On the 'A'

And after four months of nearly relentless heat hell... a rainy day. Our groovy new Almagro digs have shifty roofs giving the feeling of torrential downpour right in our little living room. I passed a lovely afternoon splashing through puddles, wearing a long sleeved shirt for the first time since California at Christmas time and riding the bus.

I wonder now, is there anything cooler than public transportation in a big city? I like nothing more in Buenos Aires than riding the bus. I often look forward to the 30 minute trip between Almagro and my boss's house in San Telmo. It's so sweet to cruise in, turn up 'Born Slippery' on my iPod, and half space out, half people watch. My mind drifts and I start mentally reciting John Hodge's diatribe for Mark "Rent Boy" Renton in Trainspotting:

"So why did I do it? I could offer a million answers, all false. The truth is that I'm a bad person, but that's going to change, I'm going to change. This is the last of this sort of thing. I'm cleaning up and I'm moving on, going straight and choosing life. I'm looking forward to it already. I'm going to be just like you: the job, the family, the fucking big television, the washing machine, the car, the compact disc and electrical tin opener, good health, low cholesterol, dental insurance, mortgage, starter home, leisurewear, luggage, three-piece suite, DIY, game shows, junk food, children, walks in the park, nine to five, good at golf, washing the car, choice of sweaters, family Christmas, indexed pension, tax exemption, clearing the gutters, getting by, looking ahead, to the day you die."

It makes me feel alive, younger, and oh-so-Scottish again. Maybe because my first experience with public transportation was as a young girl in Glasgow where our grandma used to take my sisters and I on the bus, any bus, to anywhere just to shut us up for a while. She rarely had any idea where we were going (since she was from Dundee) and we often ended up lost, an hour out of the city, and needing a lift from one of my poor parents. But the bus, the underground (in Glasgow known as 'The Clockwork Orange'), those were distractions, endless distractions. Riding the tube in London, reading the graffiti, trying not to get mugged or followed home or my ass grabbed - those are moments of total aliveness that you just don't get unless you really enjoy the ride. Commuting is suddenly fun again, precious even.

Inarguably the coolest ride in Buenos Aires is the Subte Line A which runs from downtown at the Plaza de Mayo to Primera Junta in Chacarita to the west. This is the oldest line in town and has these antique wooden cars that feel as though they could splinter to pieces and doors that precariously open and close both manually and spontaneously. The front and back cars also have giant windows allowing you to see out ahead (not just to the tunnel walls to the side) or back or make like Dumb and Dumber and feel like you are running at lightening speed.

Shane Amaya wins the 'Fly Friend of the Day' award today. When he was in Buenos Aires he had the wits about him to record a video of his ride down the Linea A. Through the miracle of modern technology, YouTube.com, and Shane Amaya's work-arounds as well as my new and constant desire to upload videos to my blog - it is here for you today.

Turn up the electronica and take a ride...

no importa

Sundays are often occupied in this house with crosswords, Sudoku, and the weekend supplement of the Página 12. This weekend the Radar featured this T-shirt. Gotta get me one of these bad boys (donations accepted!).

my god, the heat

The silence in our household is deafening. This morning I woke, not to the dulcet tones of Bubba's snoring, but to the hum of the fans keeping the hot air circulating through our bedroom. There were no dirty dishes to be found in the sink. No one was in the bathroom for an hour forcing a near-pants-wetting incident. Everything was tranquilo. Again.

Last week Bubba left for an epic month-long adventure in Bolivia via the Argentina northwest. We haven't heard from him since he left. Maybe he has been kidnapped by gaucho bandits. Maybe he fell asleep on a bus cama and ended up in Chile. Maybe he is having a great time and is too busy to keep us abreast of his plans.

The artist formerly known as Shane Amaya is also gone. We tried to give him a proper send off with 9 de Oro Agridulce cookies and a hell ride on the 1.5 hour bus ride through the ghetto to the airport but apparently he made it through unscathed.

The rest of the weekend passed in a blur of heat-stroke at the mercury continued to rise hellishly until it broke into thunder and lightning last night. Scottish girls are not made for this, to be sure. I spent the weekend sweating into my chair, waking from delirious naps with my hair stuck to my head, and unable to eat due to the heat. Me? Not eating? Yes, folks, something is seriously, SERIOUSLY amiss here.

I am trying to enjoy the empty house by rearranging furniture like a champ, keeping the bathroom neat and tidy. Visitors will flock in again in the delightful form of my friend Heather and her partner in crime, Taylor (who I am yet to meet), at the end of March followed immediately by Jenny 'Hyphen' Fickert who clearly needs a serious vacation from The Independent. Maybe by then, Paul and I will be sick enough of each other again to welcome more visitors.

The unrelenting Buenos Aires heat always brings weird moments. Last week I went to lunch with my friend Hilary from UBA and her daughter Antonia - both champions of great company. We ate some killer empanadas at local favorite El Sanjuanino and took a little stroll through Recoleta near the famous cemetery - the top tourist draw in town. Towards the end of last year, the city randomly scattered some giant recycling bins throughout the city and as we wandered through the most upscale neighborhood in town, we passed one so full of glass it was spewing out the bottom, smelly meat sizzling around the outside, and decorated with graffiti. She told me to take a photo, so I did. "That is the kind of photo I like," she said. "What Buenos Aires is really about." Recycling bins throughout the city a good intention with no execution left to rot on the summer sidewalk along side the dogshit and garbage. Hilary - here is your photo.