Getting a Brazil Visa or How to Poke your Eye out with a Churro

Editorial update: in full disclosure and in the spirit of harmony and goodwill, it is worth stating clearly that the visa process between the United States and Brazil is one of reciprocity. In other words, whatever the United States imposes on Brazilian citizens, Brazil will impose on United States citizens. To read what Brazilians must go through to get a visa to the US, click here. It is a doozy. No side has the upper hand. It is also worth mentioning that I personally know people who have been denied visas to the United States simply because of their age, nationality, or marital status. These issues are complex and political. It is not uncommon for many people around the world to wait months to acquire a visa and still need to fly to a neighboring country to reach the nearest embassy, only to be denied upon arrival. Just today I read about a nomadic ethnic group that continues to be denied citizenship and therefore without rights. These are complex issues that demand serious attention. I welcome your thoughts in the comments section below.


I'm going to Brazil in a couple of weeks and even though the Brazilian tourism website tells us it's the #1 most requested visa destination for Americans, it's easier to eat a hamburger in India than it is to get a visa for this country. Which goes to show you: never underestimate the power of American ingenuity and perseverance when it comes to lounging in string bikinis on the white sand beaches of Rio.

In case you decide to visit this wonderful country, allow me to give you a few tips:

• Be sure to start off with the Official Brazilian Embassy website. You will know if you have reached the correct place if the site looks like this:

• Silly me, the Embassy is in Washington, D.C. Instead, you need to visit your local consulate. In my case, that would be Miami. While getting your visa, you can also check out some nice Brazil girls for dating.

• If you still do not know what you need for a Brazilian visa, be sure to check out the State Department website. It's full of all sorts of helpful information, like where to avoid "quicknappings" and to be on the lookout for robbers and rapists who slip drugs into your drinks. 

• In my research and personal experience, I discovered the following paperwork is needed to acquire a Brazilian visa. Note: depending on the time of day, person you are speaking with, and alignment of certain planetary objects, each piece may or may not be needed. And you won't know if it is or not.

1. Passport
2. 3 months of paychecks
3. W2 form
4. Social Security number
5. Letter of invitation in Portuguese 
6. Letter of introduction by US company
7. Notarized letter of introduction
8. Drivers License of your employer who is not going to Brazil
9. Grandmother's name
10. Birthdate
11. Marital status
12. Purchased airline ticket
13. Yellow Fever shot
14. Printed web form written in Portuguese
15. 2x2 photo stapled
16. 2x2 photo glued
17. Postage paid envelope
18. Passport number
19. Home utilities bill
20. Your diary

Once I accumulated all the necessary paperwork and entrusted my most personal information to the FedEx guy, I thought I was home free. Two days later, I was informed by the outrageously expensive visa handling people that they did not have enough time to process my visa and my only option was to drive to Miami or cancel the trip. Then, they charged me $134.85 to mail my paperwork back to me. With that kind of money, I want the FedEx guy to show up in his purple shorts at my desk. Preferably with flowers.

And so, yesterday I piled in a Toyota Highlander with 4 others and we made the trek to Miami, Florida--the city that can either be described as the armpit of America or the one that puts the fun back in dysfunctional. You pick.

It should be noted that the Brazilian Consulate does not have an address that can be picked up on any GPS, they don't answer their telephone, but if you walk into enough tall buildings and speak Spanish to a security guard, you're bound to find it. It should also be noted that you must pay for the visa in exact change--but no cash or credit card is allowed. Instead, insert your money into an ATM machine that wires directly to the Bank of Brasilia. For Americans, $141. If you're from Singapore, you can sneak in for twenty bucks. 

Most importantly, the Brazilian Consulate is open only two hours a day. And they do not take appointments. Which means my next job is definitely to work at the nearest consulate.

When you arrive at the Consulate, you will receive a red ticket with a sharpie marker number scratched on the back. If it looks like a ticket you would receive at a county fair, then you are an excellent observer. Do not use your telephone in the room. The only exception to this is if you are a woman and the security guard thinks you're cute. In that case, talk loudly.

While you are waiting in this windowless room, sitting in government issued plastic chairs, be sure to admire the oversized framed posters of Brazilian beaches. Of course, it could also be Hawaii. Difficult to tell. 

And so, the journey to get a Brazilian visa is nearing the homestretch. All that effort and I still did not come back with one. Hopefully, my passport will be stamped in five to seven days. And I'm going to be on the lookout for that FedEx guy.

The Flying Cuddler

Dark eyes, military shaved cut, and a brown leather satchel bag. He had 13B and I was holding lucky ticket number 13A.

Whereas most people would greet a fellow seat mate with a friendly "hello" or better "Would you like to take the aisle?", this guy gives me the once over and says "You don't seem like a cuddler." Stunned, I did what any self-respecting girl would do. I pulled out my iPhone and posted it on facebook.

I should have been offended. At the very least, I should have flirted. But, you see, refer back to point A. Dark eyes. Military cut. Brown messenger bag. This guy could do no wrong. And then he offered to share his USB port with me. In the traveler's world, he who has power, is god. And he shared his power with me. The lowly turtleneck and leggings wearing non-cuddler.

When the meals came (he's gluten free), he offered up his banana. While I enjoyed pasta and brownies, he endured rice cake after rice cake. I like to think we bonded over the Nutella packets he snuck on the plane. But the real excitement came when we realized we were both headed to Addis Ababa. What are the odds that two people in Minneapolis would be flying all the way to Ethiopia? I can only name eight other people who were doing that same route. At this point I realized if true love was going to happen, then we had between 15-17 hours to make it so. I was up to the challenge.

He shared his sour patch kids with me. That's almost like kissing.

He noticed me in the KLM lounge and casually asked if I used Google Voice to text. That's almost like asking for my number.

On the next flight, he winked at me from his seat a few rows up. Surely there's a Michael Bolton song about that.

And then he gave the dreaded fist bump. The only thing worst than a fist bump is a side hug. And maybe  Typhoid.

And so it ends.

Many the miles

Running is one of those sports that doesn't make a lot of sense, which is why God made these warm fuzzy neurotransmitters called endorphins and put them in our brain to convince us that when we are running, say 13.1 miles, we are at the same time, having a very, very good time doing it.

This morning I ran the OUC Half Marathon, lived to tell about it, and actually enjoyed it. And let me tell you, this was not on my 2011 bucket list. (I actually don't have anything on my bucket list. I don't even own a bucket. But if I did have a list or a bucket, this would not be on it. Or in it.)

I thought about live-blogging the event, but let's be real--I was not about to get my iPad sweaty. So consider this a time-lapsed live blog of the 2011 Orlando Half.

Before

• Wake up at 3 AM to a dream where I am ordering a bacon cheeseburger. Go back to sleep.
• Wake up at 5:15 AM 
• Eat 2 blueberry waffles slathered with butter (breakfast of champions), half a banana, and drink water
• Arrive downtown at 5:53 AM
• Get distracted by all the people, and the cones, and the flashing lights, and the dark, and the stupid one-way streets, and drive around, narrowly missing the LYNX bus only lane (when did Orlando get public transportation?)
• Look at clock. 6:18 AM. Late for meeting friends at 6:15 AM. No idea where to park because the secret parking lot I was planning on is officially too secret, even for me.
• Look at clock. 6:24 AM. Decide to buckle down and pay $5 to park. Turn around on tiny street to get to parking lot. Reach for wallet.
• Discover I did not bring my wallet.
• Contemplate begging the parking lot man for mercy but notice that the parking lot has one of those bars that go up and down. If he does not grant mercy, I'm stuck without a way to turn around. 
• Seriously contemplate going back home to bed.
• Pray
• No joke, find a relatively empty random parking lot right in front of me. 
• Look for tow away signs. None. Yay! Pray a prayer that my car will not be towed.
• 6:36 AM race to Panera to meet my friends 
• Stand in the restroom line for the length of what must have been seven entirely overplayed Adele Rolling in the Deep songs
• Head to the starting line with 5 minutes to spare

During

• Celebrate the 4 Japanese runners who joined the race traveling all the way from, you guessed it, Japan
• Put my hand over my heart while the National Anthem plays. Look everywhere for a flag. Never found one.
• GO!
• Around mile 5, give the two girls drinking mimosas while watching us an angry stare. I. Love. Mimosas. Thought about throwing in the towel right then and joining them. But I had no towel.
• I kept a good pace (mostly because he was so entertaining) behind a tall, built, very attractive guy who periodically kept fist-pumping in the air and would dance to his music while he ran. I called him the fist-pumper (not that creative when I run).
• Around mile 8 I pulled out my poor-girl's race food (a pack of gummies), only to realize a failure in my plan. I stuffed them in my shirt, so the package was completely wet (sweat!) and my hands were sweaty, so I couldn't eat them. Sad.
• My favorite sign a fan held was "Bike Rental Ahead" 
• If you think Orlando is ugly or that Orlando only consists of Waterford Lakes or houses that all look the same, you need to do this race. This is the real Orlando. My Orlando. Orlando is absolutely beautiful. Lakes, brick streets, big trees, houses with character and story to them. Simply divine.
• I would say a low point was when Justin Bieber kicked in on my iPod, but I'd be lying. I love that kid.

After

• The outpouring of encouragement from total strangers at the race and then from friends and family is incredible!
• I love that for today, I was an athlete. A legitimate athlete. 

Running really is hard work. Yes, it'll kill your knees eventually. But it's a mental workout too. Possibly even more than a physical workout. Possibly. There were many times when the phrase "just keep running" was what I needed to take the next step. It's oh so easy to give in. But when you stick with it, few feelings compare to that of hard-earned accomplishment. 

Two to Tango

Hoping this move comes in for Week 2

Today was the first day of the rest of my life. There's a whole new world out there. And it's called the Tango.

Tonight I took my first of an eight-week series class on Beginner Tango and I am hooked (that's a dance term for quick slide your leg, tap your foot, turn your head, and look super sexy doing it). Oh. my. goodness. In one hour, I learned the basic step, the promenade, and enough to know that my shoe budget will be radically increased. Pronto.

Oh the shoes.

Let's take a little look, shall we?

I love heels. For the life of me, I don't understand why I do not wear them more often. I have a hunch that it's because the floor in the rotunda at work is super waxy or possibly because heels force you to walk a wee bit slower and I love a good power stride, but whatever the reason I need to get over it. Because one day I'll have arthritis and won't be able to. And there are many things that can go on my Regret List one day, but not wearing heals should not be one of them.

Back to the class. Ready to learn tango with me? It's slow - slow - quick, quick - slow. Or, T-A-NG-O! So that's the basic.

In case you're wondering, I'm not giving up on Swing. I like swing. Swing is fun. Swing has cute shoes and adorable clothes. Swing is kinda like the girl next door. Now if Tango was the girl next door, she would be Bathsheba.

The Daily Casey

I'm starting a new series around here because if there is one thing we have a shortage of, it's news about Casey Anthony.

Since we are currently on day 17 / day 6 of the trial, a re-cap.

• The trial began with a bang or a bombshell, depending on your news network of choice. The State is resting its case on a scrap of rare duct tape; the Defense its case on a bizarre twist of daddy drama and accidental drowning.

• I professed my love for Judge Belvin Perry, Jr. on Twitter, which pretty much means that if you are smart, no-nonsense, fair, and efficient, you will win my heart. Even if your name is Belvin.

• Casey's hair is incredibly long. Like, freakishly long. 

• For the love, you live in Florida. Why do you have an above ground swimming pool? Didn't we go over this already? 

• On why grandmother's should not use social media: May 28 quote of the day, "I had no idea MySpace was everybody's space." 

• Casey suffered from irregular periods, much like her mother. And now we are all just a little more uncomfortable. 

• May 31 quote of the day, "Zanny the Nanny" in triplicate.

Question to the jury (that's you): What have I missed? 

Grandaddy

To some he was JohnUnderwood, to many he was Harold, to a few he was Daddy or Pops, but to me, he was Grandaddy.


My granddaddy had a sense of humor. He had me convinced that you had to deflate the air in your tires to go from winter air to summer air. If I was blocking his view of something, he told me I must have been drinking too much mud. And for years I worried about this ailment that plagued him whenever he just wanted to sit and rest. He had this darn “bone in his leg.”

When I was little, I had so much fun going to his office supply store, Sikes, and banging away on the cash register (although I don’t think he particularly liked that). He taught his children, who consequently taught me, the importance of orderly and stocked shelves, the ability to pack just about anything with the best use of space, and the value of hard work and making an honest living.


Grandaddy worked hard and took pride in what he did. He even mowed the lawn on his tractor wearing a crisp white button down shirt. For the longest time, he would buy each of his granddaughters a new dress for Easter -- the frillier the better. I think he loved having a house full of people. We would have easter egg hunts in his yard, pool parties in the summer, and piles of presents at Christmas. His mantle eventually got too short to hold a stocking with every person’s name on it. And you could guarantee that you would get a big fat orange and lots of walnuts at the bottom of every stocking. As a kid, there was hardly anything less fun than an orange and some nuts, but that was Grandaddy sharing some of his southern childhood with us.

I’m proud of having a southern grandaddy because I was taught the right way to drink coca-cola: with peanuts. I know not to put sugar in cornbread, that collards will make you strong, and to have a healthy dose of suspicion if you go to Cracker Barrel and the cook is a Yankee.


But as you might imagine because you knew him too, my grandpa is so much more than this. To know Grandaddy is to know his love for Grandma. Not only was he by her side every day of her illness, he longed to see her again every day for fifteen years. Just last week he reminded me he married “the most beautiful girl in the world,” an “angel in the church choir.” His is a love story we don’t see much anymore. He shows us that love really can be eternal.


To know Grandaddy is to know his love for the church. In looking at pictures, I saw a stained glass window and a white church and learned that the pew inside is where he first put his faith in Christ. Grandaddy his given me so much, but his greatest gift is giving me a spiritual legacy. His house has always been filled with the redemptive sounds of gospel music. I think he bought rows of tickets for every show that First Baptist Church of Orlando ever put on for the Singing Christmas Trees and Easter presentations. Faith and music seemed very important to him. It’s no wonder he married  the prettiest girl in the church choir!


To know Grandaddy is to know his love for family. He used to sing to me “A, you’re adorable, B, you’re so beautiful, C, you’re as cute as cute can be...” Only recently did I learn that he didn’t sing that just for me :) He loved all of his girls--daughters and granddaughters. He let us know we were beautiful and taught us the type of man we should wait for: one who would love us, provide for us, protect us. He reminded us never to settle. He loved his son and grandsons. I remember him teasing the boys mercilessly by calling them “girls,” but I think in his own way he was showing them how to be tough, how to fight back, and how to defend. In some way, we have all been shaped by what he taught us.

To know Grandaddy is to know his love for his Savior. I never once heard him grumble against the Lord when life got tough. Honestly from my perspective, it always seemed like he treated it as a blessing to get to care for Grandma and spend so much time with her. I’m sure he would have preferred a different story to have been written, but he responded with diligence and integrity to the circumstances God gave him. He spoke often of “the pearly gates” and rightly reminded us that this world is not his home.


On the day Grandaddy died, I had the honor of reading Psalm 84. The text describes that one day in the presence the Lord in Heaven is better than a thousand days anywhere else.That’s a little hard for me because selfishly I wish the Lord would give me a thousand more days with him...or even one more day. But my great hope--our great hope--is that today is not goodbye. In one week, we will celebrate that Christ conquered death. He faced death alone so that those of us who trust in Him, would never have to. Even in his last breath, Grandaddy was never alone. He went from Jesus by his side to Jesus face to face.

 

The final verse of Psalm 84 states “Blessed is the man who trusts in You.” Grandaddy wasn’t perfect. In fact, he had a lot of flaws. But the funny thing about God is that He doesn’t want the people who have their act together. He wants the people who know they are flawed and yet put their trust in Him -- not in themselves, not in their accomplishments, not even in their family legacy. Our great hope is Jesus Christ. His love is deeper, stronger, and wider than we can even imagine. And one day, we will see Grandaddy, Grandma, and Jesus--face to face.



I love you, Grandaddy.
December 8, 1921 - April 12, 2011


Eulogy given in honor of John Harold Underwood, Sr. on April 16, 2011

SOTU

In case you missed the State of the Union (shame on you.....all of my Canadian readers may continue reading shame free), here is a recap.

1. Once upon a time we wanted to explore outer space and conquer that, too. But we weren't fast enough. Along came Sputnik. Darn you, Russians! But then we went to the moon. We showed them. Americans are innovators.
2. Americans aren't finishing high school. China has students that continue to beat us in math and science. Darn you, Chinese! 
3. No Child Left Behind didn't work. So we are going to stomp over them and Race To The Top. And only the innovators will get money. 
4. If you dream it, you can do it. (Okay, that was Walt Disney)
5. Your tax dollars govern the care of salmon in freshwater and saltwater. We do not know who governs salmon when it is smoked.
6. You can drive across country faster than you can wait in a security line in the airport and get a full body pat down.
7. It's time we start spending less than we make. We think this might help our deficit. 
8. We do big things. America is big. We may be poorer than you, dumber than you, and we may cut our national defense budget (?!?!?!), but we are B-I-G.

God bless America.

Why buying Ladies Home Journal magazine may have been a poor decision

Last week was long. The kind of week where the high point was having a gyno exam. That sounds dirty, but really it just shows how long and positively miserable this week was. And so, after having worked late on a Friday night and coming home to, well, no one and no thing, I decided to assuage my misery.

At this point, most people might have a beer or a martini. I bought Ladies Home Journal magazine.

Do you know the types of ads in Ladies Home Journal magazine? "StriVectin-SD because wrinkles and stretch marks bite." "COPD left me short of breath. Now I take SYMBICORT." "Just because the economy is stuck, it doesn't mean you have to be too. Colon Cleanse." "Getting a better group on Rheumatid Arthritis can start with this syringe." And my favorite: "For fast, long-lasting relief, deflate mucus. Mucinex in. Mucus out."

Which is to say, I'm not sure if my week ended on a high note or not. On the upside, I have three new (heart-healthy) slow cooker recipes and learned five ways to have a healthier bathroom. And for $2.49, you can have all this information too.