have a nice fall

It's a perfect day. Perfect, perfect, perfect. I have spent a radical week. The summer is slowing blowing away. Sure, there will be a couple of days of pounding thunderstorms and blistering heat between now and winter in the predictable unpredictability of Buenos Aires but in general, these days are lovely.

Fall has fallen hard upon me. I have new ambitions, ideas, and projects. My first action was to going totally radical and join the local gym while trying to avoid the scores of tight, tanned-bodied porteñas staring at my pasty cottage cheese thighs and redeveloping my swim stroke to something akin to one-small-step-above-doggy-paddle. On Monday I am signing up for my next Spanish class at UBA and enrolling in DJ school. DJ Chuli on the 1's and 2's. Boo ya!

This morning the sun was shining and the breeze was a-blowin so I decided it was a fine time to take la banana out of retirement. Sure, on my long road from Almagro to San Telmo I was nearly killed by an ambulance (oh, the irony¡) and saw a man get stabbed (he's gonna pull through), but aside from a few typical city obstacles, I emerged unscathed. My poor bike is teetering on the brink of failure but if the city's delivery men are any proof, a janky bike is better than no bike at all. I hope the weather keeps up so I can keep on cruising.

They say that Buenos Aires is not a bike friendly city but I have to disagree. It's not a even a pedestrian friendly city and really, if you are brave enough to leave the house at all, you are throwing the dice. This may be the only place in the world where a Hummer would be justified. But the skies are blue so it's time to sack up and hit the streets. Grab your mate, head to the plaza, and enjoy it while you can.

the one and only

This photo was ripped and I hope they don't mind that I use it. Heather (on the left) playing city girl with her sister Alice (who needs no introduction). Gorgeous beings are all around.

Heather Christensen really is the one and only. I met Heather in high school, took one look at her, and decided that I was in love. She radiates buena onda, is trustworthy, creative, exciting, fun, endlessly inspiring, and just divine. Thanks to the unbreakable bond between her sister and mine, Heather and I are linked forever, whether she likes it or not.

A few weeks ago, Heather dropped the joy bomb that she and her partner in crime, Taylor, are coming to visit Buenos Aires. I could never prepare for Heather. She generally sweeps in, makes everything better, stays for too short a time, and jets of to the next adventure in life. I can't wait to see her again after (gasp. really?) years.

Before Heather arrives, she will be DEEP in the throws of her new project. I understand that she is curating her first exhibition at The Guggenheim in New York City. It's called Neither Here Nor Now and you can visit www.neitherherenornow.cow for more information.

I ask all readers to please check out the magic that is Heather, and that if you are in NYC that you stop by between March 16th and April 28th to see what she has creative. It's beautiful, full of light and energy and worth all of our time.

An excerpt from the press release:
Neither Here Nor Now: Transformations in Time, Space and Perspective features 16 prominent works by seven emerging New York artists. In this diverse show of painting, drawing, video and site-specific installation each artist explores transition, movement or an alternate reality. Presented by the Ise Cultural Foundation and curated by Heather Christensen, Neither Here Nor Now reflects issues of identity and transformation that are especially relevant to New York lifestyle: Who am I? What will I become?

We could all use a little more art in our lives. Well-curated art? Even better. Like Welsh Rarebit or toasted marshmallows. So yummy! I am so sorry to miss it, Heather. I am counting on more when I shuffle back to the USA. So... if you are in New York, are from New York, once met a guy from New York, have a second cousin in New York, keep a vacation home in New York, etc., then check it out and email all appropriate parties to check it out...and brush shoulders with greatness.

Empanaditas

My one and only, Paul Rivas, has started a blog just to bite me! After a year of various blog jokes, he has thrown in the towel and decided to see for himself what all the fuss is about. Like I told him, he'll be on MySpace in no time. Check him out at One Sorry Blog - great domain, and not just a clever name. It is indeed, pretty sorry.

The thing that will make his blog work better than mine ever has or ever will is his total dedication to sloth. Within 24 hours of setting up his own blog, he realized he could never maintain it on his own and has since recruited all sorts of weirdos to contribute on a regular basis. The result will be a sort of e-zine on a variety of topics. I decided to help him out and write a gringa's guide to cooking for him. You can check out my first rant about the wonder that is the empanada by clicking this link.

I hope you continue to check out One Sorry Blog, as well as mine which doesn't have as much going for it, or a cool name but is written with love. And I hope people reading sack up and leave more comments! Tell me how much I suck - I need to hear it once in a while.

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.

el pingüino

So I guess it just takes one visit to Punto Tombo to become totally obsessed with penguins. This comes courtesy of Sarah Howell who just returned from Antarctica and is on her way back to Santa Barbara for a short visit. ¡Vaya con Dios, Sarita! Hope you have a great trip and thanks for leaving this behind for my giggling pleasure.

carnaval

An escape from the heat and the chaos in the city came in the form of Carnaval in Gualeguachú, a small Argentinean town in the province of Entre Rios that comes alive once a year for the celebration. Shane and I had previously made all sorts of hypothetical plans for going to Brazil for Carnival but one by one, they all fell apart, as did our bank accounts, as all great plans do. One of Paul's former workmates was dancing in the Argentine, bastard stepchild version of the celebration so we figured it would be a pretty good substitute. In Gualeguachú we met up with several of Paul's colleagues who were kind enough to secure us camping space.

Leaving bright and early on Saturday morning, we arrived at the campground which was a hellava scene. Tents everywhere, young, drunk, half-naked porteños covering every square inch of space, trash as far as the eye could see, and music pumping all around from personal stereos to pimped out car stereo systems requiring earplug action. I suddenly felt like I was at a Latin version of Coachella or that I was in Acapulco for spring break 5 years too late. I felt very old and very tired. We passed Saturday afternoon drinking mate on the beach, beer on the patio of the Costa Azul restaurant, and watching the madness unfold.


The main event was from 10pm-2am and was larger than expected. A giant arena filled with visitors from all over the world as giant floats, elaborated costumed dancers, and a bad carnaval song playing on a loop cruised down to entertain the masses. I have spent the last 3 months just generally being in a state of way too hot. I sweat on the subte, hide in the house during unnaturally warm hours, and wake up drenched with trouble breathing from the stickiness. I spent most of the day Friday carefully choosing my smallest, most heat-friendly clothes for hanging out by the river.

When a storm rolled in on Friday and the wind picked up on Saturday, I found myself standing on the bleachers at a giant Carnaval event chilled to the bone, teeth chattering, and without a sweater. My body was in serious shock from the sudden drop in temperature and try as I might to make a Paul-Shane sandwich, drink hot coffee, and warm my numb hands on the fire of the crackling parilla, I didn't warm up. No one else had as much trouble as me but to be fair everyone else was assisted by quickened, drunken heartbeats. Instead I became the sober party pooper and left the celebration early to seek refuge in my tent. Turns out it didn't really help as I was up until 5am shivering and chattering without a sleeping bag and cold as fuck. I am not sure what happened to the rest of the group that night. I know that after the Carnaval, they went to a nightclub until about 6am and that there were strobe lights and transvestites involved. The rest is a mystery and should probably stay that way.

Sunday the weather was back to its normal hellish ways and now I sit, back in Buenos Aires, slightly sunburned from a Sunday outdoors by the river, and just a bit miffed that the weather went feo only long enough to ruin my Carnaval and then back to its old self. My own fault really. Next time I will pack more appropriately and drink WAY more Fernet and Cokes.

el mundo se ha vuelto loco

p

Tonight we will have an asado with the esteemed Naza, his lovely girlfriend, and their adorable pitbull, Dayak to mark the near-end of Shane’s epic tattooing ordeal. I have to buy a bunch of produce so I am examining my supermarket options and as I do, I always wonder what awaits me as I step out of my front door on to the city streets.

I have begun collected big city anecdotes. Every day in Buenos Aires, I discover a moment of such immense weirdness that I have to put it in my mental savings account. The other day as I was walking home from my boss’s house, I saw a disabled midget banging on the hood of a car in pleno Avenida Independencia and cursing holy hell because an unsuspecting driver nearly killed him as he sped his motorized wheelchair about 20 miles an hour against traffic in the bike lane. Just not the kind of scene you witness every day in Santa Barbara. Then there was the time that Shane and I walked past a man in a lab coat with a folding card table strewn with medical instruments leaned up against a magazine stand and sitting…just sitting. I guess the doctor is in. Of course there is always my favorite, Calle Lavalle and the old man who plays high-pitched, barely-audible, out of tune recorder jams in a dirty grey suit and inexplicable white-powdered face.

Strangeness unravels all around me and continues to every day. Though in this kind of heat and no respite from the humidity… we all go a little crazy sometimes.

me da bronca

Maria France writes in Bad Times in Buenos Aires, “That morning I had nipped out to buy a pair [of tights], not yet having learned that in Argentina nothing could be nipped our for; even fast food was slow. I had ended up in a special hosiery boutique looking on as a beautiful and disdainful woman produced individual pairs of tights in different shades and deniers from tiny drawers. The tights were expensive and they were already leg-shaped, which I found a fascinating novelty, but when I got my pair out of the packet at home, the exuded a forceful scent of Parma violets. There was nothing to be done about it now; I resigned myself to an evening spent apologizing for my legs.”

How true it is. I spent the good part of a year feeling like an American consumerist slut longing for my bygone days whipping through the SuperTarget in Oxnard buying everything I needed under one roof and throwing countless more items in my cart for good measure. What’s an extra $50 in crap you don’t need when you get everything you do need simultaneously?

It’s true that nothing in Buenos Aires can be nipped out for. Invariably, if you live in Buenos Aires there is a chino, or Chinese owned grocery store, down the block for emergencies, but you can’t shop there for everything you need and they give you candy instead of change because of the ever-mythical moneda crisis. The big supermarket is usually 10 blocks away. The big supermarket is where you can find all your groceries and they have groovy names like Disco, Eki, Coto, and Norte which give a false sense of shopping time fun. Going to the supermarket in Buenos Aires generally takes no less than 2 hours and you can get everything there provided they still have bread, milk, and other items that are constantly missing from the shelves for a plethora of vague reasons. Invariably there is one person in line in front of you with a cart full of meat. I have never figured out who these people are feeding. Are they buying a thousand pesos worth of meat for a restaurant? Are they raising lions and tigers in their backyard? It’s still a mystery but the one person in line in front of me adds one hour to my supermarket experience every week. Then I have to wait while the only-one-step-from-comatose-sleep checker wipes the conveyer belt with a bloody rag where the meat juice has been running everywhere. Tasty. Yup, really get my apples right in the blood. Nice.

BA does have its version of the SuperTarget in the form of the Jumbo and French-owned Carrefour – two stores where you can get everything from peanut butter to canned jalapeños. These are generally miles away and require a half day-long investment in you precious city time. Chinatown has everything exotic too but most people don’t live anywhere near there.

There are other options. The best bread comes from the bakery and the tastiest fruit comes from the bolivianos faithfully littered around the city every couple of blocks. The best meat comes from the butcher shop and… so on. Combine this with the chino and you almost have everything you need for good eating in Argentina. Now, however, you have at least 4 stores on your list and another several hours invested. Make no mistake, the meat is the best in the world.

I just try to use this as explanation for why my blog goes neglected for long periods of time, why I generally haven’t spoken to my family for weeks at a time, why I am always behind in my workload, and why the women of Wysteria Lane have no idea what desperate really means. Call me on my cell phone. I have hours free everyday in the line at the super.

my boys

If I don't break the seal now with the old blog it will just die quietly. So here it is. Life changes so fast. I find myself back in Buenos Aires after a divine 3 weeks in Santa Barbara and suddenly living with 3 boys for the first time since my "Real World: London" experience in 2001. Paul, Bubba, and I moved up to our new hood - Almagro - the same day we left for California. The new pad boasts an outdoor parilla, 2 bedrooms with doors (huzzah!) to shut out snoring housemates, and a kitchen that is not conducive to banging your head against the microwave 3 times a day. We do miss the Casa Rivadavia and our neighbors but are very happy with the new digs. Visitors welcome.


The 3 of us are now joined by the one and only Shane Amaya who came under the pretense of visiting us but who is really here to get a giant tribal tattoo on his back from the inimitable, world class tattoo artist Naza. Naza turns out not only to be a great artist but a pretty kick ass guy to boot. Check out his website but being fly like Naza don't come cheap as you can see from the photos of Shane there is some "fucking uncommon pain" involved.


Shane's visit has provided all kinds of insight into the world of tattoo that I have never experienced. He is a kickass addition to our household and the Fours-Company crew have been dodging the hundred-and-something heat by sleeping until the afternoon, making hella barbeques, and playing dominoes and poker. Yes, as the resident female I get a little picked on but not to worry ladies - I have taken them for the poker pot 2 nights in a row. No one bluffs quite like a girl. More updates to come. The seal is broken.

return of the mack

GO GAUCHOS!

i blog therefore i am...

So I am new to a lot of things: empanadas, speaking spanish, blogging to name a few. Apparently blogging is this powerful new media outlet. This weekend, through word of mouth alone, hundereds gathered in front of the planetarium in Buenos Aires for a giant pillow fight which was the result of an idea in San Francisco and some serious blogging by some serious bloggers with some serious blog clout. This level of blogging is unknown to me and, though I didn't attend the pillow war, because I have the spring sickness, the photo in the Buenos Aires Herald the next day made it look like fun. It was an impressive display of the power of the blog.

The next day I am catching up on the Independent and reading their interview with John Stewart who says...

Listen, everything is judged on its own merits. Some blogs earn credibility, some blogs become known for being a resting shop for Photoshop and paranoid theories. It’s like anything else: if you put it out in the public, it gets vetted and that’s the vetting process. Also, there are definitely places where people go to find their own points of view reinforced. Blogs makes that easier. But in the larger perspective, that comes to the fore ultimately as well.

And that night I watch an episode of CSI about blogging and flash mobs. I am learning all the time.

Needless to say I suddenly feel very old, out of touch, and drawn to run out and buy a Blackberry. I barely know how to turn on my iPod. I take comfort in having reformatted my MySpace page without blowing up my computer.

tipping the scales

Oh, California. I hear your call. Here I am, buckling down in Buenos Aires, preparing all my resistence for the 6 months of sweltering heat that I will have to endure as punishment for not being a big fan of my adopted country and government. Then suddenly, like peeling bells of joy, comes the news that Donald Rumsfeld was either given, or snatched his own walking papers. ¿Qué importa? Está caminando. And the dems are coming out strong like nothing ever happened. Was it all a bad dream? Have I been taking crazy pills for the last five years?

Had I known the American public had been eating their Wheaties for breakfast, maybe I wouldn't have committed to move to a killer new apartment and hunker down here for much longer. This news is thrilling, though not quite enough to send me running back to the US. Yet.

Why? It seems that the part of the US that still interests me most, Santa Barbara, despite knowing where it's political bread is buttered, is still as NUTSO as ever. And speaking of crazy pills, you'd think someone with Wendy McCaw's money would have someone on hand to stop her from making stupid, illegal decisions. No such luck. Apparently the NewsPress isn't happy with just taking a giant shit. They gotta get right in there and play with it too.

(Insert giant sigh here) This really is just getting silly.

I attach below the link to Melinda Burns' petition. Read, sign, CANCEL YOUR SUBSCRIPTIONS, and watch more BBC. In that order.

Petition to Reinstate Melinda Burns

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

To: All Media
From: The organized at SBNP

Today, the GCC-IBT filed an unfair labor practice charge with the National
Labor Relations Board in Los Angeles against the News- Press, challenging
the paper's retaliatory and unlawful discharge of Ms. Melinda Burns. Her
firing is perhaps the most extreme example to date of the continuing
campaign by the News-Press management to discourage and frustrate the
collective voice of its newsroom staff, so eloquently and clearly expressed
a month ago.

In a perverse if futile move intended to strike fear into its own newsroom,
the Santa Barbara News-Press late Friday fired Senior Writer Melinda Burns,
one of its most experienced, skilled and dedicated reporters in retaliation
for her prominence in the union campaign leading to an election victory on
September 27.

This latest example of vindictive and lawless labor relations at the
News-Press shows shocking disrespect for Burns's following and her sparkling
reputation in the Santa Barbara community, and for the sweat equity she has
earned over more than two decades of reporting.

It is transparently obvious that Ms. Burns was fired because of her
prominent public role - well-known to News-Press upper management - in
introducing the newsrooom staff to the Graphics Communications Conference of
the International Brotherhood of Teamsters (GCC-IBT) and then helping to
lead the campaign for union representation to an overwhelming victory, 33-6,
on September 27.

Ms. Burns, a graduate of Harvard University and USC, has been with the
News-Press for 21 years. During that time, she has won numerous prestigious
awards for her in-depth coverage of farmworkers, immigration, science and
the environment. Most recently, Ms. Burns took first place in the Best of
the West contest for immigration and minority affairs reporting, in
competition against newspapers of all sizes in 13 states.

In a May, 2005, article in the News-Press proudly reporting on her
achievement, her editor said, "Melinda's work demonstrates our commitment to
provide excellent local coverage that mirrors all of our county's
communities." In 2004, Ms. Burns was awarded a "Pinnacle of Excellence "
National Science Journalism Award by the American Association for the
Advancement of Science. In 2002, she received a Special Journalism Award
from the Santa Barbara League of Women Voters, honoring her for in-depth
reporting and high journalistic standards.

Over the years, Ms. Burns has obtained more than $30,000 in private and
state grants to carry out various investigative projects for the News-Press.
Most recently, she directed the "New Okies" photography exhibit that was on
view for eight months this year in Santa Barbara County, documenting the
plight of the Mixtec strawberry pickers in Santa Maria.

In filing an unfair labor practice charge today on behalf of Ms. Burns, the
GCC-IBT requests that the NLRB seek her reinstatement with full back pay and
promptly investigate and prosecute the News-Press for this latest violation
and the string of others that preceded it. In addition, the union asks the
Board to seek injunctive relief in the federal district court to compel the
News-Press to do what it disingenuously says in its press releases it will
do (but in reality does the opposite): that is, cooperate with the NLRB,
honor that agency's and this nation's labor laws and heed the
emphatically-declared mandate of its employees who wish to collectively
bargain with their employer for a fair employment contract.

even gauchitos get the blues

Since Paul is working on a story about gauchos for a certain, beloved small town rag we took off this weekend for the Día de la tradicción just 90 minutes north of Buenos Aires in sleepy San Antonio de Areco. We had a great day on Saturday sucking rare meat off the bones of freshly killed cow, watching the rodeo style events, and getting a better idea of modern gaucho culture and how it differs from the days of Martín Fierro.

Here are some timeless gaucho images to hold you over until there is more to read but I am sure Paul is working hard on all the sumptuous details as I type. We all need to get a little gaucho sometimes.

santa teresa

After one month of not seeing her, we finally found out that our friend Tere, the woman who cleans our house, is very, very ill. While we are unsure of some of the details, we do know that Tere is now at home recovering after some time in the hospital and several blood transfusions. We also understand that she will be in need of a bone marrow transplant in the near future.

To this end I am writing an appeal to my friends in Buenos Aires to give blood on Teresa’s behalf to help her with the transfusions, and other people in need. It’s free, it’s easy, and giving blood saves lives. Teresa is a lovely, hard-working Peruvian woman that we care about and we hope that you can help and forward the link to this blog to anyone and everyone that you know in the city.

Here are the details on giving blood:

The clinic is located in Belgrano at Ciudad de la Paz 810 (2 blocks from Subte Olleros). The clinic is open from 8am-noon on weekdays for donations. Should you choose to donate blood, you should take photo identification. If you would like to donate blood on Teresa’s behalf you should give them her name (Maria Teresa Rojas) and tell them that she was treated at Virrreyes Clinic.

Before giving blood you should be well hydrated and feel in good heath. Do not smoke or drink alcohol one hour before donating. Do not eat before going (in the morning) or ingest any liquids with fat (i.e. milk). It is super easy – get up, drink coffee without milk, cruise to the clinic, donate blood, and chow down some mediaslunas afterwards! The clinic is clean and professional, and the staff is nice and patient.

Things to know are that you can’t give blood if you have had piercings, acupuncture, or tattoos with one year. You can’t give blood if you use or have used any illegal drugs. You can’t give blood if you have had unprotected sex or sex with prostitutes. You can’t give blood if you have HIV or Hepatitis or sex with infected parties. After donation, your blood is tested for syphilis, hepatitis, HIV, etc and you will be notified of any positive test results so if you get an annual blood test you can do it while donating. Having traveled does not seem to affect giving blood. Yes, you get asked a lot of questions but service is fast and it should not take more than 1-2 hours of your life to save someone else’s.

If you have any questions – you can call the clinic 4666-9898.

Please help Teresa and others who need blood transfusions if you can. Your blood saves lives. Forward this link like wildfire and let’s start the revolution, people!

why you should jump ship

Most of you reading this blog from Santa Barbara already know that the NewsPress meltdown in our sleepy, little, beachside pueblito is like an intense episode of Dallas if JR Ewing was played by an inexplicably-masculine billionaire female. This stuff is seriously SOooOOOOOooOO juicy it has me salivating all over the newsprint from way down here.

Just when things seemed to be lowering to a distant simmer (can anyone say 'Lost' Season 2?!), the small town media meltdown is getting nasty again. YOU GO, Sue Ellen (played divinely by the Indy's one and only Nick Welsh)! Tell that bitch who's boss!

If you aren't paying attention... you really gotta start! Just a little tidbit from another Network TV Slut. I think fondly, during these times, of my former employer. Kareoke party at SoHo and we'll all sing, "I Will Survive"??

It's too damn hot

I know, I know. Less blogging more photos. I was prepared for the summertime Buenos Aires heat but I was prepared for it to hit in December. Little didn't I know it would hit in mid-October leaving life sweaty and opressive. In the meantime here are some photos of one of the cooler art forms of Buenos Aires - stencil art. Stencils are everywhere and range from political, to artsy, to just plain weird. They remain one of the most enjoyable reasons to trawl the streets of the BA even when it is 90 degrees and humid as hell itself.

booty call

It is no secret that the famous Latin machismo is alive and well in Buenos Aires. In a lot of ways, men, both young and old, rule this city. They dine alone and in large groups, spend hours over beers, and love, but oh how they love women. It seems that men are trained from birth to admire women and admire them out loud.

It took some serious adjusting and constantly referring to my lunfardo dictionary to get used to being subject to a barrage of remarks in the city and to understand what was being said to me. Indeed the divorce rate is high in Argentina, and the infidelity rate even higher. Just the other day I was sitting in a locutorio as a middle-aged man was typing on an instant messenger to a scantily clad girl on a web cam while simultaneously assuring his wife at the other end of his cell phone that he would be home soon. How can you blame him? There’s just something about women that makes men do crazy things. Combine that with the springtime sun that will soon become oppressive, summertime swelter, and you have one hell of a horny city. Sex is big business here. Telos, or by-the-hour hotels are everywhere and range from seedy, back alley, dirt huts to Vegas-style masterpieces replete with vibrating beds and room service menus offering a variety of sex toys. Where else to take your lover when the wife is waiting for you at home?

I think booking my plane tickets home got me thinking about men and machismo in Buenos Aires. It is just luck that the Casa Rivadavia is beside the pancho stand where all the motorcyclists in Buenos Aires post up to drink beer and peep ass. I can barely get a foot out the door without an ay, mamita or mirá que cola or sos una bomba. It is so common to hear such things that I actually get offended these days if I don’t. Men indiscriminately holler, whistle, whisper, and whoop at women – young and old, fat and thin, gorgeous and missing teeth. The surprising thing is that it feels good and a great gauge these days for me to know when I absolutely, inarguably look like hell.

So I keep thinking about going back to Santa Barbara to visit in December, escaping the worst of miniskirt months in BA. I think about the men at the stores around the house and my neighbors who call me preciosa, linda, corazón, and querida. Somehow, when I wasn’t looking, I think maybe my self-esteem jumped a point or two. It will be strange to go back to a more reserved plane and people; a place where really I am just another brown-haired fat girl. I miss my family and friends so much but when I finally pack it in here, it’s the little things that I will miss. I guess I am starting to come around on the machismo… that’s all I am saying.

banda ancha blues

I am sharing the following in the name of timeless comedy. Anyone who has spent time in Argentina knows the woes of the banda ancha or high speed internet service. While Buenos Aires is modern and speedy, finding good, reliable internet in your home can be tougher than you think... just ask my boss.

Since moving to Argentina and working on a website, my life has been a complicated mix of WiFi cafes, shuffling my laptop to the hostel across the street, and locutorios - little stores with by the hour internet. Locutorios are absolutely everywhere, incredibly cheap at $1-2 pesos per hour, and generally pretty speedy. However, a couple of days ago, I learned the dark side of shared computers in Latin America.

In a huge rush, sending a quick IM, I ran from the locutorio leaving my MSN Messenger open. What ensued was apparently a bevvy of IMs to friends and former colleagues from a bored Argentine teenager. PRETTY HILARIOUS and not a bit sad. I have, countless times, used a shared computer at a locutorio when someone has left their IM open and, like a good citizen have closed it. NO MORE. I can't wait to find someone's open Messenger so that I can 'Pay it forward' next time. MWAHAHAHA.

In the meantime, here is a transcript between my friend Tanya and "me". If you received a similar IM, I ensure you that I haven't taken up speaking Spanglish nor have I started youching mi clitoris in public... yet. Could my life BE more rediculous?

As they say in the BA... disculpe las molestas. I will be more careful in future.

Start of Clare.. heart of darkness buffer: Fri Oct 13
10:53:45 2006
[10:44] Clare.. heart of darkness: hello biatc
[10:44] Clare.. heart of darkness: h
[10:44] Tanya: lol
[10:44] Clare.. heart of darkness: bitch
[10:44] Tanya: hi stinky
[10:44] Clare.. heart of darkness: jajaja
[10:45] Tanya: it's okay, i got the gist of it
[10:45] Tanya: how are you, my love?!
[10:45] Clare.. heart of darkness: I'M OK
[10:45] Clare.. heart of darkness: i'm horny rightnow....
[10:45] Tanya: oh my god
[10:45] Tanya: too much information
[10:45] Tanya: where is your man?
[10:47] Tanya: oh, you're just going to say "i'm horny right now" and then leave?
[10:47] Tanya: pervert
[10:47] Clare.. heart of darkness: no
[10:47] Clare.. heart of darkness: i'm youching mi clitoris..
[10:48] Clare.. heart of darkness: i'm sooo horny i don't now why!
[10:48] Tanya: i will reiterate
[10:48] Tanya: tmi
[10:48] Tanya: can't you have your boyfriend take care of that?
[10:48] Clare.. heart of darkness: i'm sooo horny i don't now why!
[10:49] Clare.. heart of darkness: n o i take care myself...
[10:49] Tanya: uh, did you leave your im on and now somebody else is writing?
[10:49] Tanya: i hope?
[10:50] Clare.. heart of darkness: mm nop
[10:51] Tanya: so this is what you are writing to tell me?
[10:51] Tanya: don't you have some deep thoughts on international travel that you can share?
[10:51] *** "Clare.. heart of darkness" signed off at Fri Oct 13 10:51:23 2006.
End of Clare.. heart of darkness buffer: Fri Oct 13 10:53:45 2006