Buenos Aires is LOUD

NOTE: The following blog entry is available via audio (read by me, lucky you) at
http://www.drycellar.net/podcast/19-04-2006.mp3, and additionally via podcast at http://www.drycellar.net/podcast/rss.xml. Please understand that these are quite experimental, beta, or whatever at this stage and neither the writing nor the reading is that great. If you want to laugh read http://partyinpangrati.blogspot.com. I should mention that I was able to mix in a song on the end of the last one (4/19) which I am pretty freaking proud of and think is pretty funny (that's one of us). So enjoy, or if you don't, sorry, you get what you pay for.

You might not guess it, but in Buenos Aires, 80s music is a pretty big deal. I, being a big fan myself, have no problem with this, but there's something a little skewed in an anachronistic kind of way when you see people dressed in very modern clothes but the soundtrack is always 80s.

I guess it helps a little that some 70s fashions, maybe even late 70s or early 80s, appeared to have reemerged (everywhere, not only Argentina) as well. I´m talking about Puma sneakers, and pants and jeans that aren't necessarily bell bottoms but definitely make references to bell bottoms.

So I'm all for the 80s music. But one thing that I'm not into is the level of noise generated by traffic, buses primarily. Maybe because the streets are more narrow, like in Europe, and the buses and cars are so close to the curb and me when I'm walking on the sidewalk. But MAN, those things are freaking loud. Are mufflers really that expensive? It seemed like the double-sized tandem buses in NYC were always much quieter, although I do seem to remember that they're pretty loud if you sit in the back seat. And maybe everything in NY is already loud so you don't notice a bus so much, but I don't think this is true.

I've noticed sort of a general trend in South America, first in Brazil and now here. There doesn't seem to be a whole lot of concern about people's "right to peace and quiet" like we have in the States. Maybe I'm spoiled, but peopole here and elsewhere on the continent seem to have the nerve to, say, start jackhammering pavement right outside my window at 3am, whereas in the States that kind of thing is generally frowned upon, at least in my experience.

It could also be that I have no job now an have time to notice things and get annoyed at them, which is sort of a natural progression for me. I seem to remember that when I worked I felt quite comfortable knocking complainers for having "too much free time to worry about anything important."

podcast

Did I mention how cutting-edge I am? This post is accessible as a podcast (http://www.drycellar.net/podcast/rss.xml) or a direct audio download (http://www.drycellar.net/podcast/18-04-2006.mp3). If you don't know what a podcast is then you should probably get the hell off my site and go stick your head in the nearest trashcan (I'm not kidding! Let's go! To the trashcan!). If I don't get too many people telling me it sucks (which is actually quite likely since I have such a low readership as far as I know) I might even make the podcast a regular thing. Or I'll just keep goofing off and do neither podcast nor blog post, which is probably most likely.

Hasta luego. Buenos Aires rocks.

ah, the joys of homestay

I have determined that my homestay 'family' are in it for the money, because no other explanation makes sense, and because it's the simplest (occam's razor).

My sister suggested that they probably think "He's the best homestay dude we've ever had." That's probably true, because I'm sure to never be there, and I've gotten up everyday before them so they've never had to make me breakfast (which is one of the 2 meals a day I'm supposed to be getting for my U$130 aweek).

The other night, I think it was Wednesday, the mom (Liliana) got home kind of late. I don't know what the hell she does, I think nothing (kind of like you, Anne-Marie), and this supports the "in it for the money" theory. She banged around the kitchen for maybe 30 minutes and then told me dinner was ready. In this particular case dinner consisted of two hamburger patties and a CRAPLOAD of powdered potatoes. I understand that maybe she's got stuff to do (that's not true, I don't think she does anything), but powdered potatoes? What is this, the army? Jesus, lady, try to at least fake an effort.

I also heard that Argentinians won't touch ground beef because they're such connosieurs with all the beef. I have no idea if that's true or not but it sort of added insult to the whole thing.

She made up for it the next day with a huge steak, which I ate all of because in Brazil it's pretty bad to leave food on your plate. Afterwards I felt like a fat pig, which is what I was.

And then today I woke up late (9am) and when I was about to leave someone buzzed the front door. I waited for someone else to answer it but no one came, so I waited for whomever was buzzing to leave. But after about 15 minutes of persistent buzzing every 2 minutes or so,with me talking to myself in the mirror repeating the phrase "I can't believe I'm going to have to deal with this bullshit," I was thinking maybe someone forgot their keys, so I answered it and it was two peasants (you know what I mean). I explained to them that I was a student and I didn't speak Spanish, and that nobody else was home. So what did they do? They freaking went off in Spanish as if I was a freaking Spanish literature scholar. I actually understood a lot of what they said (but I didn't want them to know that) which was that the kid (I think he was with his mom) was there to do yard and housework, and that Liliana said she'd be home, which she wasn't. I gave them Liliana's daughter's cell phone and I left them there, like 2 turds.

So then I come home around 4pm, to take a shower and crash, and I hear both women are home. The daughter, Valeria (yeah, she's hot) locks herself in her room whenever she's home, so whenever the mom wants to talk to her she has to knock over the sound of punk rock and whatever other quasi-rebellious music coming from the room. This time Valeria was asleep or something, because I heard Liliana knock for about 15 minutes at 2 minute intervals (yes, again), and I was like, these people are trying to drive me nuts with the knocking and the buzzing. I wanted to run out there and just be like "JUST BUST IT OPEN" but I didn't have the balls, and they wouldn't have understood me anyway. But I bet Valeria would have opened the door then :).

So later on I came out of my room to ask Liliana if she'd gotten in touch with the peasants, and as I was like "Hello", I saw behind her through the window to the garden that the kid was working there. So then I tried to explain that he and his mom were there earlier and I wanted to make sure they'd gotten in touch with her, which they obviously had but I'd already started talking and I didn't know how to back up. I tried to bail with an "ok no problem" but she was like"what, what?" so I tried to explain again and she said, "You mean, what do you do if someone comes to the door and there's nobody here?"So in a continued effort to bail I was like, "Yeah" and she said don't let anybody in, which is obvious. So it's confirmed that the American is a moron.

I should add that I originally signed up for a shared apartment with other students, minus the family, but apparently 3 weeks is too short a time for the school placement service I went through to get their shit together, so I had to start with the homestay. It seemed OK after the first day or two, because they were nice, but then they just freaking disappeared and started doing weird things like feeding me powdered potatoes. The people at the school were like, if you want to change, you can do it any time and it's no problem. No problem for them, maybe, but I'm the one who has to drag out my massive bag of luggage while the two women stand by the door spitefully, arms crossed and not helping. Because of my fear of that scene, and because of the chance, however minute, that the girl's boyfriend might dump her between now and next Sunday, I'm going to try to hang in there.

Buenos Aires

I'm in Buenos Aires now, and somewhat settled, so hopefully the temporal distance between blog posts will be a little shorter from now on. Maybe not. Who cares.

I'm here for at least the next couple of weeks, at least, and maybe longer. I have a week more of (Castilian) Spanish classes, and then who knows what's going on after that. There's a voice inthe back of my head (one among a chorus) telling me I should go to Venezuela, the new anti-Bush Mecca (that's a loaded phrase) and I guess I should decide pretty quickly since airfares definitely aren't getting better with age.

I just saw 3 cops on the sidewalk next to a parked Fiat compact cop car with the blue lights on. It looked like they'd just resolved some problem or other, and they were saying goodbye. OK, no problem. Except they gave each other cheek kisses goodbye. Not a recipe for establishing authority among the civilians, if you were in my country, but hey, I respect cultural differences. Definitely different than Brasil and the States. But other than that I could almost be in New York. Or maybe Paris is a more accurate comparison, because the coffee / cafés not only kick the ass of anything in Salvador, but NY definitely has some catching up to do on Europeanization as well, if that's their aim, which I'm guessing at this point it probably isn't.

And the very European-seeming Argentines (if anyone read this blog I'm sure I'd be offending someone at this point) may not be terribly economically astute, but they sure know cofee. I'm sure that being 5 months in the coffee creativeness wasteland that is Brazil is clouding my judgement, but you take a look at a cafe menu here and there's a minimum of 10 different ways of getting coffee served, without even resorting to making up stupid names like "frappucino" (which I have refused to ever say out loud).

A cappucino like you would get in New York is called "café con leche" (that means coffee with milk) in Buenos Aires. A cappucino in their terms is the layered drink you get in a clear, tall glass with a stem that's made especially for cappucino.

And, as is usual for me, I'm totally going overboard in an effort to overcompensate for 5 months of substandard coffee. Moderation has never been my forté. After Spanish class today, I was eating at a café / pizzeria when 2 other students, a German woman (big surprise) and a pre-med student from Atlanta. I had an espresso before and after the pizza, at which point the Doc said "Now I know you're addicted to caffeine", as if this wasn't the first time it had crossed his mind. We've known each other 4 days. But I'm happy that he's comfortable being honest with me. Tell you what, Dr. Hipguy - thanks for the unsolicited diagnosis, but in the future keep it to yourself. Let's try (both of us) hanging around with me after 24 hours sans caffeine and see what kind of psychotic rampage results. It'll be fun because Gretel here can watch me jam the stack of orange napkins down your throat. O wait - sorry - esophagus.