Here we are. Yule. Winter Solstice. And a few other labels this year which have apocalyptically plastered across the media. But really for me the season is about childlike bliss.

Here, on day 86 of a three month Sole Pole solo expedition, a starving Aleksander Gamme, who lost 55 lbs on his journey, finds bliss hidden and buried in the last cache he stashed for himself, the first cache he left months earlier. His discovery elicits pure bliss.

As human beings, we are a diverse group of people. We come in many sizes, colors and shapes. We come from different cultures, speak different languages (even if it is all in English!) and practice different religions and spiritual beliefs. And we each have created our own learned stories, some joyful and some painful, around these past or present beliefs and practices. Even the food we like to eat and CAN eat varies.

Yet, no matter who we are or where we live, one thing remains constant: I, like many, look forward to celebrating winter holidays. By some, they’re called Christmas or Hanukkah. By others, Las Posadas, Ta Chiu or Soyaluna. Still others call them Winter Solstice, Yule and lots of other names most of us can’t pronounce. Each celebration is a little different, but the main ideas are the same. These holidays provide us with a time for reflection, resolution, and renewal.

It’s a time for giving gratitude, good will and believing in bliss – for letting go of this or that tethered emotion or experience so that we may inhabit the emptiness with complete surrender and make space for a miraculous something to emerge in its place.

Most important these festivities provide me with rituals to celebrate the balance of light and dark – opportunity to welcome the healing power of warmth back into my world – and that gives me common ground with others.

So, I enter Yule with my heart fully open, ready to challenge and let go of my own learned stories and instead, replace them with beautiful new ones created from the surrounding love of chosen family. I come with wide eyes in childlike wonder and awe and wholeheartedly embrace the power of believing – and I anxiously await like an unsleeping child on Christmas morning the opportunity to embrace the intentionally chosen diverse beliefs and said symbols of those beliefs that each person embraces as part of the fabric of who they are – whether it’s a Yule log, a Christmas tree or menorah – whether I believe in it or not – and join together with you in a future full of mutual bliss.

With respect, love and light,

Kate

And in honor of pure Bliss, I bring you Radiolab’s Bliss

We all love them and that damnable UNIMOG of a music machine, but how did all that begin? I caught up with PK of Space Cowboys for the story.

(RSL)When and how’d Space Cowboys come into being? What was the initial vision and how has it changed and grown over the years?

(PK)The Space Cowboys started wrangling the cosmos around 1997. I don’t remember exactly. It was a long, long time ago, in a galaxy far away.

The Space Cowboys were one of the first large-scale sound camps at Burning Man. It started of as a group of friends who wanted to go to the desert, build and run essentially a free night-club in the true wild west. Initially the Cowboys had a large camp on one of the “corners” of Black Rock City, and ran a sound system and barter bar everynight. Big changes happened in 2000 when after meeting the fine lads of SpaceLounge, the crew’s focus shifted. As the two camps merged SpaceLounge continued to build the physical public camp that rocked every night and the Cowboys began work on a novel & radical idea at the time: a mobile sound-system. In 2001 the UNIMOG debutted on the playa, and well the playa has never really been the same since.

Ever since it’s founding the Space Cowboys have focused their on playa efforts into one evening, the Black Rock Hoedown, one of the finest events BRC has ever seen (we are a bit biased). Held every year on the Friday before the burn, with the advent of the UNIMOG the location has changed each year to a different amazing artwork on the open playa.

(RSL)Do you have sound camp veterans in your camp and what camps did they come from?

The old-timers amongst us are either original Cowboys or SpaceLoungers.

(RSL)What music stylins’ should people expect to hear from your boom bass?

(PK)Peeps should expect nothing but the finest in Breaks & House from the Cowboys. Our roster of residents is as deep as it is talented, and the individual leanings of our selectors vary. While we definitely have a funky sound, don’t be surprised to hear funk, electro and even the occasional drum & bass set coming out of the Mog.

(RSL)What is the Space Cowboys signature? What do you feel you do best?

(PK)Shaking your business! True story: At a Mog sound check by our old warehouse, an old man, the proprietor of a nearby shop, came running up and said “You! What you doing? Stop! You shakin’ my business!”

That’s frickin’ hilarious! So, with all the other big sound camps & sound art cars at Burning Man, what makes yours unique and a not-to-miss place to be?

(PK)Oh, you’ll have to come and find out. We wouldn’t be around so long if we hadn’t figured out the secret recipe!

(RSL)This year’s burn theme is Rites of Passage. For many old school electronica fans, the rave was a musical rite of passage for them. Do you remember your first rave and can you tell us about it?

(PK)Rave? I’m originally from New York City. I was going to clubs as a kid. I was Old School in High School!
[And on a side note] A True playa story: I was sitting in an RV with a friend’s ex and he asked me how I got started in this whole crazy thing, and I told him that I used to go to this club in NYC called MARS on Friday nights and we would dance all night in the basement. The crowd was amazing and diverse, there were drag queens, models, artists and big black gay men blowing whistles while the house music would keep everyone together in this amazing moment… I asked him how he got his start as a dj, and he said he started substitute djing for a buddy and eventually took his gig. When I asked where, he said Friday nights at MARS. His name was Moby.

(RSL)What a great playa story. When you think back to those days, who do you remember being the first significant DJ or what track made you fall for electronica? What about it affected you?

(PK)Jungle Brothers. I’ll House You. it made me realize that “electronica” is a ridiculous concept, the boundaries people draw are silly. Was that Hip-Hop or was it House? Who cares? Good music is good music. And to quote an ILS track: “Everybody loves good music.” [Here's a 2011 video clip with Afrika Baby Jam who discusses the group's history among other hip-hop topics on air with Breakbeats & Rhymes Radio.]

(RSL)Who are a few of your camp’s resident DJs our fellow burners shouldn’t miss and why?

(PK)Oh. I’m not going to play favorites. You crazy? Our crew is amazing. With talent like Shissla, Mancub, ShOOey, rrrus, 8ball, Kapt’n Kirk, Brad Robinson, Tamo, Deckard, Zach Moore and others how do you?

(RSL)Is there anything else you’d like BRC citizens to know about Space Cowboys this year?

(PK)Sure we’re going to do a little day thing at our ranch on Wednesday in the BRC Historical District, 4:45 & Esplanade, and of course out there somewhere on the open playa Friday night for the Black Rock Hoe Down. Come find us. [Note: RSL knows where they'll be Friday!]

RSL SUGGESTION #1 – MUSIC FOR THE ROADTRIP HOME
Go to www.spacecowboys.org, www.soundcloud.com/spacecowboys or check the Space Cowboys’ RIPEcast (their weekly podcast) available on Podomatic or iTunes and load up on sweet Cowboy sets.

So, now that I’m back from Brazil, I just have to delve deeper into a few topics. The first is electric tango. Yes, it’s been around for a while, but with Brazil wooing me and promise of Spring and Summer flirting with me, I couldn’t help it, I fell in love. So, I have most dutifully labored my tympanum to bring you a quite subjective short list of yummy electric tango. Yes, that’s a genre, a RSL genre. I’m a fan of yummy music. Call me too happy to use such descriptors as “filthy” or “dirty.”

Tell me what you think of my recommendations and if you’ve got some additional taste tunes to share.

Otros Aires, Tricota, 2010. (iTunes) With his third album, Otros Aires walks the seductive tightrope between modern and traditional avant-garde tango.

Tanghetto, Emigrante, 2010. (iTunes) A masterful melding of tango’s passion with electronica.

Federico Aubele, Berlin 13, 2011. (iTunes) Mix ambient with a strong tango beat and Spanish guitar and you’ve got a delicious feast for your ears.

Pink Martini, Hang On Little Tomato, 2004. (iTunes) (and their other albums are nothing to smirk at either). A little plug here for my hometown peeps, not exactly tango, but they’ve got a sweet twist to the world beat mix going on: sexy, sweet, playful and sophisticated. Yes, you may have heard them, but when was the last time you took them for an auditory spin? I’ve been lucky enough to see them many times in concert. They are a great live performance and work hard to entertain their audiences.

Oh, and since I’m mentioning sexy, smart tune makers, consider the original bossa nova meets new wave remixes of Nouvelle Vague with their quirky, 2004 self-titled work (iTunes) (or one of their other 14 albums.)

Now off to Pandora, Grooveshark, lastfm or your other favorite music genome site and sensually feast on the tango groove during a sumptuous supper for two. It’s Friday after all.

Friday finally arrives. My flight’s at 10pm so I have one more full day to soak up this beautiful, amazing Brazilian energy before the long flight home. I spend as little time as possible repacking my backpack then escape out into Lapa. I pay my R$.40 fare (that’s .25!)  and jump on the Bonde, the last of Rio’s historic streetcars. Brazil had one of the world’s first electric tramways and the world’s largest fleet of open streetcars. It’s a must ride! I step off into the St Teresa neighborhood atop a hill is full of restaurants and shops as well as artist galleries and magnificent views of the city. I wander the curvaceous cobblestone streets and visually feast on exquisite views, homes and gardens. All is awash with color. Brilliant blue homes to fiery sunset skies spark the natural energy felt among the streets and establishments here. I leave begrudgingly to see my final, famous piece of Rio, the Selarón stairs.

After a quick Bonde ride back down to Lapa, I wind down a few streets and come upon these most famous steps. Selarón began to tile these steps, in front of his house, in 1990. 250 steps measuring 125 meters long are covered in over 2000 tiles collected from over 60 countries around the world. This constant work in progress, he claims, will only end upon his death. He encourages people to send him tiles from around the world, and he will use them as he replaces tiles often. I heard he still lives in the same house along the stairs and works on the mosaic each morning while telling tales at night. Sadly, I didn’t see him while I was there, though I secretly hoped to thank him in person for his beautiful art.

5pm. No escaping. The end of my trip to Brazil lingers, awaiting the final moments to tick away. I return to Rodrigo’s to say goodbye. He greets me with the broadest smile and fullest hug. Somehow thank you isn’t enough but no other words seem more true. He tells me we have to take a Couchsurfing picture. It’s tradition! And so my last memory of Brazil is of Rodrigo and I surfing on his couch. It captures everything Brazil is: fun and silly, generous and alive, and mostly, openhearted. It feels like home. Is it the real people? The simple joy of dancing? The food? Maybe it’s the authentic me that feels most like home. Maybe that’s why so many of us call the playa home. But like the playa I do not leave home when I leave Brazil. I carry home with me, everywhere I go. My home just keeps growing bigger the more amazing people and places I experience, and for that, I am most humbled and grateful.

Today, I mingle with the local Cariocas! Now that all the college revelers have zipped up their backpacks and left Rio and its beaches, I easily bus back down to Copacabana and Ipanema for a day at the beach. After much rain the hot sun peaks out of a partly cloudy sky and warms me.

I exit the bus at the northern most point of Copacabana. Today I walk the entire boardwalks and shorelines of both of these two world famous spots. Though locals pack the beaches, an sense of calm and rest, not revelry, fill the air. THIS is the scene I want to experience!

Copacabana is more dense and a bit shabbier than its sister beach and because it faces east to the Atlantic, it loses the sun sooner than south facing Ipanema. I walk past the Copacabana Palace and envy the magnificent costumes guests must have worn to its famous Magic Ball masquerade the Saturday before, but in the same moment I also don’t envy the easily $1000 ticket price. (Burning Man theme camp magnificence dances through my head instead.)

I complete the 4km Copacabana walk before early afternoon and stop by the Forte de Copacabana before I continue my gait to Ipanema. First, I sit on the seawall to watch the surfers then make way to the sand. Vendors troll the beach offering the most delightful of liquid concoctions and wears. I stop one man to buy the most deliciously large slice of ruby red watermelon while another, with blow horn turned to 11, announces “Acai! Acai!” (“Ah-sigh-EEEE, Ah-sigh-EEEE!”) I find one vendor selling bikinis on the beach.  With only hand gestures, sand writing and a few key Portuguese phrases, I astutely barter down to a mere R$35 ($21!) for my new, two piece Brazilian beauty.

I continue along the beach. Different crowds sand loiter at different, world famous lifeguard posts. Ipanema’s Post 9 is known for the tanned and lithe, while also laid back and alternative, sunbathers. I walk on this post’s foamy shoreline until I find a comfy spot on the sand to sunbathe with my kanga beach blanket (much like a colorful, fringed sarong). Another vendor stops to offer me a made-fresh-in-front-of-me caipirinha (muddled lime over sugar, ice and cachaça, a Brazil-famous fermented, sugarcane liquor).

Here is where I wait for Chelsea, a Brazilian who recently lived in L.A. and though hasn’t been to Burning Man, was welcomed into the local burn community while in the U.S. She and I have tried to hang out several times. Today we meet. We drink beer on the beach then walk to the lagoon, chatting the entire time. We become instant best friends. *Sigh.* I love being a big kid in the world’s sandbox.

Soon we are off to the weekly Rio Couchsurfers meeting near Post 5 in Copacabana to meet Rodrigo and other like-minded locals and travelers. My last night in Rio, in Brasil, I meet the most incredible, inspiring people. Gathered under too small umbrellas, it begins to monsoon around us. Unlike the others anxiously avoiding the rain, I intentionally step deep into the middle of the warm drops. They soak my clothes, my skin and my soul because rain will wash away everything, if you let it. Yes, it is a night to remember.

Wednesday, I awake refreshed and happy. A seasoned member of the neighborhood now, I wander to the supermarket for freshly baked rolls, then stroll over the the pastry shop for decedent banana puff pastries and then find a mom and pop cafe where I buy a delicious ham and cheese breakfast sandwich and strong, sweet Brazilian coffee for R$3. That’s about $2 USD. I make my way back to the apartment, create an incredible fruit salad with mostly fruits I can’t pronounce nor buy in the U.S., then pack myself a lunch for the trip to Christ the Redeemer.

Getting anywhere in Rio is a process. Buses are excellent transport but do not keep regular schedules and their drivers are madmen, nearly sideswiping delivery trucks, small cars and pedestrians who dare to venture anywhere near it’s tank-like exterior. All the buses are manual transmission. I watched bus driver after bus driver slam back his stick shift and kick his 36 foot race car into high gear with gusto at every possible opportunity.  I heard many stories of people waiting an hour or more for the right bus, but I never had to wait longer than five minutes for any public transportation my entire trip. Perhaps it’s Ka Hana Pono sweetly aligned and intervening again.

I catch the bus to Cosmo Vehlo, and the moment I step onto the sidewalk, a tour guide approaches and offers me a round trip van ride to the top of Corcovado Peak (2,330 feet above sea level) to the monument. I jump in, and the van wisks us up an incredibly bumpy and winding road. We reach the parking lot where everyone disembarks and then wait in not one, but two lines: one to purchase an admission ticket and one to catch the final van up to the monument. The wait for many seems long but not for me. I spend the time reflecting on my time in Brazil so far, smiling.

When I reach the monument’s base, I climb the 220 stairs to ultimately see clouds surrounding the Christ the Redeemer, only his base visible. The sun peaks out here and there.  I sit patiently among hundreds of impatient tourists, maybe 45 minutes, until the clouds part for but 15 minutes.

There stands Christ the Redeemer, 98 feet wide and 100 feet high, about the same size as the Statue of Liberty.  Built of concrete and soapstone between 1922 and 1932 in the art deco style,  it weighs 635 tons.

Most people expeditiously snap their photos and rush down to the shuttle van, but I find a nice spot to eat my lunch and quietly look out at the panoramic view of Rio. I notice lovely red buds beginning to bloom on lush green foliage just as a gorgeous iridescent blue and green hummingbird flutters in and out of the blossoms. I ponder the dangling legged insects, much like wasps, buzzing about. I feel lucky to have such magical, winged companions with me.

(It’s only upon later inspection of my photos, do I realize these natural creatures followed me all day. If you look closely at the photo above, you will see one of those odd insects captured in flight just under Christ’s chin. And in the photo to the right, you will see my friend, the hummingbird.)

I make my way down to the base of the monument and find the small chapel named after the patron saint for Brazil, Nossa Senhora Aparecida (Est. in 2006). Only a mere 20 people can sit on small boxed seats inside the vestibule. I enter, take a seat and appreciate the quiet calm juxtaposed the crowded white noise just outside. It is here I take in the holy. Yes, I was raised Catholic, but though I don’t practice now, I do find churches to be sweet places of positive light and energy. I pray. Not the rote prayers I was taught in parochial grade school, but instead, I take this opportunity to be grateful for all the abundance in my life and to set my soul’s intentions free atop this beautiful mountain. A passing Brazilian tells me to make three wishes upon entering the chapel for the first time (when entering any church for the first time). And so I sit and wish. I wish for worry-free emotional, spiritual and financial abundance while fulfilling my soul’s path: writing. I wish for abundant, blissful love to constantly surround me and my loved ones, in all its forms. I wish for simple joy, peace and graceful enlightenment for humankind.

I feel good and at peace when I step out the chapel doors and back out into the brilliant sun. Only once my shuttle van returns me to Cosmo Veldo, do I realize it is Ash Wednesday. I smile at this lovely revelation and sweet momment of grace just as the right bus for Ipanema pulls up in front of me without delay.

With the sun finally out, now is the perfect time to lounge on the beach, acai in hand, and daydream.

I don”t get to bed til 2am, but watching the Sambadrome spectacle is worth it. Power Risers, stilts, dramatic costumes, performances- all things I love! I sleep in the next morning and awoke just in time for Rodrigo to ask me if I wanted to join him and the gals for lunch then for one of the most famous blocos in the afternoon. I heartily accept!

We enjoy lunch at a per kilo luncheonette then bus to a park in I believe the Laranjeiras neighborhood. The sun pops out, and we take in its warmth while lounging on the grass, awaiting the party to begin. Over the next hour, hundreds of people continue to gather. This bloco includes a rawkin’ soundsystem with wireless mics attached to all the brass instruments. Not every bloco has amplification, but they surely needed it for this growing crowd of revelers.

The music begins at 4:30pm and so does the dancing (see video here). I want to be up front, near the band and speakers, so Suzette and I squish forward. The 30 piece band plays for four hours – straight. I am happily drenched in sweat by nightfall, thirsty and famished. Within minutes of the music beginning, I had lost Rodrigo and all the people I’d come with, but we somehow seemlessly reconnect among the hundreds of post-party park loiterers. At 10pm we take a short walk back to Lapa, where the evening’s festivities have begun. I stop at a street vendor and buy a beef kabob rolled in what I believe is vegetable juices then happily make my way back to Rodrigo’s apartment, with full intention of going back out to Lapa later.

I finally sit down on Rodrigo’s couch. Blessedly, I am served pasta and water. I look out on the street below and then intentionally say to myself, “Today was absolutely the most perfect way to celebrate Fat Tuesday. I don’t need to go back out in Lapa to somehow complete my experience.” I relax then settle in for the night, satisfied and content. I go to bed before midnight with no regrets.

Quick! To the shower then to a taxi! I am about an hour late but Kyle messages me the driver still hadn’t arrived. I jump out of the taxi to find a chill Kyle updating his Facebook in his hostel’s lobby. His hostel is of questionable standards. This is confirmed by Kyle who tells me a girl at breakfast counted her bed bug bites. 412. Yep. Another reason to be grateful for my Couchsurfing host! I have tried to blissfully ignore the dead cockroaches crunched along the streets but the bed bug story inspires me to make my way down to the corner restaurant to grab a quick breakfast while awaiting our driver.

In perfect time the driver arrives; however, he tells us the price to hang glide because it’s Carnival is more than the hostel host quote. Kyle tells him this is odd as the host confirmed the cost this morning only two hours ago. The driver conveniently tells us he is just the messenger. We kindly request he talk to his boss and offer just R$20 more per person, including photos. After a bit of haggling, we are in the car and driven to the São Conrado neighborhood of Rio. From there we sign our lives away,  purchase our student pilot’s license (state required and a sure fire way to make an extra buck), and wait for our ride up the mountain. Each time we interact with our tour, we meet a different person. Kyle and I agree we are glad to be partners in crime for this adventure as we might both have pulled out of the jump had we gone through this somewhat shady treatment alone.

In the car and up the mountain we go. The fog moves in and out over the mountain. Some flights go, some wait. We hope we can beat the weather and make our flights. Kyle and I witness several other, perhaps more reputable, hang gliding companies give student pilots long safety instructions. Our guides offer us this advice: “I will count to three, then we run, do not jump, just step out into the clouds and whatever you do, don’t look down until we’ve taken off.” One might wonder at this point if I have good judgment, but Kyle and I both queue up in line to fly, questionable sanity intact. Kyle is first. The fog rolls in. He has to wait. His nerves build a bit but when the clouds clear, his take off is perfect.

I am next. My momentary bit of fear releases. We prepare. “One, two, three, RUN!” I step off a cliff and fly like a bird. The shift from ground to air is effortless and without turbulence. Suddenly, I am flying, surrounded by beautiful mountains, the ocean and an amazing city. I am most pleasantly surprised at how quite the flight is. I am blissfully happy, all smiles.

We land on the beach sand, and I jump up and down like a kid. What fun! I meet Kyle on the boardwalk, and we share in two celebratory coconut waters, then scrape out the shell’s jelly. A perfect treat to follow such an adventure.

On the ride back to Ipanema, I tell Kyle all about Couchsurfing. He is prime to join. He’s traveled the world, loves to surf and is totally laid back, congenial and fun. He’s sold. I leave him at his hostel to go online and join while I stroll the beach. I wander the boardwalk then the shoreline. I talk to locals and tourists alike, check out street vendor wears and then make it home in time for Rodrigo to tell me the girls are going to buy tickets to watch the Sambadrome if I’d like to join. Yes! No time to rest. I am off to sit in Sector 6 and watch, no dance, to the parade. We return home about 1am. I am beat. I sleep 11 hours. I awake in perfect time to dress and run off my final day of blocos.

I awake to Rodrigo telling me Suzette and Sarah are about to leave for a Bloco, but they’ll wait if I want to go. YES! I dress with my Sambadrome costume streamers, and we make our way to the party, which I believe is Escravos de Mauá, in Centro. Many blocos don’t list their start times correctly or aren’t listed at all in order to encourage local participation and crowd control. Even the most diligent Carioca might not find an accurate schedule. Ah, so goes Brazil. Time is always a suggestion.

Bloco costumes often resemble online ordered Halloween costumes to raided grandma’s closet outfits. Glam is not the goal, hot mess fun is. We apply thick eyeliner, bright lipstick and lots of sparkle glitter then wander the streets until we reach the party. The clouds part just as the band begins to play and march down the street. We three gals keep close to the bloco ropes and the band! Thousands of people show up for this bloco! Rain or shine, the streets are alive with energy. Yes, these neighborhood parties are the life of Rio.

We dance for hours but parade only a few short blocks. It doesn’t matter. The day is perfect. People of all ages, costumed and not, dance like no one’s watching.  This is a neighborhood block party. The music ends and we trail home for an hour before the next local Lapa bloco at 2pm. Then we march and dance even more. We leave this party only to catch the metro down to Ipanema where I plan to meet Chelsea, a burner connection I had yet to meet in person. Sunday is the biggest  day of Carnival celebration, and most young people go to Ipanema to celebrate. The metro is crowded with revelers in costume, many singing bloco songs and carnival chants, pumping electricity into the now stuffed metro cars. It is here on the metro we meet Lilianne and her friend. They help us navigate the packed streets and find my friend among the thousands upon thousands celebrating. What a difference from Lapa. The Ipanema crowd reminded me of Fort Lauderdale’s Spring Break. For me it was too crowded and too drunk. Chelsea, the gals and I and our new friends leave to go to a bloco in the Botafogo. After a short visit there, Lilanne suggests we go to Lapa. Chelsea stays behind, and I am off to spend the evening with new friends met moments ago on the metro. Did I mention Lilianne doesn’t speak a word of English?

We arrive to a lively Lapa crowd, walk off the main roadway and find a sweet, small samba band playing on the streets. We stand and dance, then a couple of Brazilians ask Lilianne and I to dance. Oh, partner samba dancing! What fun to find a man who’s an amazing lead. We dance for hours, laughing and enjoying the play of the dance. I arrive home in the wee hours of the morning. I believe I just may have danced more in the last three days than I do the entire week I am at Burning Man.

My internal alarm clock awakens me at 9:30am sharp. The exact time Kyle, my hostel friend from Ilha Grande, told me to meet him at his hostel so we could go hang gliding together. Luckily I knew I had Brazilian time on my side, but would I make it?

I found a new music love. You might think it’s samba, which is amazing, but I have fallen in love with electric tango. Argentinian in origin, this down tempo sensual sound is the perfect background for a long drive or dinner party. I highly recommend you stop for a moment right now, go to Pandora and create a new station with these two artists: Gotan Project and Bajofondo. You won’t regret it. On the subject of Pandora, Pandora is blocked from non-US countries because of a lack of viable licensing structure for Internet radio. However, Brazil does have access to Grooveshark. Hmm. I am confused here. Are they not similar? Can someone explain why Pandora is blocked (self-imposed) and Grooveshark is not?

After my ride home I actually sleep, yes, finally, in Brazil. I awake to tour the San Paulo city streets and then return home to Mari who has our evening planned out. First, dinner then to Hotel Unique and its Skye Lounge for their signature Skye Watermelon martini. (Look for me to serve this refreshing concoction on playa this year!) We leave the hotel at just the right time to arrive at D Edge night club for Rock Night. The dance floor is amazing, surrounded in strobing bar lights of multitudinal colors. I am happy to rock out to punk indie until the wee hours of the morning. I momentarily regret this decision when I awake at 5:45am to catch the Metro to Tiete station for my long bus ride to Angra dos Reis so I may catamaran to Ilha Grande for 3 days of island hikes and sun. Yes, the regret is only momentary. Now, if you haven’t gone over to Pandora yet, do so now. Seriously.