Just think,if years ago the first cell phones had been been shoe shaped, we would all be walking around talking into shoes. Yeah, who'd be crazy then?

I awoke, and went for a run. As i ran at 8 am as opposed to 6 am, there was a whole different cast of characters out. As no one runs on the streets here, i think i prefer the 6 am time slot, when there are much fewer curious eyes undressing me slowly, trying to perve through my running shorts.
I believe if it came down to it, i would be the fastest person in BA. If nothing else, the fastest person in my neighborhood. While it appears that the idea of "jogging" has made it this far south, i feel that something was lost in translation. It's as if they jog, because they have seen other people do it in movies, yet the don't understand that it is meant to be an athletic activity. People are either heavily overdressed (as if they were going out), moving so slowly they are practically jogging in place, or smoking (yes, smoking, i have at the minimum, seen 3 confirmed smoke-joggers).
Outside of that, i haggled with the painter of what was and what was not, technically, considered mold, bullshitted with a locksmith for half an hour, and went to the bank, though after seeing the line nearly out the door, i thought better of that decision and decided to wait until tommorow. Banking is a bit of a sore spot here in Argentina. Not only are they incredibly slow and inefficient, but something like 7 years ago, they closed for between 2 weeks and a month. Argentinians are a suspicions lot, both as a result, and just inherently.
My landlord is breaking my balls. She thinks if the owner buys a new couch and mattress for the apartment she can raise the rent on me. Ohh friend, i think not. If it comes down to it, i'm going to explain the inner workings of a recession. I'm convinced she intends me bodily harm. Luckily i have "doom hammer" and "kurosawa," my flying feet capable of inclicting the very deepest depths of bodily harm, to back me up.

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Just think, if years ago the first cell phones had been been shoe shaped, we would all be walking around talking into shoes. Yeah, who'd be crazy then?

Dinosaurs may have been able to read and write. However, as dinosaur is a dead language, like latin, we will never know.

12/3/08

My early mornings at the office have afforded me some interesting sights. Today, as I sat at my computer, engrossed in my attempts to organize some financial and managerial matters, I heard what appeared to be Madonna being blasted over a loud speaker. You can imagine my surprise, as it was only about 8:30 in the morning, and I had gotten the impression that Madonna was more along the lines of mid-afternoon to early evening singer here in BA. Upon further review, I was able to locate the point of demarcation for said “Like a Virgen” lyrics, and it appeared that through a line of trees some 200 yards away, there was an undulating throng of small people, perhaps children. While my view was partially obscured by the trees, I could make out the occasional little being running this way or that, in what looked like a giant game of tag, or more precisely, duck-duck-GOOSE! I say that only because the halflings followed the same concentric circle in their haphazard all or nothing trip around the playground, but as I was unable to see what lied within this imagined circle, thanks to our friend mother nature, I will never fully no. As of now, I assume that I witnessed recreational time at a prison for incredibly short people, however, were new information to come to light, the indicated otherwise, I will consider passing this along. Ohh, I also heard Bon Jovi and Guns and Roses, which now that I think about it, might be a little advanced for the sensibilities of small children, only further strengthening my dwarf-prison theory.

 

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They say that if you drop a penny of the top of the empire state building, it would be able to kill someone below. I disagree.  However, if killing someone is your aim, a roll of pennies should do the job.

 

When all the emotions get together for reunions, I envision doubt as being fear’s ugly little sister. The one who never has a date and lives with a lot of cats.

12/5/08

As I get to spend a large part of my working day outside of the office, and a good part on construction sites, I thought it who to ingratiate myself with the fine Argentinean gentlemen that work there. Ramon, the foreman, is a rarity, so far as i can tell here. He is the only person I have met to date that both delivers on or under budget and on time. In a country where “soon” can mean anything from 4 hours to 3 days and “around the corner” represents anything from within 10 blocks to the border of Paraguay, these are sought after qualities.

My typical visit to his site consists of 50% work related discussion, and the other half of the time I’m getting brought up to speed on anything of interest that has happened within his laboring family and Argentina as a whole. We’ve at one point or another, touched upon topics including, but not limited too: why fransisco wasn’t in yesterday, and today he is wearing gauze around his head; the neurosis of argentine women; and that which keeps Argentina from rising to the level of a world power, specifically Argentinians.

Today, I showed up to find that they would be cooking an asado, not unlike the one I previously wrote about, just less gay. I was honored to be invited to partake, as I was to learn later that this is not an invitation extended to many, and went about my day content with the knowledge that I would be eating free meat later on in the afternoon. I returned at the pre- specified time of arrival, only to find that I had childishly not incorporated the standard 1 hour extra it takes to do anything and everything here, so as such I had to cool my jets a little before eating. But eat I did.

Lunch was served on a piece of plywood, 7 feet long by 2 feet wide, supported by cinder blocks of various shapes and sizes. Plates were not to be seen, and the slabs of meet, chicken, and sausages were cut on the table. One was required to commandeer their own seating accommodation, and I had the god fortune of being offered what I believe was to shortly become part of the deck. There were no glasses to speak of, everyone drinking from the same bottles of coke, fanta, and red wine, depending on their preference. Between the 8 of us, there was 3 knives and one fork, which were passed around as needed. You cut a piece of meat, to your desired specifications, wrapped it up in a piece of bread, and went about eating it. I tended to cut pieces that were a little too large, no doubt a result of my inexperience and the relative unavailability of the lone fork. It was simple and it was delicious.

They say here that the asado of the work place is the best there is, on account of the pride they take in their cooking and them using real wood to grill. While I still have little experience in the Argentinean art of the barbecue, I am unable to find fault in their conviction.

 

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I often wonder what keeps pets from getting together and attempting to overthrow their evolutionary masters. Probably a lack of centralized leadership. If you see what looks like two dogs plotting, be wary.

 

If you accidentaly throw a shoe out the window, is the pair then half empty or half full?

            As promised, the awesome story I had relayed to me.

            (Not story, fact) On Saturday night, it rained a shit ton. I’m talking metric gallons here.  In the span of 12 hours, I didn’t see one road that wasn’t completely inundated with water (thanks in large park to BA’s antiquated sewage system I’d imagine). After getting drenched three separate times, I gave up changing my clothes and just rolled with the wetness. After seeing a dog float by on a piece of cardboard, I gave chase, but the current was too fast and I couldn’t fun in the water. Sometimes things just stack up against you.

            While I was dining on Saturday night (previously described), my boss was called to one of the properties that my company manages. Apparently, the house (small building) was flooding, from the inside out. (Note: Argentine buildings commonly have inner courtyards). While all results have not yet been tabulated, early reports indicate that some errant tree leaves (general crap) in conjunction with a lazy cleaning lady (her name was edith and she got canned) all helped bring this house to floods-town. With the drain for the inner courtyard clogged, the water had nowhere to go, but up, and up it went. When I boss arrived, the people who were staying there had barricaded themselves in the living room, where there was already 2 inches of water ( as compared to the 1 to 2 feet in the courtyard) and they had constructed makeshift sandbags to prevent further inundation. My boss, the man of action he is, opened the levies to try his hand at the courtyard. After thrashing around a bit, and realizing a battle of strength was useless, as he would never land a successful punch against such a watery opponent (I inferred that last bit, was not explicitly stated), he attempted to bale the water out of the courtyard, over the wall, and onto the street. Unfortunately, there was far too much water and pessimism got the best of him. However, before he was able to submit to a watery demise, the college engineering student (here I am serious) who was staying in the house with his family, remembered something he had learned in class (I hope). He recommended that they utilize Bernilli’s last and most often overlooked principle of water hose dynamics, i.e. they siphon water through a hose over the retaining wall and into the street.  After finding a hose, the college kid went outside and began sucking on one end, while my boss help the other under the raging currents inside, and success, the water began to pour out. However, after realizing that the courtyard was taking in water faster than it was letting go of it, the pair decided to make 2 and then 3 more side-wall water-hose fountains. In the end, then situation was taken care, not before substantial damage to the building. The family opted to leave some 2 hours later.

            Work continues to go along swimmingly. However, as I get home pretty late, usually shooting around 9-10, my social life has slowed.

            Last night, I cooked dinner, and as I hadn’t seen my friends in a couple days and I was relatively confident that all they had eaten all day would have consisted of potato chips and soda, I invited a number of them over to partake in the festivities. We had tentatively agreed on a 10 30 rendevous, which I have learned should only be used as the most general of framing tools, so while everything was ready to be cooked by 10 30, I didn’t get things on the grill till more along the lines of 11 30, when these clowns began to slide in.

            Dinner consisted of a home made past sauce which I have been working with. It currently stands at about 2 pounds meat, onions, garlic, and a combination of tomato and cream sauces, specifically those which are on sale when I go to the supermarket. I’ve been told it’s delicious, which I state sheerly for informational purposes, as my opinion counts for little considering I’ll eat about anything. If nothing else, it is edible, with a fatality rate low enough to easily pass the most stringent of Argentine health codes, of which I’m sure there are none. I also cooked steak, as per that it remains the cheapest food stuff one encounters.

            After dinner, say 12 or 12 30 ish, my building lost power. Not to worry, dinner had been eaten, and all sharp utensils had been holstered in the kitchen sink. It didn’t bother me that power had gone out, as it is not infrequent during the summer here, the thing that struck me as odd was the haphazardness of the power outage. For instance, my building lost power, my neighbors, no. The guys across the street, pitch dark, the people next to them, showering in light. It was unseemly to be honest, these people no doubt sitting in their bastions of florescent brilliance, rubbing that pure, unadulterated light all over their bodies as they watched us and laughed as we scrambled to light the candles that were scattered around my apartment (a remnant of a romantic dinner the roommate had prepared for his now ex girlfriend). I texted some people to see the extent of the blackout, and I was to learn that 1) it was not far reaching, as everyone else I knew had power 2) to some, this confirmed that I in fact lived in the ghetto, which I still continue to contest. Power came back some two hours later, and just in time, as we had almost gotten to the point of drawing straws and eating someone.

At some point during this fiasco my roommate came home, tried to enlist others to smoke with him (he was unsuccessful), got high as balls, and complained that his girlfriend was no longer giving it up. I tried to console him, but he was convinced that the lack of sweetness the last two times they had hung out, was in fact the beginning of a dastardly sinister plan aimed at robbing him of all physical pleasure. As such, he would be boycotting their weekend retreat to the beach, as it made no sense to go now that he would never again know her in the biblical sense

            I got relatively few responses on the Chinese laundry man dilemma I posted earlier, however Jorge’s recommendation that I go “American psycho” on them was taken into consideration. As such, I delivered a load of laundry that consisted of only one of every sock, and I covered three of the cheap shirts I bought a while back, (the ones that fall apart a little more every time I wash them) in ketchup (or what passes for ketchup down here). The young gentlemen was unable to took me in the eyes after he pulled out the shirts, and I stood there and smiled sinisterly. In the end, I was actually given back more socks than I dropped off, meaning he had been hoarding my socks from the beginning, in preparation of just such as occasion.  Take note friends, as this very well may signal the beginning of a conspiracy.

            There is currently music bombarding me from every direction. We have what appears to be Spanish show-tunes coming from the neighbors, and reggaeton from the roomie. The only thing powerful enough to combat these two, would be the Boss. That’s right, Jersey’s holding it down yet again, defending my right to not have to listen to crappy Spanish music.

If a cow had a chance, it would kill you and everyone you loved.

11/24/08

 

I didn’t have to go into work today. My boss called me on Sunday and told me that Monday was a horrible day to start on account of there was a robbery at the office and someone had up and absconded with the safe. My boss believes that it was an inside job, as the company has received a large cash payment earlier on Friday, and the robbers touched nothing else of value save the safe. Inside job or not, I wonder how two people carrying a largish safe through a relatively populated area of Buenos Aires didn’t attract any bystanders. All the same, no work on Monday, 3 day weekend.

 

11/30/08

This week in recep:

Monday, no work. For reasons previously explained.

Tuesday-Friday, working for the man.

I got to the office Monday to find that besides my boss and I, not a simple other man worked there. Yes, you understand correctly, for the better part of 12 hours I am surrounded by women. That being said, I like my boss, and I appear to be getting along well with my fellow coworkers. However, as I am usually out of the office for the better part of the day, it is really of little concern.

As I was essentially thrown into my role as soon as I touched down in the office, I have a pretty good understanding of my responsibilities to date. However, as my boss seems inclined to unload the entirety of his current job onto me, I feel like my work load will be increasing post haste.

I arrive early to the office, as it allows me the ability to cut out the otherwise obligatory chit chat with my fellow workers about what they did the night before and ohhh did I see the news program where the showed the protesters shutting down the highway again (yes, it happens more frequently than you would imagine). Technically, my responsibilities should lie more on the developmental side of things, but as there is little in the pipeline at the moment, I have branched out to covering a large part of the management side as well. This essentially means that I spend 4 to 5 hours a day, moving between properties in different stages of “user readiness” either checking to make sure that in the previous 48 hours nothing had gone catastrophically wrong or attempting to fix the things that had indeed gone catastrophically wrong. As some of the properties are currently “completed” this sometimes means dealing with unruly and irate tenants, who don’t seem to grasp that in no way did I intend to have their kitchen wall destroyed by the building crew working next door. As it stands, we are currently in discussions with said construction crew, over who is technically responsible for said wall’s destruction; the wall for being there, or their free swinging hammers which apparently had minds of their own. More to come on that front.

All that being said, I love my job.

 

My carousing has taken a bit of a hit, as per the 7 am office call time I generally have to make, however there remains fun and strange things to get embroiled in everywhere.

Last night, for example, I went to a traditional asado or barbecue, hosted by one of my friends here. One could say that it was reminiscent of barbecues we have back home, but like most things here, the similarities are shallow, and once you look a little deeper you remember, “ohh yeah, I’m in bizaro-america.” Gas grills, apparently they exist, but I’ve yet to meet anyone who owns, has seen, or knows someone who has seen one. There something like the “Bigfoot” of Argentina. Envision, if you will, a metal contraption consisting of nothing more than metal legs, a laterally moveable grill bit, and a receptacle area for putting charcoal. Further envision, that the charcoal you are using, appears to have been stored here from prior to WWII. Throw a grease trap on the front, and the fact that the entire mechanism wobbles just a little too much for my taste, and you have a guaranteed house fire within the first 6 months of use. Hmmmmm, tastes delicious.

All these obstacles aside, the Argentineans appear to be phenomenal grillers. The hosts threw what appeared to be the entirety of a calf (though I was assured it was just part of a full grown animal) onto the grill, worked their magic with the charcoal/other and within two hours the 15 of use were inhaling perfectly cooked steaks of varying forms. There were accompanying dishes, apparently someone had prepared a chicken, though from where it came and how it was still warm, I am at a loss.

After dinner, during the early stages of food coma, someone decided that we should play a game, something where one person stands up and tries to act out the title of a movie without saying any words, hoping that their teammates will be able to discover the title through varying forms of divination.  I had the uncommonly good luck of determining correctly that Diego was attempting to portray “attack of the killer tomatoes,” and when all was said and done, we ended up winning by a margin of one. I think we all know who was responsible. Also, for those of you who have not seen “attack of the killer tomatoes” since it came out some 25 years ago, I highly recommend it. I watched it the other day, and I truthfully tell you that it toes the line between brilliant and “lock them up and throw away the key” insane, but you will not be lacking for laughs.

 

I am currently without clean clothes, as the Chinese gentlemen on the corner has yet to open, even though his sign says he opens at 9, and it is currently 12. I believe he may be spiting me, as a result of me not having gone to pick it up yesterday afternoon, after explaining to him how important it was that he get it done as quickly as possible, as I had other engagements. Coincidentally, I slept without sheets last night. If I get the impression that he is indeed spiting me, I will devise some dastardly and devious torture for him the next time around. Perhaps I will show up with a basket of all black clothes and demand that they be spotlessly white when he gives them back. That, or I will only drop off one half of every pair of socks I have, making him account for the missing halfs when I return to pick them up. Better yet, I write “left” on every sock I have, as ask him where the fuck are all my “rights.” I’m open to any suggestions anyone might have.

 

Crafty like a tomato.

A drop of tomato sauce has found its way into the inside of my pants. From the few remaining clues, it would appear as though it originally emanated from the pasta sauce I cooked earlier. Having first traveling to the knuckle of my big toe, it then deposited itself on the inside of my pants when I took them off.  Now that I recall, I did slightly burn my toe while cooking. I shall from here on be using the term, “crafty like a tomato.”

I am currently unable to receive phone calls to my apartment. Apparently, my roommate has up and taken the telephone wire. The phone remains, however there is nothing keeping it in communication with the hole in the wall. I wonder if telephones go insane when they aren’t plugged in. What with having to keep all their thoughts bottled up like that, it can’t be healthy.

I just saw a news headline that read “two people and one Bolivian die in car accident.” Breathe easy friends; the question as to whether or not Bolivians are considered human beings has been answered.

I saw a car made out of books today...

I saw a car made completely out of books today. It drove by me on my way home. I wondered if knowledge torpedo of death was the Argentinean version of the magic school bus. I will never know, however, as the occupants were far to stoned to realize that i was beckoning for them to stop.

A friend of a friend, thereby making her an acquaintance, wrote some weirdness to me on facebook last evening. While I don’t have it in front of me, it went something like “we make mistakes so as to learn from them, and we learn from our mistakes so as not to make more mistakes.” She followed this lovely haiku with “’im sorry, and I hope we can be good friends in the future.”

For viewers at home, sitting there thinking they understand this, your wrong, because I had, and will now continue to have, nothing to do with this little psychopath. I mean seriously, we have been in the same location, and I do not use the word hanging out specifically to demonstrate that for no period of time greater than 30 seconds were we within 10 feet of one another, all of 4 times. Either I have some sort of animal magnetism, or we have a full-blown crazy here. While the former would be delightful, I’m hoping for the latter, because I could do horrible things to a crazy.

 

Seeing how Anna is under the impression that her brother would now like to open up his inner psyche to us, I jotted down some of my thoughts throughout the day. They are unorganized, and freestanding idea shards, as this is the manner in which my brain currently operates. To make it easier on everyone, I have not included the ones that are partially in Spanish, as even I barely understand them.

 

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I sat down to lunch before I realized my spoon had eaten my fork. That, or someone had stolen only part of my utensil. Nothing works correctly in the third world.

 

The first piece of advice I plan on giving my son is “don’t trust anyone, especially me!” Then, to drive the point home, I will trip him as he walks away.

 

The downside to taking placebos is that now I’m addicted to little white pills that do whatever I want them to do.

 

The doctor said if I didn’t work so hard, I wouldn’t have a problem. I told him that if he worked harder, he wouldn’t have to give me a bullshit diagnosis.

 

The problem with wearing pajamas all day is that everybody things your lazy.

 

I’m thinking about getting into the water business; everyone needs the stuff, and I already know how to make it.

 

I wonder if when the sun goes down here, some little kid in China grins as he thinks, “now I have that bastard owen’s light.”

 

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Oh, and I got a job today. Cheap meat for everyone.

It is done. You select few, you brave souls, you misguided friends, now have continual access to my sorted thoughts.