  And as I surrender, over what seems like minutes but are likely tens of seconds, my body and his draw together, nano millimeter by nano millimeter.   Slowly his hands touch my waist, slowly his arms begin to surround me.  And at some point far into the night,  in universe time, star time, moon walk time, I have melted into him and he to me, his arms holding me as tightly as he dares, and the kiss has become our entire reality.  Complete and absolute Surrender.  Our oneness hangs in time, the trees the only witness to our only-us, only-now moment.

“Mom…?  are you guys coming down soon…?” and the irridescent bubble breaks, the spirits draw back into corporal reality, and we abruptly part as daughter #2 appears up the ladder.

“Ya, we’re coming” I think I mumble, and we stumble stagger spin away from eachother, and down into the reality we have left.

Heh heh heh…. yes, this is the real story.  Didja like that part?  Hmmmm hmmm ….. so did I.  What a way to start a romance, huh?

 

 

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…….mr brasil comes to town…..

A very old friend, younger by years but plenty of history between us, just Begged me for more stories!  Can you believe it?  It’s Just what I want to hear, my darlings, and it only takes a bit of encouragement for me to shift into gear, drop what I am doing, and prattle on with my memoirs.  Don’t you love what those French words add to your tastebuds…

Must admit, the Brasil saga comes to mind, not just because it was the last real and deeply touching adventure I had, but also because there is something about those people in general, and Alcir in specific, that sticks like gum that has perma dried under the theatre seat.  It’s there for eternity, all its dirty, messy, germ laden mass, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

When I met Alcir, I was definitely in my prime on all counts.  (shall I post pictures sometime?)  I was feelin my power, and was quite attractive.  Now What i attracted was another story, as I have frequently wondered ‘What the What?’, when it comes to that issue…. just What is it that brings in the strange and neurotic, the needy and the distant, and the occaisional unclassifiable ?   He was one of the last.

I had a friend named Steven.  He was relatively new in town, strange and a little Other, yet a Mensa member, and he was entertaining at a time that i had lots of energy for casual entertainment.  I had a great house, kids coming and going, a little cottage industry making jesters and jack in the boxes, and life was quite lovely.

Steven was one of those lost boys, misunderstood, yet not demanding in any unwanted way.  He wasn’t my type as a Guy, but he was amusing.   So after sharing the occasional dinner with him, it was the night He had agreed to cook dinner for Us.  Me and my two younger daughters.  Shana was at college, and Tod was in his own cabin on the acreage I rented.  Sweet.

So it’s nine o’clock, and the door knocks, and there stand two fellows, one i recognize, one i don’t, and they’re both drunk off their jolly well asses.   I neglected to tell you that he Had called from the bar, and asked to bring this new fellow home, and I sort of shrugged an OK.  Whatever, just get over here and do what you’d said you’d do…..

So they both do this weird Asian bow, and it was only later that I realized it was because I was wearing a kimono, which I was really into at the time…. kimonos were available by the hundred pound bale out of Honolulu, and I had been buying them for a store I was partners in.   So Ok, these funny giddy fellows tumble in with a Frozen Chicken, and proceed to start dinner.  Oh this is going to be interesting…

I am introduced to this Latin guy, and I really didn’t look at him that much.  It was only later I saw those Eyes, that indian hair, that brown skin and the devastating, white toothed grin.  He was different, but I really didn’t pick up on it til he stood looking at this framed picture i had over my stove.  There was no window there, and I had always gazed at it as I cooked, as tho it were  a portal into another realm.  It was one of those reverse paintings, where they paint on the back of the glass, and then arrange these Irridescent Blue Morpho Butterfly wings, to make the sky and sea.   Gorgeous, and I have a huge collection of them now.

So this fellow, with an unusual accent that I didn’t recognize, stands there and says… in his winsome Desi Arnez way….. “WHAT eeeez  theees wooooman doooing weeeeth theees in her keeetchin?  I have grown up loooooking at theeees very sceeeeene.  WHAT eeeez Theeeees wooooman dooooing weeeeth theeees theeeeng?”  It was a scene of Pao d’Asucar, or Sugar Loaf as we Americans call it.  Palm trees, the rolling hills of Rio, the whole bit….

“Oh!…. you’re a Brasilian? “… came my rather startled response.  I’d never met a Brasilian.

“Yessss…. What ?….. deeed yoouuu theeenk I waz a stoooopid Mexicaaan?   They don eeven care eenuf about theees countreee to learn the language.”

Ouch.  Later I found out that he was frequently mistaken for Mexican, which insulted him… I mean how many Brasilians visit the Mendo Coast?  and oh ya… he spoke Five languages, and came from an old aristocratic family.  He had studied in the most prestigious school in Brasil, in Rio, where when you graduate from High School, you have learned the equivalent of two years of College.  He spoke French, Spanish, English, Brazilian Portuguese, and several Indigenous dialects.

I looked him over a bit more at that point….  High tech expensive sports shoes… Varnet sunglasses…. a very expensive diver’s watch.  His hands were gorgeous.  And his eyes.  Wicked Intelligence sprang out of them, and they were dark, huge and wrap around, with a certain slanted corner to them.   Oh yes, he was different alright.   His voice was deep, and had that sort of powerful texture that Jose Ferrer has…. or some black actors.  Brazil is a combination of the Portuguese sailors who moved on in, the Black Slaves they kidnapped to do their dirty work, and the Indiginous tribes who to this day just want to be left alone.  He seemed Portuguese, with refined European feature, but the skin, hair and eyes seemed Indian, (his Grandmother was Indian, and he had Her eyes)… and somehow I do believe a little of black had slipped in, although the aristocratic families are always in denial.   His eyes…. his voice….

Through the evening, he constantly made us laugh.  He was hip, made lots of puns with a language that wasn’t native to him, double entendres galore.  And…. at times when no one else was looking, he would stare at me across the room.  Staring?  like boring holes in my temples, blasting a message into eyeballs, past the forebrain, and down into lizard brain land.   He was not subtle per se, but in a non verbal sense he was, for there were no gropings or obvious come ons.  Just that deadly stare across the room.
I silently mouthed “…stop that..!”…. and he smiled.

Ok….. back to work.  Mmmmm it’s fun remembering…..  Encourage me, encourage me, and i shall continue my stories for You!

 

 

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…..the youngers…..

So, a while back, I was exploring the whole issue of age, as it relates to women, and relationships in general.  As you likely have heard more than once, I have ‘dated’ younger men for long long time now, and have always felt more appropriately matched with guys who are not only cuter and more fun, but just endowed with more energy, and are in general more flexible and hip.

I know…. Men my age have commented that they “know why you like younger guys”, and well, yes, they are healthier and more virile, more spontaneous in lots of enjoyable ways, but believe it or not that’s not actually the primary reason.  It helps, but the number one reason is…. They challenge me.  They lighten me up, make me laugh, they are Fun…. and frequently very good dancers!  They are just a little ahead of me in some ways, in those ways that the youngers have, so in some ways they are in the lead.  Of course I have my wisdom and experience, and although sometimes that can be a big heavy drag, in general the balances have been great.

Pan down a few years.  Back in 2005-2006, I spent time in Brasil, living with this fellow who I had met in 1987….i know, crazy huh?  At that time, it was the Gold Rush on the coast for Urchins.  People told me Urchin Divers were the wildest most dare devil guys, and so I wanted to meet one.  This one was brought to my house by a friend, and the rest is a book.

Well he was wild, and I was crazy, and somehow it reappeared in my life all these years later, thanks to the internet (there we go again), and off I went to Brasil, some place I had wanted to see for a long long time.  And not Just because of Alcir, who was undeniably The most outrageous, crazy, brilliant, funny and gorgeous wild man, but also because the spirit of those people as expressed in their varied music, as well as Carnaval…have you Ever Really seen Brasilian Carnaval?  It will Melt your Mind….  Brasilians are wild, primal, animal, funny… they dance with abandonment, and live life to its fullest.

Well Brasil just captured my heart and soul.  And so as we frequently do, I created this opportunity to see the place with a native, and hang with this devastating fellow once again.   Lucky for me, he had fallen for me big time too, as the chemistry was instant and insane.

Oh, just the accent, his voice on the phone, and I was on my way.  If you combine the sexy suave of Antonio Banderos with the dark depth of edginess of Benicio del Toro, and throw in some warm and charming Javier Bardem, embellished with that Brasilian accent, which is likely the sexiest language on the planet, well, you have some idea of what I was dealing with.  Really….            It was bad.

So after the two years of back and forth, fortunes on the phone, ups and downs nonstop… did I mention he was bi polar, ADHD with a gigantic IQ, a heavy drinker heading towards alcoholism, with a history of being a Revolutionary in the seventies, sailing around the horn by himself on a 30 ft boat to escape prison, because of his Revolutionary acts, and…. Joining the French Foreign Legion after we’d first met, and parted back in the eighties… no, Really…..

He was a member of the most exclusive group in the Legion,  2nd Regiment, the High Altitude Parachutists…  they drop in so high they wear oxygen masks…. And perform secret ops missions.  He told me once that one of their missions was for his group of six to drop in on Baghdad, and take out someone very high up.  They knew at that moment, exactly where he was, and they got within 200 yards of him…. when the mission was called off.   Who did he almost kill?  Because he would have been the one to finalize… he was known for the perfect shot.  It was Saddam Hussein.  No, Really….  He was very disappointed.

So I digress.  He was bigger than life, completely brilliant and completely mad.  I came home, and since then have not been with anyone.  I just couldn’t do the Alcir thing anymore, as he was a full time job.  Lots of excitement, lots of laughs, and lots of Tsouris.  That’s Yiddish for Trouble.  Unbelievable what he could get himself into.      One night he was out for maybe 12 hours…. This was a regular occurance, his leaving for hours and leaving me locked in at home.  “I’ll be back”  he’d say.  Well, it is Rio, and I have blue eyes and don’t speak Portuguese much.  But, it’s a man’s world there, and they all go to the bars and drink.  A Lot.

So one night at 2 in the morning, he’s scratching at the door, drunk off his ass….. it’s summer, and the barred windows are open, and I yell something angry at him while he’s being winsome and pitiful…all six foot kick ass of him, and whining “noooo…. Baaaby… noooo…. Let me eeeenn….. noooo, reeeeeally…nooo… you don understan….. I got run over by a busss…..  I called him Desi sometimes…..”Luuucyyyyy… i’m Hooooome…”

All I could do was shake my head, starting to laugh because he was sooo funny, let him in of course, and listen while he tells me the whole story … the car broke down…. He borrowed a bike….. and somehow a bus knocked over the bike with him on it and, strattling him, went all the way over him.

He had some bangs and bruises for a week…. the borrowed bike was toast.

This sort of thing happened all the time.  He loved it.  He craved it.   What can you do after the Legion?

Women called him all the time.  Angry Brasilian women can be very scarey….  “Haalllooo?  Eeees Alceeeerrr…”(that rrr has a sound at the end like you’re clearing your throat of phlem… and she did it with angry emphasis)  “…there?“

He used to tell me that I’d Never find anyone like him.  Oh yes, I know, I’d say.

“You’ll be sorry,’  he’d say.  ‘you’ll be just like them, calling me and begging…”

“Never..”  I said.  And I didn’t.  I just said NO, can’t come back, and left.

So what’s this all to do with now?   Well, somehow I want to get back on the train, and can’t.  I have somehow passed over the line here, and younger men, at least so far, seem to have moved on to younger women, not older.

It was funny, but I was enjoying the whole Demi and Ashton thing for a long time….

See?  I’d say to myself.  It Can work…. Susan Sarandon worked it out with Tim Robbins, and it lasted a long time, even had kids.  And there have been others.  How bout how Yoko made John get his shit together?  To all of our benefit… They had at least a 10 year spread.  They each brought something different to the table that the other one needed.   Granted they are the exception, but they do exist.

So now the great Demi and Ashton are history.  And Why?  Look at her… she’s great.  She’s thin and beautiful, ageless, works on herself, bought him acting lessons, and he made her happy…. They laughed a lot, and looked great together…

What happened?  He grew into his own, and then…. The Options hit.  He’s now in his prime, the girls must be Throwing themselves at him, he has this new TV contract, and may actually be taken seriously at last… and I bet he has More Options than he can deal with.

I read an article a while back and it really illustrates the Cultural Bias that has existed, and still exists within our world.  If you top that with what they are calling statistics, well seems that the older men get, they younger they go for…. Their Options increase, and well, lots of women are looking for someone to take care of them, adore them, give them stability after being with crazy young men, and goodness knows there are tons of older guys out there, tossed out of marriages everywhere.

That’s what my Brasilian did.  After years of telling me we were made for eachother, that he would be alone if I left him, that I needed to stay and help him get it together…. What did he do within oh, maybe 3 months?  He got together with a very young, blonde and beautiful Norweigan woman who was part of the crew of the 300 foot ship he was Captaining….. and they left for Norway, where I’m sure she was rich, and certainly madly in love with this most charming, disarming man.  A year later he was writing sad poetry ….. Ah, but I digress once again….

This site I was on for 6 months…. Full of sad and lonely older men.   Those considerably older men were all over me… I really believe men of that generation think that is The Way it’s Supposed to be…. No matter what their condition is in this moment.

I don’t think they Think they are looking for someone to take care of them, but in the end that is how it ends up.  And there were more interesting ones, ones that still looked like they were healthy and interesting fellows, but as I discovered, they weren’t interested in older women, even ones that were still healthy and attractive….like me?  They were looking for younger and younger ones, as time went by for them.  Many of them will start over with new families, and then kick it, and those young wives will be set for life.

One of the statistics noted that these types of marriages didn’t end a lot in divorce…. Well?  Likely that’s because the guy died… and they even noted that near the end of the article that I angrily analyzed.

Unfortunately for these fabulous women in our world, the ones who’ve taken care of themselves, their children and their husbands while they all were growing up… while he tested out his appeal at the office or the club…. While he engrossed himself mindlessly in his work or obsessions… ignoring family, love life and learning to relate…. She was there doing the chick stuff, and possibly even earning money too, as I did for both my marriages…. So what happens when she’s had enough, and kicks his sorry ass out?

Just like Ashton, he moves out, and into Options that he will have til he dies.

Men as they age, get “Distinguished”.  They are more stable, the testosterone is diminishing, they become more tender, full of regret at the things they did and didn’t do while they were busy being boys, and start anew, each decade going for younger and younger girls.

Yes, statistics folks…..

Next time, I’ll share some of those statistics with you, and also what my opinion is of just Why this is.  Ah yes, it’s an interesting world…. Don’t you just Love that word?