The Best thing in Sao Paulo; Liberdade

I spent a week in Sao Paulo, the biggest city in South America, the financial capital of Latin America. It was okay. I’m realized being from the NorthEast of the States makes “big” cities kinda boring to me. It was cold and gray. A lot of the people were stand offish and wore all black. A lot of hipsters and hamburgers and food trucks. The best parts were hanging out with my friend Rico Dalasam and going to Liberdade.



Home to the second largest group of Japanese descended people and the best sushi in Brazil, Liberdade is an especially unique treat for lovers of migration stories and culture.  Liberdade was once the burial sight for unruly slaves, but after slavery ended and Brazil needed workers to farm the land and influx of Japanese people came to make the neighborhood their own. Every Sunday there’s a massive event celebrating the culture. I got to see a young boy sing Micheal Jackson’s “Ben”. It was awesome.

The Food

I had a cold bowl of soup with vegetables and meat. It had ice cubes in it. It was good but I really had no idea what I was eating cause the menu was in Portuguese and Korean. I regret not getting Korean BBQ.  *sigh* There was also a long ass line to eat dumplings. I stepped out of line to see about a city tour and missed my chance to taste the dumpling. But it seemed really good. If/when I return to Sao Paulo, I’m really just gonna spend most of my time in Liberdade. Cause the other parts of Sao Paulo were kinda wack to me. It was like a fake ass New York stuck in 2008.


Natural Hair will Save us All.

This past Sunday was the II Marcha do Empoderamento Crespo Salvador.  “Marcha do Empoderamento Crespo na luta pelo fim do exterminio de juventude negra” This march is against the extermination of the lives of young black women. Currently, femicide is rising in Brazil. Black women in the states going missing and are never found at an alarming rate. The beauty and necessity of the march is overwhelming in a lot of ways. Visually stunning because Salvador is a black country with beautiful natural light. So everything is lit to the gawds. ap3

example 1. I took this during the sunset, very little editing.

The sentiment of the march, empowering black women through aesthetic is simple yet controversial. Some people wonder how hair can empower? Even Black men have criticized the movement, writing it off as solely aesthetic, silly and non important. Black “conscience” men with dreadlocked hair have called it non important. What makes it non important to black liberation? Because it’s feminine? Since when is an aesthetic non important. Didn’t the Napoleon shoot the nose off the sphinx to manipulate the image and history of the Egyptian people? How and why did white people become the beauty standard for the entire world? If aesthetic weren’t important why would they work so hard to manipulate how we see ourselves?


“secure women scare them”  a message and a meditation.

That’s why the II Marcha do Empoderamento Crespo de Salvador is so timely. There is power in controlling your aesthetic and your narrative. It’s empowering to walk and dance and march through the city with signs declaring your love of self as a black woman. We already know if we don’t, no one else will.


And most importantly, we do it for our girl children. Who live in a world bent on destroying them. We make sure they know how beautiful and worthy they are.

We do it for our boys as well. Because they suffer from a lack of self love as well and our daughters have to deal with the insidious ways that will manifest.

This march was one of the best I’ve been to in Salvador, and there are a lot of marches. There was music, dancing and so many pictures. People showed up to be seen and accounted for, and I’m so here for it. Brazil and the States share a similar hatred of women and black people, so a march designed to celebrate and empower the exsistence of black women is quite literally one of the most audacious and revolutionary acts one could participate in. Especially as the world enters into a regime of racist right wing leadership. Porte Alegre, a state in Brazil, is even voting on overturning it’s Black Conscience day.  But if we as a people can continue to come together and march in celebration of the natural black women, we gon be alright.

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Checking In #001

This post was surprisingly hard to write. Maybe it’s because I’ve been lucky to find myself getting paid to write now. Maybe it’s cause I hit the ground running on this return to Salvador. Either way things are changing and I’m not sure what direction to take the blog. I’m also pondering an extended stay in Colombia, which would change the central theme of “Black Girl in Brazil”. I’ve also recently accepted a junior editor position with a really cool fashion blog, on top of the online teaching gig that helps maintain the nomad life I live.

The latest venture is dabbling in creative direction. I find myself falling in love with the different skills needed to pull off a scene or look. Writing is solitary. Assisting on a set is community oriented. My teenage dream was always to be a filmmaker since being an extra on the set of “The Wire”. Being on a set feels like home. This time around, I came back to Brazil with a trunk full of cute vintage clothes for my pop up thrift store. I hired the dopest photographer in Salvador and we had a cute photoshoot in Santo Antonio. A few things changed last minute but that’s what happens when your producing creative work!

Follow the blog’s instagram page to see some behind the scenes footage of the photoshoot that will be released in November.


que coisa linda! só 25 reis #glowingpain #brechó

A video posted by @_glowingpain on Oct 29, 2016 at 1:22pm PDT


vai tem calça jeans sim! #glowingpain #brechó #calça

A video posted by @_glowingpain on Oct 29, 2016 at 1:20pm PDT


algumas momentos de o ensaio de Glowing Pain Brechó #glowingpain #brechó

A video posted by @_glowingpain on Oct 29, 2016 at 1:19pm PM

Solange sings Black Girl Existentialism in “A Seat at The Table”

There is nothing new about Solanges’ third studio album, A Seat at the Table. But that’s what’s so great about it.

2016 has been an intense year to be black. Not that it’s ever easy, but some years are calmer than others. 1996 and 2008 stand out in particular as Moesha debuted on UPN that year and Obama won his first term, respectively. 1864, was probably lit too. But 2016, has been straight garbage. The next President of the country will (hopefully) be the lesser of two evils, the lesser (we think) is Hilary Clinton, who had a major hand in the creation of the prison industrial complex and coined the term “super predator” in regards to young black men.  So, as urban cities in the United States awash in waves of well deserved violence and the amount of police officers killing black citizens rise like the level of CO2 in the atmosphere; 2016 goes down in the books as the year that things were shitty and more people, including Solange grew tired of it.


image created by Sophia Gach-Rasool @yeshi_is

A Seat at the Table is a dense album that floats like a feather sonically because Solange has been making music professionally since she was a pre teen and did not come to play with you hoes. It’s also clear that Solange has been paying attention to the young indie artists, as her album is comparable to newcomer Jamila Woods’ Heavn EP and Noname Gypsys’ Telefone. Two black women from Chicago telling similar stories about the overwhelmingly unique experience of contemporary blackness in the United States of America.

The title of the album is inspired by civil rights activist James Forman and his famous quote, “If we can’t have a seat at the table, then let’s…knock the fucking legs off”. The tone and style of the album references the civil rights era in lyric and song styles. This is aligned with Solange’s personal sound. Solo Star, her first studio album, featured a teenage Solange on the cover in her red, black and green knit cap. The album also had strong reggae vibes. Sol-Angel and the Hadley St. Dreams found Solange heavily influenced by the 1960’s and Motown vibes. Even her True EP featured visuals in South Africa. Solange has always had a political and almost folk music vibe, but this album is her strongest admission into that style yet.

The first four tracks set the tone and present the problem of what all black people are experiencing right now and honestly, always have been. “Black existentialism” the critique of the way black life is treated and an affirmation of black humanity, is thick throughout this album. Apparently the residue of being descendants of the people that literally built the United States of America, and yet are historically under credited, is heavy. Solange is intentional in how she arranged her music, as “Rise” is almost an overture of the album. “Fall in your ways / so you can sleep at night”, airy and simple, with just a piano, kick drum and synth, the track asks the listener to be honest about who they are, so that they can sleep at night, wake up and rise. Rise possibly meaning ascension in this context.  And from this proclamation of honesty we get into “Weary”.

This song, like the Mr. Krabs blurry meme and Arthur fist meme have managed to sum up 2016. We’re are all tired and angry and the more naïve of us are confused as to how we even got to this current state of the world. She speaks of going to look for her body and glory in the chorus in regards to the appropriation of the black female body. Since the creation of this country, it’s been bought and sold, commoditized and consumed, worn as costume and used for experimentation. But it’s never been ours, as black women. Even in our own communities we’ve never been free to own and exist in our own bodies on our terms. The great poet and playwright Ntozake Shange, wrote the poem “somebody almost walked off wid alla my stuff” for the lady in green in her seminal “for Colored Girls who have considered suicide/when the rainbow is enuf”. This song is a direct heir of that poem. Now go do your Googles. The heaviness of “going to look for your body” as a woman, is perilous because from the day you’re born with a vagina, or decide that you want to get one made, is the fact that you will face a lot of bullshit. “You’re leaving/ not a trace in the world” Solange sings, and everyday black and brown girls go missing and are met with radio silence. There are about 64,000 black women missing in the United States of America right now, whose gonna look for your body? Solange evokes, Fannie Lou Hammer’s infamous quote “I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired” on this track, and the congregation says, “Amen.”

From there we’re carried into the beautifully soft existential crisis that is “Cranes in the Sky”, where Solange makes us all question our own behavior. Co-produced by Raphael Saadiq, it is an extremely personal and poetic song, that was actually written 8 years ago. It should be a Grammy contender. Solange sings of an “it” that we have all been trying to cure. Working out, buying clothes, traveling, all the things that the world say will make us feel better, just isn’t working. How many ways can you try and “insert action” a feeling away? The cleverness of this song is that the “it” is elusive and never named but we all know what it is. I’ve never heard depression sang of so beautifully. Some may assume that a failed romantic love caused this crisis, because Solange is a woman and that patriarchy juice is strong. But nevertheless, the following interlude gives context.

In the interlude “Dad was Mad” Solanges’ father Matthew Knowles recants his experience of integrating his school as a child and the anger that he lived with as result leads into the Lil Wayne assisted track “Mad”. “Mad” a very literal song, adds context to the general tone of her album, if you haven’t figured out that this album is about Solanges’ personal life as well as the shared black experience. Since Barack Obama has been President, people have been putting words together that make no sense, like “post” and “racial” and “reverse” and “racism”. It seems Solange is just as flabbergasted as the rest of us as to how we’ve reached a point where people aren’t allowed to be angry at their experienced injustice, just because Barack Obama is president. Tweet’s ethereal voice plainly states, “I’ve got a lot to be mad about.” And we all know exactly what she’s talking about. The bluntness of this song juxtaposed with the silkiness of Solange and Tweet’s voice helps us all swallow a bitter pill of reality.

This part of the album, gets less philosophical and more literal as Solange moves away from alluding to depression and sadness to straight up naming her pain and the perpetrators of the offense. “Don’t You Wait” an upbeat track, more sonically aligned to her TRUE EP sound, talks about “biting the hand that feeds you” and no longer wanting to waste time by knowing someone. This record is in direct response to one of the many infamous twitter rants Solange gave earlier in the year. Jon Caramanica a NYT music journalist, stressed that Solange may run the risk of biting the hands that feeds her, in regards to her stance on who can critique R&B music and black culture. Jon implied that Solange needs her white indie fan base to exist. In a sense, “Don’t You Wait”, is a good bye kiss to the whiteness Solange may have found herself immersed in while creating TRUE and living in Brooklyn. If this is true, her move to the south around 2013 could have lead to the following track, “Don’t Touch My Hair”.

This gem on the album is a read that only a black woman could deliver. White people literally have no understanding of the complexity of black hair. From the texture to the way it stands up instead of falling limp, Solange sings “they don’t understand/ what it means to me/ where we chose to go/ where we’ve been, to know” Slaves once braided paths to freedom into each other’s heads. Now Kim Kardashian is being credited for a style that literally cost tears. As a young black girl, you sat in between your mother’s leg, or whoever was doing it and cried because combing through kinky hair hurts. It hurts your scalp and it hurts whoever is combing your hair to watch your cry, but it’s a necessary evil because black hair must be tamed and controlled.  It’s infuriating. This country literally writes laws about how we can wear it. The recent decision that makes bans on dreadlocks legal in 2016 is nothing but a child of the ban that women of color in the 1800s faced. They were forced to cover their hair in public to control the growing influence of free blacks in Louisiana as well as keep white men’s sexual desires and white women’s’ jealousy at bay.

“I rode the ride/I gave it time” makes me think of that perilous time in a black girls’ life when she cuts the perm out of her hair and has to watch her natural texture, which has become unnatural to her by now, “grow out”. She literally has to give her hair time to grow. And it’s indeed a “ride” to have short kinky hair. She may lose her lover, her job, her self esteem. She’s risking a lot to be herself. So when she has to watch videos of white women creating weird ass “afros” and being called avant-garde for it, it’s nauseating. But Solange delivers this sentiment  soulfully and gracefully. Her voice is soft and the horns are smooth and the commands to not touch certain aspects of our culture, like our voice and our soul are delivered seamlessly over cowbells. Fucking cowbells. How can Solange encapsulate peak American blackness so well? Just when you think you’ve reached the climax she makes a subtle turn into the image heavy ballad, “Where Do We Go”.

In an interview with Saint Heron, Solanges’ mother Tina Knowles talks about how her family ended up in Texas. Mama Tina’s parents were run out of New Iberia, Louisiana after a mining incident that trapped her father. The mining company left her father and another man to die. Luckily half of the miners were related to Tina’s father and they rescued him. Unfortunately, this resulted in the termination of half of the family from the company for “breaking the rules”. In a classic power move, the mining company then rehired half of the family, which successfully divided the family, as the employed family members were no longer allowed to interact with the unemployed. “A molotov cocktail was actually thrown into my parents’ home, and at that moment they decided to leave for Galveston” says Tina Lawson in the interview. The lyrics “No I don’t know where to do/No, I don’t know where to stay” could be Solange channeling her grand parents anxiety over their sudden displacement. The song could also be used to talk about the violent gentrification that major cities around the world are facing right now. Solanges’ personal experiences are mirroring the state of the world in a way that makes this album feel formative. “We bowed our heads/We broke our bread that night/Shook our hands/Then conquer and divide” is a lyric about how the mining company disrupted her family. But it could also be talking about the history of Thanksgiving, easily. It’s her ability to be speaking about a very specific personal issue while simultaneously recanting historical events that makes this album Solanges’ showcase of how far she’s come as a songwriter and artist. She wrote and arranged every song on this album. And she’s really proud of the work she and her artistic partners have done. So much so that she made, “F.U.B.U”.

Co-produced and written by the Dream, “F. U. B. U.” is an acronym, For Us, By Us, which was the name of a black owned clothing company in the 1990s. “F.U.B.U” is another literal song. She starts the song by speaking to “all her niggas, in the whole wide world” and goes on to talk about how this shit is for us, by us. The “shit” could mean a lot of things, music, dance, art, peanut butter, all things that were created by black people belong to black people and shouldn’t be touched. Frankly, Solange is no longer with the shits. The shits being the blatant theft of black culture. I vote that F.U.B.U be entered into the new National Museum of African American History and Culture. Solange being an intentional artist and healer takes us out of the heavy emotion that  “Don’t Touch my Hair” “Where Do We Go” and “F.U.B.U” places us in. Just when you’re ready to curse out all your white co workers, she slides us into the up tempo track, “Borderline” co-produced by Q-Tip.

When you’ve “been more than a woman” and “lovers on a mission” sometimes you need a safe space to relax and “take an intermission”. Thus the shift into self care begins with much help from the Aaliyah sampled track. (RIP BabyGirl). Sonically Solange leaves the somber and heaviness of the beginning of the album on “Borderline” which, interestingly makes us feel borderline, to be going from tears to dancing in two songs. It’s an heir to Maya Angelou’s poem, Weekend Glory, which talks about the glory that is to be black on a Saturday night. The mood continues into the next track.

“Junie” the Andre 3000 assisted up tempo song is an ode to Junie Morrison, a legend in the music game and former member of the Ohio Players and Parliament Funkadelic. Although the mood is light and funky, Solange still manages to get some jabs at white supremacy in with the lyrics, “You want to be the teacher/ Don’t want to go to school/ Don’t want to do the dishes/ Just want to eat the food”. Even while caring for self and enjoying the glory that is to be black on a Saturday night, Solange is quick to remind you that even when she’s enjoying herself she knows what’s really going on in the world right now. “Don’t Wish Me Well” is another drop in the no fucks given bucket. She seems to be speaking directly to all her critics. She says she’s going all the way, but she’ll leave on the lights and mic for “you.” “You” being the world at large. That critic. Those who always have something to say. She’s stated her case with this album and she’s standing her ground.  She knows you’ll have something to say, but she’s already moving on to her next creative endeavor.

The last song “Scales” featuring Kelela is a dreamy track that makes you want to make out in a car. It seems to be an ode to young black men, specifically the kind of young black men who are targeted by the police. “Look on the TV/they all want to be me” Solange sings in a sweet falsetto commenting on the avid consumerism of black urban culture. This admission makes the presence of Master P, the great rap tycoon who revolutionized the way hip hop made money off itself, all the more empowering. Narrating the album in an Morgan Freeman God like voice, he talks about how watching the Avon lady in his neighborhood pop her trunk to sell her product influenced him to sell his music the same way, despite being offered a million dollars from a record company. Betting on himself, because he knew the white music exec was underestimating his worth he went on to start his own label amongst other things, and went on to make Forbes 40 under 40 list. His tales of entrepreneurship add empowerment to an otherwise frustratingly honest album about the unique and complicated experience of being black in the present day United States of America.

Revolutionary, this album is not. It’s not even revolutionary for Solange whose voice has always been rebellious and at times almost bratty. Being the sister of Beyoncé, allows one to live in a very interesting space. “I mirror the life of a millionaire/and I’m sorry if I’m talking shit/ but I really do mean well” she sang on her first track “God Given Name” from her album, Sol-Angel and the Hadley St. Dreams. She’s managed to be accepted by the indie crowds while not actually being fully indie, at least financially. But she talks like she’s independent, because she is. She doesn’t have much to lose when it comes to her artistry. She’s the little sister of Beyonce, that will always loom over her and financially protect her.  But that’s why she was able to make “A Seat at the Table”. An album full of sentiment that I’m sure every black pop artist has felt while existing in the industry. The fact that it resonates so earnestly with other facets of black life is simply fate.  This album is what happens when artists are given space and freedom to express what’s really going on without fear of backlash. “A Seat at the Table” is a beautiful musing on black existentialism for black girls who are angry when being Beyoncé’s sister isn’t enough to protect you from the bullshit of white supremacy.


Corpo em Casa; instaLAR-se: silêncios, marcas e tensões

Experimental theater aims to trouble the relationship between audience and performer. Through breaking the fourth wall, the audience no longer passively observes the spectacle but becomes apart of the scene. Last night, at Casarão Barababá in Santo Antonio, hairy vaginas slowly made their way across a quaint living room. They rolled over spectators and trembled on hardwood floors. Bare breasts laid squished on a tiled kitchen floor as arms grasped at audience members who tried to stifle nervous laughter. 13938184_1771955066414373_393073765558646240_o

Playing on the functions of women’s bodies in the home. Four naked women literally inverted themselves and walked around a home, vagina first. I tried not to stare at the diverse looking labia that greeted me, chased me and silently hovered around the space.


In the hallway, two women tried to get through the mundane ritual of getting ready for the day, despite a violent tick that continually disrupted the ritual. Simple things like putting on lipstick and mascara turned into something else resulting in black and red stained faces. It was hard to watch and I let the show feeling achey in my bones as if I was the one with the uncontrollable movement in my body.


The first room featured a thin young man, caught in a web of red string that bundled thickly at his crotch. He is preoccupied with organizing the sting and each pull creates another web that entangles his limbs. All the pieces of string are connected from the thick bundle tied around his crotch.  Of the three pieces, this one didn’t take much for me to interpret.


There was a ominous buzzing and cracking sound in the house that would play for minutes at a time. The audience was told to walk around and explore everything, as experimental theater is big on interaction.  It lasted for about an hour and you left the space wondering what just happened.

I’ve seen and been a part of quite a few experimental theater pieces and I’m a fan of simultaneous pieces being performed where audience members can come and go as they please. This was a good solid show. Although this genre of theater tends to rebuke narrative, the use of mundane rituals like putting on clothes and the theme of nudity really made me feel like I was in actual home and being privy to some really personal random weird shit. It was also really interesting to see four different women be naked and walk around on the hands, extending their vaginas into the air. Made me think of how society relegated women to just their vagina, but what would actually happen if we took ownership of those organs and led our walks through life from our vagina?

Corpo em Casa runs every thursday night until November. Next months installation is entitled “Há violência no Silêncio?”. You can read more about the group here. 

Women, Art and Activism

This past Tuesday, Coletiva Muitas, hosted a discussion about feminism, art and activism.  Performance artists Laís Machado and Mônica Santana, photographer and poet Helemozão and visual artist Marie Tharont came together and provided the back stories of their success as female bodied artists in Salvador, Brasil.
IMG_3772  I’ve only been back in Brazil for 2 weeks so the language is a barrier but my general understanding of the discussion was despite the difference in medium these women worked in they all had to battle patriarchy to bring their visions to life. For all the women except Marie Tharont who is French, racism is/was a glaring obstacle as well.

IMG_3779 IMG_3778 IMG_3777Every woman’s story was invaluable and unique. Topics ranged from the lack of finances to societies reaction to the female voice and how we as women have to continue to fight to be heard in the creative industries. I’m looking forward to more discussions from Coletivas Muitas.

How to go to the Olympics without actually going to the Olympics

Step 1. Buy tickets to Rio for the closing weekend. Find a nice spot to stay at, preferably Santa Theresa or something close to the center.

Step 2. Buy tickets to a game. Depending on the event, prices can be as low as 20 USD.

Step 3. Get into town on Thursday night and go partying all night with your amazing host. Samba in the rain and drink way too much beer, but make sure you also eat an entire plate of carne de sol at midnight to curb the urge to vomit.

Step 4. Wake up early the next day, because your internal clock is still off from traveling four days straight prior to getting to Rio. Spend the morning getting ready but still manage to leave the house at 12:45, never mind the fact that your games is about 2 hours away and started at 12.

Steps 5-10. Spend most of the days learning the exquisite transportation system of Rio because you are jet lagged, hungover and lost.

My plan when returning to Rio for the Olympics was grand. I would get commissioned to write about the infrastructure of the city, which many people thought would crumble under the sheer amount of people in town for the games. I would take pictures of bridges close to collapsing on tourists and general report on what so many though would be general fuckery. But like most things, that plan didn’t pan out. Instead I found myself sleeping peacefully on the train as I attempted to get into the Olympic park.

Rio is a huge fucking place. Like- this city has a population of over 6 million people already. So dumping a few million more would inconvenience and disrupt everything right? Not exactly. While traffic was insane, this is a city that hosts the month long celebration of Carnaval. If any place is capable of hosting the Olympics it’s certainly Rio.

The metro was clean and heavily air conditioned in preparation for the crowds of people in transit.  IMG_5185

views from the 4th line train

IMG_5184 (1)

the views to my right

I was surrounded by Latino bros, and fighting sleep when we started to approached Barra, one of the many Olympics parks.



Not sure if you can see it out of the window, but it was pretty. Kinda of like a Disney land of sports. However, you could only get into an Olympic Park if you had tickets to a game. And my game was at Deodoro. Which was about a hour away from Barra. Upon learning this I sat on the curb and garnered the energy to take another journey.

By this time, I had came too far to not get into a park. I was not about to waste my 20 dollars. So I got up and descended back into the train station

I will say, the majority of the people I saw going to the games were white. Nationalities varied, but most people I saw who were dark were working. From the athletes to the train workers, the Olympics is an event reliant on black labor, but than again, what isn’t?  There was also the HEAVY military police presence, which more than the threat of getting robbed, hindered me from taking photos with my professional camera.

IMG_5192 IMG_5189

A part of me felt conflicted for supporting an institution that paid the janitors less than two dollars an hour. But it was hard to hold that anger when all the people who worked for the Olympics transit were working class Brazilians and so. fucking. nice.


Except this one person who sat on the phone and ignored me until a white guy came up and asked for help, then she got off the phone…bitch. IMG_5181

Aside from that, it was like Disney in the sense that almost everyone who wore Olympic paraphernalia was on duty and eager to assist. They also all wore these shoes. IMG_5194 (1)

On my ride to what I thought was Deodoro I fell asleep next to the most pleasant woman who worked as a nurse for the Games and was on her way to see her first game after her shift ended.



Our ride was very smooth. More than anything I was really impressed with the trains. They were plentiful, clean and always running with many attendants in bright green vests waiting to assist. Unfortunately, all of that help didn’t save me from getting to my stop too late to enter the park from the station. I finally got to Deodoro, (by accident, I was actually trying to go home) and the entrance from the train closed. I would have had to take the train to the next stop, get off and take a bus through another neighborhood to get to the entrance. All of this was told to me by new friend Arturo. IMG_5195

But sadly Arturo’s clear directions couldn’t save me from the wave of sleep that hit me once I got on the train. I woke up at the last stop and easily found my way back to Santa Theresa. So in short, my coverage of the Rio Olympics are limited to the intricate and impressive transportation services they had. This isn’t to say that the Olympics didn’t displace people, and discriminate against the poor. All of that certainly happened.  It may even be the sign of successful Olympics. However, many people wondered if Brazil, a brown country, (despite it’s own delusions) a developing country, could pull off such a big event. And they did. Brazil proved that they’re are able to be a complicated country and present a shiny veneer for rich tourists just like Atlanta or London or any other “developed” country.

Also, Uber is here now. So, it’s lit.