one shameless plug

For those of you that just feel they are too darned busy and important to check out One Sorry Blog - get over it! Now is the time. Somehow my evil-genius Pablito has created a monster over at WordPress that just won't quit. It's really pretty incredible and I encourage those of you who haven't peeped, to check it out immediately. After a short couple of months at the helm, Paul has bribed, brow-beaten, cajoled, begged, borrowed, scammed, sweet-talked, and otherwise miraculously herded a team of super talented writers into creating a sort of online magazine that is ACTUALLY worth reading. Along with the New York Times Daily Headlines and Lost, it's about all that drives me to tune in these days with my rapidly increasing work and kitchen duties.

Paul has amazing rounded up an incredible cast of non-writers that are incredible writers (note to self: remove title of 'writer' from my resume) and experts one and all in their given fields. One Sorry Blog is a maze of cool, funny, insightful, silly, and interesting contributions about all your favorite subjects: movies, television, gambling, etc. Paul Carnivale has joined the cast as a music writer (and so far, a darn good one) and ideas are being developed in Paul's evil genius mind as we speak. 17 minutes ago, Paul officially finished his duties as a full time translator for Trusted Translations. While I'm excited that he will now be my full time house-husband instead, I am a little concerned that his duties will be neglected in lieu of pimping his blog day in and day out. The point is, the site is pretty great and getting greater by the minute...

tune in...and stay tuned.

smarty pants

I need to give a major shout out to my friend Jenny Yusin (pictured here - picture ripped from her photo album) who just received her PhD from Emory University. Jenny graduated under particularly difficult circumstances, likely making her day even more bittersweet than it should have been. I just sit here, toiling away at my menial daily activities and work that seems menial now too in total awe of individuals who can commit themselves so gracefully to their studies - and moreover to the point that we all have to call them "doctor" afterwards. I am proud to know people like Jenny who fight uphill battles, are fiercely loyal friends, and still manage to quietly achieve greatness while it seems no one is looking. Congratulations, Jenny. I mean, Doctor Jenny. I cannot tell you how glad I am that she still watches Grey's Anatomy so that we can still interface on my lowly, earthly level. Never underestimate the power of the primetime love triangle to bring people together.

¡Que coman!

Maybe it's the chilly winter weather, maybe it's the fact that I am working out regularly again, maybe it's the fact that my panza has grown to a panzota over the last year, maybe it's the blurbs I am writing about food over at One Sorry Blog, who knows what it is exactly? But I have food on the brain. Good, fresh, wholesome, nourishing, home cooked food on the brain. I sit here now with Mexican rice and Chipotle chicken (thanks, Bubba Ray) and love life, love winter, love delicious plates of hot food. So without further ado, here are some of my favorite people doing some of my favorite things. I wish you all good soups and stews this winter or good salads and smoothies if the sun is shining where you are. I have to remind myself to be thankful for one of life's most essential luxuries.

strange encounters of the buenos aires kind

Yesterday evening, after a very long day, Paul and I were strolling in front of the Abasto Mall (a giant shopping and cinema Mecca housed in the old Mercado Central). An Asian woman, well-dressed, heels blazing, slightly frenzied ran up to us shouting in broken English. Paul and I stop dead in our tracks. I think we were startled by the appearance of such fashion choices outside of Palermo Viejo and also someone of such elegance deigning to speak to us, schlepping around the city like two idling backpackers. The encounter unfolds, in English, making the whole the even stranger:

Woman: (shouting) Excuse me, excuse me! Where can I find more shopping. (Holds up shopping bags to emphasize meaning of the word shopping)

Paul: (Looks at Clare as if to say, 'Is she kidding?' then points at giant, unmissable landmark of Abasto Shopping Mall) Um, that's the biggest mall in town.

Woman: (frantically checking watch) It open until 10? 10?!

Clare: It's open late for the movies.

Woman: (Sound muffled by frantic heel clicking in direction of Abasto) Thank you!!

We walked away towards Carlitos totally baffled and still in search of Peruvian hot sauce. Very, very strange. Was the woman on an urban scavenger hunt? Did she have a 12 hour layover in Buenos Aires to max out her credit card? Had the throwers at Ezeiza carefully misplaced her baggage? What was the big consumerist emergency? We may never know. But I suppose when you need to shop, you really need to shop.

ya estuvo

Time for a new post, and not just to save my little sister (our very own Network TV Slut) from further bouts of acid reflux from my Mother's Day post but because my finals are over at the UBA and I feel like blogging, chilling, eating oranges, and resting for a couple of days before classes start again (on Monday - shoot me now). This is the first time in a Spanish Exam that I felt I really kicked the ass of the oral exam and choked on the written test. Usually, it's the other way around and now I wonder what it all means.

In the meantime it's election hour here in Buenos Aires and the subte is filled with interesting, funny, and sometimes scary propaganda giving me a little more to look at during my daily commute to and from the UBA. Voting is obligatory here in BA and it always gives you pause as an American to wonder why shouldn't the most basic right of a citizen be a patriotic obligation? How different would the world be if the underrepresented minorities in the US including retirees and minorities were required to make their voice heard? How many lives could have been saved if our popular vote was inarguable? I hope more of us visit the polls next year - with the same passion and vigor that we use while frantically dialing to vote for our next American Idol.

Plus it's wintertime so I busted out my warm coat and have taken to making soup and drinking Emergen-C to stave off la gripa. Although these photos were taken in color, everything feels these days to be in black and white.

feliz día, mamá

Today is Mother's Day in the USA so I wanted to give a shout out to the greatest mom in the world, Mary Nisbet. I know most people think their mom is pretty great but mine really, really is. For real. Today my mom, dad, and sister are going to climb a hill in Ojai, California and have dinner together to celebrate my mom's birthday and mother's day in one and it's only on rare days like these that I wish I was home. Without the support of both my parents, their voices at the end of the telephone, their kind and encouraging words, and their sense of adventure, I would not be able to continue running around whatever corners of the world tickle my fancy. On June 18th, my parents are coming to visit me for the second time in Buenos Aires and I just can't wait. Their last visit was busted up by a burst eardrum, canceled trip to Iguazu Falls, and domestic issues between Paul and I. So this year's trip will be different, filled with fun and healthy people, and the domestic bliss that Paul and I are enjoying.

In the meantime my blog has been lacking due to finals coming up this week. If anyone has insight into the uses of the presente subjuntivo, pretérito perfecto subjuntivo, imperfecto subjuntivo, pretérito pluscuamperfecto subjuntivo, and the like, I have until Tuesday to get it down. Today I am making cookies, empanadas, and things to make my mother proud to entertain asado guests - a beautiful Sunday tradition.

If you talk to your mom today - tell her you love her and Happy Mother's Day. If you're anything like me, her job ain't that easy.

dando vueltas

After two cups of tea and an embarrassing attempt at Scrabble on my part, my boss called me yesterday morning. A serious no-no for a Saturday. The pobrecito recently rolled back into town (literally - wheeled off the plane) with a seriously messed up knee from an egregious kareoke incident in San Francisco. This crazy guy agreed to complete a whirlwind assignment for Rough Guides with a bum leg, 3 days to do it, and rainstorms on the forecast. Naturally, I obliged, using the excuse to catch up with the boss, get a load of his mojo with the ladies in Recoleta, spend a day as a professional photographer's assistant, and get serious advice on what to do with my new digital camera.

It was a seriously fun day schlepping from Las Violetas, one of my favorite hundred year old cafes in Almagro (with not a tourist in sight), to the El Ateneo Gran Splendid bookstore (which we agreed may be the most beautiful bookstore in the world), down to La Boca to check out kids playing soccor and check prices on galpón rentals. The nice thing about traveling around with a boss with a bum leg is that you travel in style, taxiing everywhere and cruising around at a pleasant pace. Even the heavy cloud cover didn't manage to stop Greg from getting some beautiful shots. I am pretty impressed at what a pro can come up with with just a camera, a few days, and a shoestring budget. Hopefully the rest of the world can check out the results in the new Rough Guide to Argentina. I love my new baby digital camera that fits in my pocket and rocks like a pro. This will keep me in photos until I wake up one morning with money for my digital SLR under my pillow. Happy Sunday, one and all.

todo mocoso

There's nothing like fresh air and a gorgeous baby to lift up your spirits. Paul and I jumped on the overnight bus to Córdoba on Friday evening after work. We took the Tuesday holiday as an excuse for Paul to get Monday off and spend the weekend with our friends Conrado and Analía in the suburbs of the city. Conrado and Analía, two tried and true cordobeses, lived in Buenos Aires and were Paul's English students until the end of Analia's pregnancy last year when they decided that they could not raise a baby in the city of bronca and packed up and went back to Córdoba where they own a home, the weather is fine, and there is not a snooty porteño in sight. Fair enough. They now seem to be thriving in the domestic lifestyle by enjoying time with the gorgeous and happy Marco, playing with the cutest puppy in the world, Lola, and ridding the house of invading tarantulas. Though everything else was practically perfect in every way, the quick jaunt to the country provided me with a close encounter of the spider kind that I never, ever want to repeat and provided Conrado with the rare opportunity to comment, "¡Qué lindo bicho, che!" a phrase you just don't hear every day.

What a gorgeous weekend. Conrado and Analía were smashing hosts, whipping us through the towns in the Sierras, cooking us riverside asado to die for, allowing us to enjoy their amazing company, and sharing the cutest baby in the world. When Conrado finally broke down and asked Paul if his weekend with the baby had changed his (forcefully negative) mind about having kids of his own one day, Paul stopped, paused, considered the incredible feats of Conrado and Analía (themselves just a few years older than Paul and I, and finally explained his new, softened opinion on children and plan to adopt babies from around the world, raise them as bilingual, and sell them on the child slave market for generous profit. It's nice to know that the sun in Córdoba and the radiant smile of Marco didn't entirely melt Paul's stone-cold heart...

We are celebrating a lovely labor day in Buenos Aires. We have already been swept with rain, ate some tasty grilled cheese sandwiches, caught up on all the goings-on in our email and One Sorry Blog, and planning for the rest of what promises to be a busy week. I think part of our restless souls is really ready to leave Buenos Aires behind. I already can't wait until my parents come and we can get out of town together. Lucky for me I have fun work, classes, lunch dates, students, correspondence, and a house with a dismantled revolving door to look forward to for the first time in months. In the meantime, those of you with a serious penchant for cute babies can click here for more photos of the mocoso hermoso.

fun with film

Jenny "la rata" Fickert and I seriously tried our best to have no photographic proof of our trip to Mendoza. I handily had my camera stolen two weeks ago (and am still feeling the burn) and Jenny neglected to pack her camera in the flurry to escape from the house in time to make the overnight bus trip. Our plans were foiled when we found a little store and decided to party like it was 1989 with two disposable crapbags. The results were some interestingly bad shots and some cute shots (see above) and everything in between.

My first trip to Mendoza, despite my lack of evidence, was pretty incredible. We soared over the city paragliding, visited some wineries by bicycle, ate some delicious delicacies in the city, I found two (count 'em TWO!) pairs of bargain shoes, ended up out of gas and half way to the Chilean border in our ludicrously cheap rental car while visiting every Argentine pueblito on a desperate search for Cachueta, and finally soaking it up in style at the hot springs when we finally made it. Jenny proved to be a kick-ass traveling buddy, did not let my plague get her down nor get her down when she caught it, and got her first US passport stamp.

I am trying to catch up on my blog, prepare my presentation for Spanish class tomorrow on why the US Health Care System is the worst in the world (how hard can it be?), test websites for Boulevards, bake cake for my 80 year old neighbors birthday, and pack to visit friends in Córdoba this weekend who have a new baby that I am told is un gordito hermoso. I am staying busy, trying to stay warm as the temperature has dropped about 20 degrees in the last two weeks, and trying to just enjoy everything as much as possible.

Sorry for the lag in blog. El jefe is allegedly blasting back onto the Buenos Aires scene on Tuesday morning with my brand new (not quite so fancy but equally functional) digital camera in tow. Hurrah! I am hoping that when I am able to capture the images again, the words will come with it. I will be back in the blogging spirit very soon.

best week ever

I have officially neglected my blog for far too long. I will now, try to pitifully explain why. So to rip off my sister the network TV slut, in no particular order, and in true Nick Hornby style, here are the highlights of my week in Buenos Aires:

- Jenny "la rata" Fickert, of Santa Barbara Independent fame, arrives at Ezeiza International sans luggage. Read more about the power and prowess of the baggage handlers at Ezeiza here.

- Jenny proceeds to exit the customs area without filling out a claim for her baggage causing an unhelpful conversation with an angry porteña and having to coerce our way back inside by any means necessary.

- I take Jenny on the obligatory schlep through the Recoleta Cemetery and the feria at the Plaza Francia where a kindly pickpocket relieves me of my digital camera and some great photos. Can't even lose focus for ten seconds in this town when you have to pee...

- We take in a touristy but fun tango show to celebrate Heather Christensen's birthday at boogie down at Fugees 99.

- After a long night at the boliche, the phone rings at 9am on Saturday morning. A friend of a friend (who we hadn't even had the pleasure of meeting yet) has the expected South American dysentery. I spend Saturday morning in the hospital and buying soup and crackers for a poor, unwell soul.

- Heather and Taylor depart on Saturday evening. This time, Taylor leaves with two passports having obtained a second to replace the first (which he lost in the taxi from Ezeiza) just two hours after the first was returned. Sheesh. The Heather and Taylor whirlwind trip goes out with a bang.

- We barbeque most of Sunday afternoon and spend it with Leta, the friend of a friend, who is recovering well from her dysentery and I feel pretty crappy by the end of the meal and have to skip the cake (balls!).

- I wake up Monday morning with the plague (which I am sure is a free gift courtesy of the sick and needy at the German Hospital on Saturday morning). I haven't slept at all Sunday night because I can't breathe and my throat is almost closed up.

- I spend Monday morning in the hospital (again), the rest of Monday afternoon schlepping my corpse around town playing reluctant tour guide while trying to procure my medication from various pharmacies.

- Having procured half of my medication, I throw my prescription in the garbage and put it out in the street for collection (chalk this one up to the no-sleep factor).

- I find out that someone I care about very much has a broken heart. And I worry.

- Today I faced a very hard 2 hour Spanish class being that I have the plague and all. I still haven't done my homework.

- I bought bus tickets for Mendoza leaving Thursday night on a coche super cama, nothing but the best for the plague-ridden.

- I figure I'll be alright if I can get through 8 more days of visiting friends.

- I am broke, broke, broke. So broke it's a joke (just thought I'd throw that one in for good measure!)

- Digital camera donations accepted (see the above highlight).

Back soon...

leaving las vegas

There is, as always, good news and bad news. The bad news for Las Vegas is that Justin Mabardi is heading out of town. After a serious stint whipping the Dragone show La Rêve into the greatest show on the strip, practically taking residence at my personal Mecca, Wynn Las Vegas, Justin is cashing in his chips and is going (going) back (back) to Cali (Cali). Serious bummer for you Las Vegas. At least Las Vegas is full of hookers, money, and big hair so the city will likely survive.

The good news? For all my faithful readers in California, Justin is continuing his relationship with the world of Dragone and going to work on the new show, Carmen, at the La Jolla playhouse. Click here to read the press release and learn more about the production. All theater lovers, Justin fans, surfers hitting San Diego, or those who should just do what I say (I think I have pretty much encapsulated everyone I know now) should all head down to San Diego and check out the show which will run June and July. Hurry, because Justin (and the show) are likely to be swept of to Broadway. Glimpses of this man are rare and precious in California. If Justin's past stage ventures are any indication, this show will be spectacular.

when good gringos go bad

Heather and Taylor joined us in the middle of Friday morning's thunderstorm. I promptly spent a day tromping around the city in wet socks and shoes (which I am convinced is responsible for my fever chills and scratchy throat this morning) and feeling like I was in high school all over again. They have spent most of the weekend on the Sarah Howell tour of Buenos Aires and celebrating Sarah's birthday in proper worldly style - with food and friends.



Paul and I did our very best to entertain by whisking the group to Carlitos, a Peruvian restaurant in the heart of Almagro. We ordered up a Peruvian favorite, Papa a la Huancaina, and giant plates of rotisserie chicken, french fries, and fresh salads. We ate ourselves sick until our final dish arrived an hour after we ordered it, and an hour after we were assured that the waiter forgot about it.



I had to include the photo of what was left of the table after Taylor, Sarah, and Paul were finished with the beef noodle dish. This, my friends, is what happens when typically good, well-mannered gringos are confronted with piles and piles of delicious Peruvian delicacies.

vecinos, ruido y oscuridad

This week already seems a bit nuts. It started out with a tormenta gigante that swept through the city on Sunday leaving us without electricity for a day and a half and living our Monday in the 19th century. For us, it was a relatively non-event. I spent the morning cleaning and re-cleaning all the floors of the water that had flooded in from the outside, then washing and re-washing the towels that I had used to clean the floors, then throwing out rotting food from the decorative refrigerator, using the outage as the perfect excuse to defrost our freezer that needs defrosted approximately every two weeks anyway. By early afternoon I was losing to myself at Solitaire, 75 pages into my novel En El Tiempo de Las Mariposas (the most I think I've ever read in Spanish), and wistfully imagining myself a modern day Emily Dickinson, writing by candlelight and composing future masterpieces.

Around 10pm the serious levels of bronca started to set in and the porteños became ornery as porteños are like to do. We thought it would be a perfect opportunity to visit our favorite Almagro restaurant, Carlitos, but we stepped into the street to quite a scene. The moment we stepped outside, we experienced a protest tactic that I had previously only read about in Bad Times in Buenos Aires by Miranda France. It started as a giant banging from a single balcony. It sounded like someone pounding a wooden spoon against a giant metal pot. It grew... to a fever pitch. We scurried away from the noise and on to the bus. 10 minutes later we were safe in the folds of our restaurants watching the bronca unfold on the televisions. All of our neighbors lined up in our usually quiet corner of South Almagro, banging pots, yelling, holding up traffic, and making mischief... all in the name of the government turning their lights back on. Fair enough the day without lights left most of the businesses in our neighborhood paralyzed for a day. In Buenos Aires, a day's earnings are no small potatoes. Ultimately, the neighbors did well taking their protest to the streets as deep into the night, the lights flared back up with a vengeance and now our fridge is running like a champ again.

Despite the ruckus, I dearly cherish our neighborhood and neighbors. The top photo is of our two next door neighbors Estella and her mother Margarita. They sleep Burt and Ernie style in beds 6 inches apart, are constantly force-feeding me empanadas, pickled eggplant, cakes, tartas, and mate (I blame them entirely for my weight-gain), and they call me linda and tell me I speak good Spanish. On this particular evening the stayed out watching tango until 5am (as all good porteños do) and I had to take a picture as Margarita is clearing wearing a wig (this hair came out of nowhere). The first photo is our precious Felipe, el vago, who jumps through our roof every morning like clockwork. He's quite spry for an old kitty.

I am deep into the dark forest of learning the past and conditional usage of the subjunctive. Level 5 Spanish at UBA generally just gives me a headache these days despite wonderful teachers and endlessly entertaining classmates. My favorite is the Brazilian girl who speaks Portuguese the entire time. I expect she is just hoping our professor was dropped on her head as a small child and won't notice. Bright and early on Friday, Heather and Taylor arrive for their whirlwind spin through the city. I am honing up my empanada and panqueque skills for their visit.

The news of the week is that Mary and Roger, my parents who drove me to write great literature (take that how you will), are braving Buenos Aires for a SECOND TIME and coming to visit in July. I feel very loved to have parents that will fly all the way to Latin America to see me. Maybe they are coming to see the glaciers, the penguins, or the falls, but I feel loved anyway. It makes me wonder, how far on the globe I would have to go for no one to follow me there? Is actually possible, in this day and age, to fall off the map? How lucky am I to have a family that will come and see me, no matter how far into the heart of darkness I go? I am, in so many ways, a lucky, lucky girl.

poker, picadas y los pinche porteños

I was wondering if it would actually be possible to get all of my favorite things into a single post when my favorite night of the week returned to haunt me - poker night. Last night we were joined by the incomparable Gena Mavuli, her friend M.E., M.E.'s Bolivian boyfriend whose name (but not personality) escapes me, and their Brazilian friend Rodrigo.

Poker night is always good for fun. The evening moved beautifully from tasty picaditas and empanadas, to brownies and cookies, to far too much beer and wine. Conversation drifted from why Hold 'Em is the most jodido game of poker in the world (and naturally so since everything from Texas is jodido), to how great it is (this mostly came from those with giant stacks of chips), and around to a subject that we were all violently agreed on - that porteños are the most jodido people in the world. Lots of laughs were shared on this one. God bless porteños for being a constant source of amusement and entertainment in mixed company.


It was all going swimmingly until Gena stepped up and won all the chips like a rockstar. Even low stakes poker comes with a pinch and pocket jacks sting like a bee. For me, it was nice to see another female take the big prize after the men consumed too many beers but Gena will have to come back soon so that I might have my vengeance. When you don't have the cards, you don't have the cards...

Saturday morning beckons me back with thoughts of crosswords, Scrabble games, and bike rides. I will try not to shoot myself in the meantime while my two elderly neighbors are rocking out like teenagers to the dulcet sounds of Phil Collins. Mal estilo porteño knocks from all sides.

cómo te quiero, changuito

So having suffered a week bout of general malaise and writer's block, I decided I would craft a meaningful post about my changito and being engaged and in love and all that bollocks - all in honor of our "fakaversary" which was yesterday. I crafted it thoroughly in my mind. It was a heartfelt post, funny but tender, touching all all the delicacies of finding someone to share your life with, however lame and Scrabble-filled your life may be.

Naturally, that little bastard beat me to it... again. His ode to our "healthy" relationship is posted today at One Sorry Blog. You gotta check it out. It's hilarious and better than anything I could say. It says it all, really.

I will say this. I do love the kid. I love that he doesn't let me win at Scrabble - ever (though I pretend to hate him for it). I love that he buys me the crossword on Sunday. I love that he makes fun of my "shows" then BEGS me to watch them. I love that he helps me make the bed sometimes. I love that he is almost entirely socially unacceptable. I love that he doesn't mind my panza gigante. I love that he lets me love him and he loves me back. I love having someone to scratch my back in the middle of this mosquito infestation.

The photo above is one of my favorites of us after a mosquito day in Colonia, Uruguay. Playing scrabble COVERED in lotion and trying, trying not to scratch.

stencilandia

Another bike ride found us in the alley near the Plaza Lavalle where stencil artists go to town. Here is some more cool Buenos Aires stencil art for you and I have chosen the distinctly Argentinean stencils. I just worry about poor David and his hot mate kettle so close to his junk...

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...