Potpourri

THE SIXTH SENSE

Shit. Quite literally, shit. It's everywhere. I'm fortunate to live in a neighborhood that is well off enough where many of the residents own dogs, many of which are far too large to be cooped up in an apartment. But I digress, back to the topic at hand, shit. It's funny, I spent my first month here dodging it on every block and, at times, felt like Indiana Jones during his final venture in the Last Crusade. Now? Forget about it. In fact, I often do. It's not until I have a guest in town I realize how prevalent it is on the sidewalks. I feel, almost as if, I have grown a sixth sense that recognizes dog poo and instinctively avoids it. I can count the number of times I have found myself cursing canines this year on one hand, 3*. And two of those were in the first month here!

Unfortunately I don't believe this talent is something that will serve me in the future (Resume, strength: Great foresight in avoiding dog shit). Also, this talent does not extend out into other areas. It does not keep me from stepping into pot holes, avoiding bums, tracking mud or gum through the house, or hiding from Jehovah's witnesses.

*This number excludes the times I'm running for two reasons: purpose and place. The purpose being that I am so focused on many elements, my step, my stride, my cadence, etc., that if I were to concentrate on not painting my shoes with a fresh coat my running form would go to shit. The place is Park Las Heras, the closest park by far to my house, that I have deemed "dog shit park." Many dog walkers take there dogs here for hours on end so that they don't actually have to walk the dogs, brilliant right? Oh, and the idea of cleaning up about your dog's shit here is non-existent...it's fertilizer right?

I BET SHE GIVES GOOD HELMET

There are quite a few people in the city who ride motorcycles, about 80% of whom I'd guestimate don't wear helmets. The odd thing is, they have their helmets with them. Sometimes helmets are placed in their lap, in between them and the steering device (as we all know this increases it's effectiveness 100 fold). Other times it is worn around the arm, with the hand going through the visor area. Last, and my most favorite, are those that have the helmet on but its only half way on so the visor is facing the sky and the bottom part is on the forehead. This position is just ripe for the helmet to fly off into the air and morph into a invisible force field surrounding the rider.

I can only assume there is some silly law on the book saying motorcycle drivers must have a helmet on them, but falls short of saying they need to wear one. The transitive property could also lead us to believe that cars only need to have the word "airbag" printed on the dash instead of actual airbags. Additionally, seat belts are defined as anyone wearing a belt while sitting.

SHORTS

Smile, You're On Candid Camera

Remember those signs in 7-11 in the 1990's? The ones saying "Smile, Your Being Filmed" or something of the like. I'm pretty sure those made their way out with the cassette tape in the US, but never you worry, they are still thriving in this environment (see previous Argentina is the 80's post). Oddly enough, I was walking by a military post and saw those signs posted inside. Is anybody really going to walk past the dual guards with sub-machine guns and think "hey, I'm gonna rob something, oh no, wait! we're being filmed."

RANDOM THOUGHT OF THE WEEK

I've always wanted to flirt with a hot woman on an airplane.

It doesn't really have to go anywhere, though I think it would be even cooler of a story if it did. This dream has become slightly more than just some far away fantasy, as sometimes when choosing my plane tickets, I try to pick a seat that has a higher probability of having a hot woman in it (it's usually when there's only one other seat in the aisle, as two seats could imply a couple. That or I click on the "hot chick seat" button that airlines are offering nowadays, but that usually costs extra). To this day my dream has yet to come to fruition, though I think I'm handicapping myself. If I chose the aisle seat I would be doubling my odds of a possible encounter, but what kind of weird chooses the aisle seat?

Mom! I'm OK!

No excuses, I missed a blog entry two weeks ago, letting near a full month past without an update. Part of me wants to make excuses: I was waiting for pictures, I had guests, I got sick, I've been busy. Part of me wants to promise that I will be better in the future, a promise you've heard before. All of me realizes that the previous two sentences are the same words uttered by people with addiction problems. Should I be worried?

MARCO!
POLO! If only I could hearken back to the days of carefree pool play during the summers of Richmond. Unfortunately this Polo is much different, and dare I say more ridiculous than the game where we used to pretend to be blind in the water while playing tag. How so you ask? Take generic sport with the objective of scoring more goals than the other team, add one horse and one mallet.

Actually other than the absurd dress code of double golf shirt with two popped collars and a pastel sweater tied around your neck, Polo was actually a pretty fun sport to watch. It was hot as the hubs of hell, but the game can be pretty exciting during a break away (think fast break in basketball).



Fun Fact: The rules of Polo only allow for it to be played right-handed (safety issues) and there have only been three professional southpaws (who played with the right) in the modern era.

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL!!!!!

Sometimes I feel like they have a special announcer just to say the above and I can almost hear him jump the gun when the ball hits the crossbar or something.

As my buddy Will was in town, we decided to go cheer on my favorite team down here, River Plate.
Quick aside: a recurring theme in Argentina is that everything is just about opposite of what you would think it to be. River Plate, for example, one the championship (of about twenty teams) in June, after a three week break the second season began and they finished dead last. How does that happen?
But I digress, back to the journey (everything in Argentina is a journey). Our helpful cabby dropped us off in the best of neighborhoods where we had to navigate between fights, water tanks, and police officers to find a gate to purchase tickets.

Above: Argentine Water Tank, a general sign of safety right?

Of course there’s only one side of the stadium where you can buy the good tickets and we were on the opposite side. Since we were late we decided to opt for the Generales, cheap seats, known for their rowdy and sometimes rioting fans, this was going to be interesting. I was also a bit worried as my friend Katie was coming to meet us. We managed to stay on the far side of the raucous gangs and keep a relatively low profile. I only had to correct Will once when the crowd was whistling (equivalent to booing in the US) and he started clapping, thinking it was to cheer people on the time. The rest of the time was spent clapping, pretending to sing along to the chants (which are non-stop) and me keeping a watchful eye. I planned our exit about five minutes early as River was losing and I didn’t want to get caught up in a crowd of angry fans, but some rather stoic policemen were blocking our way. I guess they thought it was going to rain or something and didn’t want us to get wet, that would explain why they were dressed like they were and why we had to wait twenty minutes (you know, like thunder at a pool).


Above: Police in their "rain gear"

TURKEY DAY

Since Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday and I knew I would be missing it abroad, I decided to organize a festivity down here. It was a pain in the ass but a ton of fun, and I now have a lot more empathy for the matriarchs of families (or whoever generally organizes this event). We rented some cabanas at the river just outside of the city, complete with dining facilities and a swimming pool. After twelve hours of cooking on Wednesday, made easier by the copious amount of libations, I was ready for some celebrating on Thursday.


Above: Most of Thanksgiving Day was spent here

The day did not disappoint. Although it was a bit weird being 85 degrees and sunny on the big day, fun in the sun with fifteen friends in not a bad way to spend a holiday. We didn’t actually end up dining til late, about 8pm (which is early argentine time, but late for thanksgiving dinner, I think) and actually arranged a true feast. Through craftiness and a few people bringing in imports we had it all: turkies, taters, mac and cheese, cranberries stuffing, pumpkin pie, corn, gravy, bread, etc.

THE FEAST. The biggest pain in the ass was lugging the 150+ lbs of food up there as it was a one hour train ride, standing up. We also lacked some preparation and couldn't package everything neatly so some stuff hand to be throw into big plastic bowls for ease of carry. This was all worth it though as two american girls saw my roommate carrying said bowl and said to her friend "I wonder why that guy is carrying a cheese grater." The response: "he must be a traveling chef or something."


A FEW SHORTS:
(readers note: this is a section I’m thinking about sporadically adding, generally of things I have witnessed that are downright silly, but not worthy of commentary)

-when will was hear we saw the President. She was behind a fence, but about thirty feet away from us and had less security than Pacman Jones.

-I watched a guy skid out and fall on his bicycle the other day. I laughed. Then I felt bad as it was an extremely busy intersection and very dangerous. As I got closer I realized why he fell: he was riding his bike with roller blades on. He then sat on the curb and tightened his roller blades, as if their looseness was the reason he couldn’t ride his bike.

-I was reading an article in the local paper yesterday that was talking about the Argentine psyche and it was none too kind, the basic idea being that Portenos were full of themselves and carried about nobody else. The article carried a bit less merit as the editor missed a very important “l” and one line read “the pubic sectors are public.”

RANDOM THOUGHT OF THE WEEK:
Argentina is the 1980’s.

I realize this argument flies in the face of the space-time continuum, the fundamental elements of science and physics, and is probably causing ole Albert to turn over in his grave, but here me out:

1) The most popular concerts held over the past year have included: boy george, Madonna, and Cyndi Lauper
2) The mullet is in full effect, and I mean FULL. Side mullets, mini-mullets, rat tails, layered mullets, and my personal favorite: the buzz cut with three well-spaced bleach blond rat tails hanging off
3) Leg Warmers are fashionable. No joke, I’ve seen multiple pairs being worn during the day. Despite the fact that there is no logical argument for functionality, these days were also far too hot to even make such an argument
4) Spandex is here to stay. Sure it appears more in gyms and this happens in the states, but on men? Also seen it on the street on women, including my favorite type that is really baggy until it reaches mid-thigh, then super tight.
5) My favorite outfit I’ve seen: pink shoes and purple tights. I literally had to stop in the street and marvel until she passed from my sight…nobody else batted an eye.
6) Slap bracelets are still in effect


PS Still looking for New Years resolutions...anyone? anyone? Bueller?