Also, be sure to check out my "random thought of the week" section all the way at the bottom. It's new and I figured it would be great for those who are too lazy to read the entire blog but still need the weekly reminder of just how random I can be sometimes.
CAN YOU BELIEVE THEY ACTUALLY PLAY FOOTBALL WITH A FOOT?
It was at 5:30 on Tuesday morning when I felt as if I were coming out of a dream-like state. As it turns out, I was coming out of a dream-like state. The mere shock of waking up a full two and a half hours before my earliest rise time sent a severe shock to my system. As a lumbered to the bathroom to brush my teeth I began to think of several reasons why I should crawl back into bed; these rational thoughts, however, were quickly brushed aside. I was on a mission. Proud of myself for only taking three tries to dress myself correctly (it's usually only two when I'm fully awake) I set forth on my journey.
As I stepped out into the Argentine predawn I saw the city as I had never seen it before. Solitude. It took over two blocks before I ran into a night watchmen and a few newspaper kiosks preparing themselves for business...Buenos Aires is not a morning city. A few metro stops and a quick cab ride later I was in line, frustrated by the wait but keeping my cool and sense of purpose. An hour passes and at last I have them: tickets to the World Cup South American Qualifier, Argentina vs. Paraguay. The game transpired this past saturday and went a little something like this:
The weather forecast for the week was supposed to have rain on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, but as our luck would have it the gods decided to smite us by holding it all off until saturday: game day. On what was possibly the worst day of the year here Adam, Natalie (Adam's girlfriend) and I met up at 3:30 in the afternoon to head to the game. In hindsight it was pretty silly of us to leave only a half hour for what should be a twenty minute transit, but that's always 20/20 right? During the second half of our journey our rather friendly cabbie, I'll call him Smiles, decides that since it's cold and rainy we should probably walk a few extra blocks to the stadium, you know, to heat up our core temperature. I think this was the rational decision and it certainly saved him both time and income. After three tries we found the right gate and made our way up to our seats. About fifteen minutes late, getting to our seats was completely unmanageable. New plan: find a high perch for the first half, watch from there, then regroup at half time to attain our seats.
The seating organization of this stadium can only be described as a fire marshal’s seventh circle of hell: all the seats were packed, including aisles and any sort of exits. Police officers, more concerned with the field than safety or general well being, were leading the charge. Jamming our way through this sea of people, we finally found a limited view from a few steps. Not the best vantage point, but it would have to do. Half time: As my head is near icicle status I depart to buy some sort of comfort device. I find a neck warmer that has a draw string so you can make it into a beanie, best fifteen pesos I ever spent.* Returning to my amigos we scout out our seats, only to be told that the game was oversold, which threw the seating chart right out of the window. Apparently people got there hours before the game to squat in seats that weren't theirs so you'd have to tip them if you wanted to seats. Functional right? We spent the second half in an aisle, but at least had a complete view. Argentina played great and, despite being a man down, actually came back to tie it. Unfortunately I hadn't brushed up on my football terminology so I was a little unclear as to the vocabulary being used by the genteel folk around me, but think I pieced it together through context clues. They are, as follows:
Argentina team members are either called:
Che- a common nickname like "man" or "dude" here
their own name: Messi, Tevez, you pick it
Head Referee: Puta - something to the like of "noble official I trust your judgment"
Side judges: hijo de puta - I recognize that you are a person of high authority, and although your stature is not as great as the referee, in you I trust.
Opposing Players:
de puta madre- worthy competitor
concha de tu madre- squadron of worthy competitors
Please keep in mind these are rough translations.
*more specifically: best fifteen pesos I ever spent in Argentina, on that specific day. The thing is a piece of crap.
Despite braving the elements, the game was awesome.
THE SAGA CONTINUES
Meandering to school on Monday I wondered as to my fate in the Argentine Education system. Half hoping the situation was forgotten I set about my work: it was a planning day. As I was called into the directors' office for another meeting, the other half of me was expecting Oompa Loompas to come out and cart me off to a catchy tune. Still unsure of the what will be coming out of their mouths, I was astonished to hear them propose that I work with first graders. The next few minutes are a little hazy as my mind tried to digest how it could be preferable that someone thought to "abuse power" should work with smaller, more defenseless individuals. I guess they took my silence as a yes, done deed. Walking away I added anger to my befuddlement as they were treating a symptom instead of the root cause (that being the 6th graders with no discipline or structure). Nonetheless, I had decided to pick my battles and one involving logic or rationality I would surely lose. The rest of the week transpires and it slightly unbelievable.
Tuesday: The directors have not checked with first grade so they send me to sixth grade who sends me back to the directors since they thought I was supposed to be with first grade yet I somehow end up in sixth grade. I know, my brain hurts too. I do nothing.
Wednesday: I'm sent to first grade to see if they need help. The teacher is surprised but more than willing to have company. Although the little ones are adorable and looked to me as if I were Theseus, slayer of the Minotaur, my only contribution in class that day was helping the teacher spell doughnut (or donut for us vagabonds), the 21st of our "Dippy Duck" words.
Thursday: Having forgot all about our previous conversations, the directors act as if I am still with sixth grade and call me into a planning meeting with the other teachers. We are discussing laughable discipline measures (essentially writing down what students do, then doing nothing with it) when a teacher walks in and interrupts. Apparently she has found a tin in the yard that is worthy of the director's attention. It looks exactly like this:
Astonished but not surprised (the school does go all the way up to seventh grade after all) we all start to joke about it. Being the only guy in the room I bare the full brunt of the humor, with the other teacher asking me if I was the one that brought it, etc etc ha ha ha. Suddenly, curiosity sets in and the other teacher desires to see what the mints actually look like. Upon removal of a lid two things were discovered: 1) an absence of nipple mints (could this void in life ever really be filled?), and 2) the presence of a baggy filled with a greenish brown substance.
The baggy becomes the new subject of our wonderment as the other members of our planning group postulate its contents. Upon one whiff I know exactly what it is: marijuana. The director refuses to believe it as she keeps repeating "de la Tierra" (from the earth), which I confirm, but add that it's pot. I begin to laugh internally at the possibilities of our upcoming conversation, especially since it's in spanish, but also am a little worried they may think its me. In the states, anyone who's been to college or a concert can recognize the smell of pot, and I'd actually be worried if you weren't able to. Here, I think that's a different story (coke is the drug of choice). I spend about five minutes convincing her when my spidey sense told me that Director #2 walked in (the room is not collectively dumber). In unison the three of us give her the tin and instructed her. Look at it. Open it. Smell it. She doesn't believe it either and actually goes as far as to open the baggy and take it out. It's somewhat bricklike so she suggests hashish, with my counter point again being pot (or crappy pot if its all jammed together). She responds with an oh so convincing "hashish," prompting the other teacher has to ask exactly what hashish is. Between the look on her face, the look the directors gave each other, and the lack of a real response I'd place the probability that both directors smoked hashish back in the day around 98%. This explains a lot.
Friday: Nothing comes of the pot scandal. I'm sure the tin is still in the directors’ office though unsure of the status of its contents.
One of the sixth grade teachers is sick so Director 1 calls me in to tell me I have to fill in. At the end of her pump up speech she gives me an aside saying "if you feel like you want to murder them just call me, I'll be with second (grade) today." Normally I would be incensed by such a comment but I guess I have earned the reputation of being a bit of a hot head the past couple weeks by running around, tearing my shirt off, and yelling "HULK SMASH!"
RANDOM THOUGHT OF THE WEEK
I am the only one that thinks VP nominee Sarah Palin looks astonishingly like Elaine from Seinfield? As there would be only one true way to prove or disprove her true identity I would suggest a VP candidate dance off. Think about it, Biden and Palin head to head. One song: Earth, Wind and Fire's Shining Star. Not only would this put to rest any conspiracy theories as to a candidates true identity, I believe "sweet dance moves" is a very valuable leadership characteristic and would go a long way in winning over the public.
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