In Cambui, in a newsagent store

Eh, I'm sitting again at the newsagent in Cambui (the nearest "proper" city to my farm), one of the only places that have computers to be used by the public. I'm surrounded by old men sitting on the steps smoking cigarettes, popular radio tunes, empty tables (which are sometimes busy with people drinking coffee and eating ice cream), and magazines of all kinds on the shelves. My mom is on the other side of the store, using the only other available computer.

It's very hot outside.

I might buy an ice-cream. I've been craving banana splits. And listening to Echo and the Bunnymen. I want to buy all of their albums. And The Church.

I'd like to apologize for not having time to read and comment on your journals. I have barely any energy to make this old keyboard work, or distinguish the words on the stained monitor screen.

I have a long post to make about Big Brother. Now I know why Big Brother in England sucks, is shit, is moronic, is produced by a bunch of idiots that don't know what entertainment is. They want to sell something palatable for the whole family. Brazilians know better. Over here: crass, kitsch, pornographic, funny, cartoonish, maquiavelian, humourous. Brazilians are starting to be good in everything. It's also horrible, like staring into an abyss. But that's just taking television and being honest, don't you think?

I have little time to do anything other than vegetate.