Living in Translation

Flawed

2009-04-07T10:54:00.006-03:00

A friend recently told me that when you make your humiliation part of your creative process, you liberate yourself to, well, create. Hence, here goes my second blog post in all of 2009! Go me.

I've always had a difficult time with "putting myself out there." My wise teeny son likes to accuse me of perfectionism, but that's too simplistic. For decades I felt like I couldn't do anything artistically because (1) I was always surrounded by artistic people, (2) I felt the need to be completely original, and (3) I didn't want judgment, mostly from my own self. All this despite feeling like I was a creative type innately and that when I choose to lose myself in a project, be it drawing or writing, I was pretty damn good, at times even great.

Anyway, I'm now building myself a tenuous bridge and gingerly getting over it. Because you know what, being afraid of not being great is just no fucking way to live. I am simply too tired of it. I am simply too old for it. I don't have the same energy I once had to stifle whatever it is that bubbles out.

So from this point forward, I will use this blog to write and write and write. Most of it will be dribbly shitstain (like that's any different from what's come before), but I will do my damnest to resist the Delete button. And allow maybe only a handful of Edit. The self-censor mode is a bitter pill. It's a cliche to say that you're your worst enemy, but that doesn't make it any less true. The thing is, when you're pretty good at a lot of different things, finding the one true outlet to focus on can be a bit like [insert metaphor].

So there you have it. I've given myself permission to suck so that I can begin the process of sucking less.

I am now hitting the Publish Post button.

And the Winner Is...Me?

2009-03-28T12:29:00.054-03:00

Forgive me my long hiatus, dear readers, and for hosting my own writer's strike (though I am from LA, after all). Life has a habit of sneaking up on me, those to-do lists color-bleeding into one another springing me into inaction--until that damning moment when I'm snapped wide awake wearing nothing but runny pinks. It's not a pretty sight.

Laundry metaphor aside (can you tell literal laundry is also on my list?), I feel the need to document the big upcoming change for the one loyal reader that's left. So, lonely reader, come August, I'll be moving to China, Mainland China--Beijing, to be exact. I feel overwhelmed, mixed, mixed up, a whir of hazy emotions set in spin cycle (damn, here I go again).

On the one hand, I'm thrilled I landed a respected, sought-after school considering the (by all accounts) shit-awful recruitment season and global crisis. And the package is killer compared to South America.

On the other hand, what the fuck--China? Really, self? I am, after all, so classically lazy that I dropped my Spanish lessons here once I figured out how to order a cup of coffee. China--with its gobbledygook alphabet and tonal everything will be devastating in its shock of culture (although to be fair, while I am challenged in the pretty-voice department, I am thankfully not tone-deaf, at least according to my karaoke scores). China--where my allergies-prone self is gonna have to break up in a huge way with Mr. Contact Lenses, my eyes already itchy and wet at the thought of the smog and the rebound affair with Mr. Eyeglasses. [I know that was cheesy, but they can't all be winners. -ed.] China--where the arms of the Benevolent Dictator will have long-reaching effects (YouTube was banned out of the blue for a few days last week, fer christ's sake). China--where, dear God, my physiological need for personal space will be utterly, terrifyingly eviscerated. And did I mention the smog?

But, on the other hand (careful readers will now note my deformed anatomy), China--where spawn will learn Mandarin, and take more theatre courses, and camp at the Great Wall, and be intimate with 5,000 years of culture. China--where I'll finally get my fill of Asia travel (one weekend to Angkor Wat to rekindle some childhood memories, another to Bangkok simply for the food-court curries). China--where my swanky expat compound will have a cafe that delivers, and a free gym clubhouse, and tennis courts (because you know how much I rock the tennis skort), and, and...

It's never easy, or more accurately, I seem to have a penchant for choosing the difficult over the easy. And as if I'm not free falling enough these days, last week an Argentine coworker stopped by my classroom to pronounce in her typical charming way: I would hate to be you. I don't know how you to it. Your life is so hectic. Do you even know any Mandarin? Heckling aside, she had a point or two. What *am* I doing starting over? Wasn't it enough to move from the northern hemisphere to the southern, without having to cross into the eastern? Didn't I bust my (professional) balls black & blue trying to prove myself here, and now would have to start all over? Haven't I wept enough tears bidding adieu to family in the States, without having to endure (at least) two more years of this melodrama? Do I ever learn?

And then, fortuitously, I ran into this feel-good quote by Mark Twain:

Twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.

And soon after, I got no less than 21 photos of my new home in Beijing--3 floors of personal space, with windows wide flung to beckon potential clear skies and an outside world of possibilities.

I guess the jury's still out.

Earth Trek: The Next Episode

2008-12-07T09:59:00.027-02:00

So lately I've been preoccupied (a kinder word than obsessed, although that's more precise) with my job search for the next school year and beyond. In the international school circuit, this process includes not only a search of school but of country and city as well, so you can just imagine the excitement- and stress-induced headaches I've had to endure. And, just because a city sounds fabu (Barcelona! Paris!) =! the school is great. In fact, many of the international schools in capital cities in Europe are second-rate compared to those in Asia.

What complicates it even further is this new school has to make the cut for being a decent workplace for me (there are quite a few draconian administrators out there) while being a top-notch academic institution with a strong performing arts for spawn (who'll be entering the 9th grade), and those two criteria don't necessarily marry well. There's a very unscientific formula to it all, weighted with a hefty dose of personal preferences. So after copious hours/weeks/ulcers of meticulous research, I've got it down to a list. My search centers around Asia because I decided that making 30-70% more than I do currently in Latin America (and Europe, where you often have to pay country taxes) is a good thing.

So here's my list, in no particular order. If you could live anywhere in Asia, where would you go?

I'm not posting the school names, just because. Of course, city grades are based on my own personal interests in the location, which can range from OMG, they have a Sephora there! to it's a foodie's paradise! to Holy Crap, there's a Hello Kitty-themed cafe! Package = tax-free salary, bennies, housing allowance, home flights, perks, etc.

School #1: Bangkok, Thailand: A school, A+ package, A- city (demerits for pollution, political instability, and being 20 minutes from downtown)

School #2: Shanghai, China: A- school, A- package, B+ city (demerit for pollution) [values added: spawn already has family/connections on his stepmom's side there. spawn really likes the city.]

School #3: Beijing, China: A+ school, B+ package, B+ city (demerit for pollution)

School #4: Beijing, China: B+ school, A package, B+ city (demerit for pollution)

School #5: New Delhi, India: A school, A+ package, C+ city (demerits for terrorist threat and too much stark poverty). [value added: a good friend already teaches there.]

School #6: Singapore: A- school [demerit for the supposedly insane workload], A package, A+ city

School #7: Cairo, Egypt: B+ school, B package, B city (demerit for my not owning conservative clothes and inevitably having to update entire wardrobe)

School #8: Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia: B+ school, A- package, A city

School #9: Tokyo, Japan: B+ school, A package, A city [value added: spawn really wants to go there.]

School #10: Taipei, Taiwan: A- school (demerit for quintessential type-A workload), A- package, A- city

The Omnivore's Hundred

2008-11-04T21:42:00.005-02:00

Found this fun challenge from Miss Tango. And you know me, can't resist lists or food so a list on food is bliss, almost as blissful as a bowl of durian. I scored only a 77/100, though I think a little grade inflation is needed for how mainstay many of those items are on my diet.

And why isn't Japanese natto on the list?

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The Omnivore's Hundred

Here’s a chance for a little interactivity for all the bloggers out there. Below is a list of 100 things that I think every good omnivore should have tried at least once in their life. The list includes fine food, strange food, everyday food and even some pretty bad food - but a good omnivore should really try it all. Don’t worry if you haven’t, mind you; neither have I, though I’ll be sure to work on it. Don’t worry if you don’t recognise everything in the hundred, either; Wikipedia has the answers.

Here’s what I want you to do:

1) Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions.
2) Bold all the items you’ve eaten. (I've added a * as well.)
3) Cross out any items that you would never consider eating.
4) Optional extra: Post a comment here at http://www.verygoodtaste.co.uk/ linking to your results.

The VGT Omnivore’s Hundred:

1. Venison
*2. Nettle tea
*3. Huevos rancheros
*4. Steak tartare
5. Crocodile
*6. Black pudding
*7. Cheese fondue
*8. Carp
*9. Borscht
*10. Baba ghanoush
*11. Calamari
*12. Pho
*13. PB&J sandwich
*14. Aloo gobi
*15. Hot dog from a street cart
16. Epoisses
*17. Black truffle
*18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes
*19. Steamed pork buns
*20. Pistachio ice cream
*21. Heirloom tomatoes
*22. Fresh wild berries
*23. Foie gras
*24. Rice and beans
*25. Brawn, or head cheese
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper
*27. Dulce de leche
*28. Oysters
*29. Baklava
30. Bagna cauda
*31. Wasabi peas
*32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl
*33. Salted lassi
*34. Sauerkraut
*35. Root beer float
*36. Cognac with a fat cigar
*37. Clotted cream tea
*38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O
*39. Gumbo
*40. Oxtail
*41. Curried goat
*42. Whole insects
43. Phaal
*44. Goat’s milk
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more
46. Fugu
*47. Chicken tikka masala
*48. Eel
*49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut
*50. Sea urchin
*51. Prickly pear
*52. Umeboshi
*53. Abalone
*54. Paneer
*55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal
*56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV
59. Poutine
*60. Carob chips
*61. S’mores
*62. Sweetbreads
63. Kaolin
*64. Currywurst
*65. Durian
*66. Frogs’ legs
*67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake
68. Haggis
*69. Fried plantain
*70. Chitterlings, or andouillette
*71. Gazpacho
*72. Caviar and blini
73. Louche absinthe
74. Gjetost, or brunost
75. Roadkill
76. Baijiu
*77. Hostess Fruit Pie
*78. Snail
*79. Lapsang souchong
*80. Bellini
*81. Tom yum
*82. Eggs Benedict
*83. Pocky
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant.
*85. Kobe beef
86. Hare
*87. Goulash
*88. Flowers
89. Horse
*90. Criollo chocolate
*91. Spam
*92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose harissa
*94. Catfish
*95. Mole poblano
*96. Bagel and lox
97. Lobster Thermidor
*98. Polenta
*99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee
*100. Snake

Bible 2.0

2008-10-24T19:44:00.008-02:00

I had no idea the bible was this, um, cool! According to the Telegraph UK, the Evangelical Alliance has come up with 10 Commandments for Christian bloggers. Dude, why the non-mention of porn? My personal 10 would be all about porn (thou shall not blog about donkey sex, for example).

Here are the official ten commandments for bloggers, as handed down by religious geeks [and let's see how our hero does]:

1. You shall not put your blog before your integrity. [Strike 1. Damn.]
2. You shall not make an idol of your blog. [Come again?]
3. You shall not misuse your screen name by using your anonymity to sin. [Is having a short--nay, shortest--fuse sinful? Strike. Good thing I only have to count up to ten.]
4. Remember the Sabbath day by taking one day off a week from your blog. [Cool, since I'm usually too tired from Friday night's debauchery to lift a posting finger the next.]
5. Honour your fellow bloggers above yourselves and do not give undue significance to their mistakes. [Damn, no more bitching out other blogger's' love of stray apostrophe's? Harsh.]
6. You shall not murder someone else's honour, reputation or feelings. [Whoa, way to take the fun out of snarking!]
7. You shall not use the web to commit or permit adultery in your mind. [I guess this is as close to porn as I'll get. But wait--let's parse words. Is it a sin only in mind, but OK in body? Curiouser and curiouser...]
8. You shall not steal another person's content. [So much moral guidance, so little time...]
9. You shall not give false testimony against your fellow blogger. [Insert random comment.]
10. You shall not covet your neighbour's blog ranking. Be content with your own content. [bwah....OK, I'm gasping for air here. So The Onion....]

Yabbut...

2008-10-13T16:41:00.006-03:00

...without the divine intervention of TV, I'd have to hear my own thoughts.

Your Nine Months Are Up!

2008-10-13T16:29:00.006-03:00

I can't think of a worse line to entice shopping mothers than "carrying you forever..." srly, wtf? It's a good thing the Prune line is so darn awesome.

And Another Thing

2008-09-02T22:28:00.007-03:00

I'm back, although I don't yet have the vocabulary to describe what I went through back in May of this year. Still, I'm back and that's worth something.

All the Comforts of Home

2008-05-11T16:29:00.014-03:00

Today was brilliant. In honor of Mother's Day, my too-cool-for-school son let me drag him downtown with nary a complaint, and we meandered all over Recoleta, first stopping for lunch at the Hard Rock Cafe (I was craving quesadilla with mango salsa, though it would prove to be slightly less than delicious), then sidewalk-cafe sitting timelessly engrossed in our respective books, then wandering into Farmacity, where to my delight I unearthed a plethora of items from home--all stuff I would normally lug back here in my check-in too. So yay, less future baggage for me, and that's always a good thing.

What I found:
- Olay Daily Facials disposable cloths
- Olay Total Effects 7x moisturizer (this baby's almost 20 bucks in the States but only 48 pesos [~16 US] here so go figure)
- Neutrogena T-Sal Therapeutic Shampoo
- Aquafresh White & Shine toothpaste
- Aleve (!), the 12-hour kind

I love the expat life, I really do, but I can't seem to let go of certain brand/product preferences, and hell, if it makes life just that much easier, wtf not? It's not like I'm eating babies for breakfast or anything...

And because I miss having a camera, I'm posting an old picture I took of a candy I love here, proving that I can indeed adapt (I hardly buy American candies as a factual matter, so applaud me). Ladies & gent, may I present the bemusingly, bilingually named Kinder Bueno--I mean, kid good? (speaking of eating babies for breakfast)--from the folks who brought you those cool toy eggs.

Two fingers of wafer shells filled with a fluffy hazelnut creme, veneered in just the right amount of chocolate. So, so sexy. So, so dangerously crack-like good.

There Are Some Sick Fuckers Out There

2008-05-08T22:32:00.016-03:00

Perhaps it has to do with not getting laid enough, or maybe your mama was your childhood bully, but whatever the fuck turned you into a grade-A loser, loser--stay the fuck away from my teaching blog! These are 7-year-old kids you're exposing your filth to, you puling fuckwit. I strenuously loathe dregs like you.

Die already, asswipe.
*
*
*
On a calmer note, I had quite possibly* the worst day at work since I moved here. Last night a parent emailed me frantically saying someone had been writing "not nice" comments on the classroom learning blog, "not nice" being the understatement of the year. Whoever this sick fuck was, he had the gall to use my kids' names and actually took the time to copy & paste their work turning it into adult material, then spamming the entire comment sections with it. I literally threw up in my mouth reading. It was one part chilling, two parts nauseating, three parts enraging, and fourteen parts maddeningly murderous-making (do the math).

* I said "quite possibly" because what helped to offset the abject misery of this experience was that today, I witnessed some musical concerts performed by a gazillion schoolkids. Now, I'm as jaded and cynical as they come, but by golly if the tear ducts don't runneth over as soon as I hear a room full of children harmonizing. I'm convinced it's just potent enough to cure cancer. So please double blind that, Mr. Medical Establishment!

Death & Curry

2008-05-04T14:52:00.017-03:00

Tragically, my camera, the workhorsy Canon PowerShot A620, died a slow, quiet death this past week with no one in attendance. This demise couldn't come at a worse time, as I've been happily fêting all over town and unabled to half-assedly memorialize the deliciousness here. Ah well...

I'm still on a curry bender. Friday I met up with some friends at Bangalore, a British curry pub (if there's a better amalgam of 3 words in the English language, I can't think of any) in Palermo Hollywood, where we sampled the vegetarian thalis platter containing vegetable korma, pumpkin curry, butter mutter paneer, and warm pillowy naan.

Then Saturday, I went with a group of gals to Sudestada for their now-27-peso lunch set, still a steal considering the inflation, where--quelle surprise--I had the Thai vegetable curry.

Then this morning I awoke with Indonesian food on the brain for a mysterious reason, so I ambled on over to the kitchen to concoct a variation of beef rendang. It didn't come out too shabby, considering, and even better, the boy loved it. (A big thanks to my mom who left behind some lemon grass paste from her visit.)

So let's see...that's curry of the Indian, Thai, and Indonesian persuasion--all in one week! What's left?

The boy claims his favorite curry hands down is Japanese--ick--so my next project will be to simply open up a package of House brand sauce (they carry it here in Barrio Chino) and ceremoniously dump it into a bowl. Frankly I think he just misses our weekly trek to the Curry House in West LA, because no sane person can possibly prefer Japanese-style curry over all the others, claro?

Plate o' Shrimp

2008-04-28T23:08:00.007-03:00

I had a plate o' shrimp today. No, not those cockroaches of the sea (though I love them too) but you know--plate o' shrimp, a term borrowed from the movie Repo Man that refers to those weird coincidences in life where something you've never heard about or noticed before is suddenly all over the place.

Last week I watched this vide o, totally awesome, titled "Do Schools Kill Creativity?," presented at the TED Conference in California. It was the first time I'd ever heard of TED--Technology, Entertainment, and Design--and I was practically salivating at the thought of getting my school to send me there next year. Then came the crushing reality: TED only takes VIPs in those three fields--in fact, they cherry-pick their attendees--and since I've never even been an IP in any field, let alone a VIP, the chances of an invite falling on my doorstep would look slim.

And then--today I added this gu y as a friend on facebook, despite not knowing who the hell he really was (I'd been stalking him on Twitter, inspired by Julia). It wasn't until now that I realized he's quite an internet phenom with a legion fan base and is--get this--a repeat speaker at TED! So, tonight I'm macking on some Reese's PB Cups that a kid's parent just brought me from the States and watching ze's old claim-to-fame TED videos.

Have you had a plate o' shrimp lately?

Will I Have to Put Out?

2008-04-28T18:00:00.010-03:00

I'm scheduled to get my rebate check--a whopping sum of $900--direct-deposited by the IRS on May 9. While it may mark the only time I'm actually thrilled to be making less than 75K a year, a part of me feels so Spitzer dirty for this Bush buy-off (I know for $900 I oughta be able to suck a golf ball though a garden hose). Still, the list of things that need replacing in my life just keep racking up, such as the camera and laptop. And I'm not even talking about things that can't be bought, such as a new memory card for my brain (or a new jump drive for my uh...other drive). Maybe I'll just use the money to stimulate the Argentine economy instead. It seems only fair after all.

So...Hellooo, Prune!

When in BA

2008-04-27T16:30:00.009-03:00

I made the most killer supper last night: Thai green curry with tofu and glass noodles. In keeping with the ongoing Argentine fusion theme, my curry actually had palmito cubes as the veg, arugula as the herb, and some queso crema to round off the heat. I know it sounds a tad touched, but it turned out divine. The iced coffee delivery was also nice to bring the heat factor down a couple notches.

In other news, I need a new camera.

Omelette a la Provenzal

2008-04-26T16:00:00.018-03:00

I like to buy prepackaged stuff from the supermarches here, such as precut veggies for sopas or chop sueys--not that I've ever been inspired to chop any sueys. My favorite convenience packet hands down is the mixed herbs a la provenzal, containing about a quarter cup of chopped fresh garlic and a quarter cup of chopped fresh parsley. This morning I groggily threw together this packet with four beaten eggs and ta da, I present the frockin' Omelette a la Provenzal! Be sure to have a tub of breath mints nearby.

And since we're talking about Argentinizing the old standbys, I've also taken a liking to adding a spoonful or two (who am I kidding, three) of dulce de leche into my espresso every morning for a more stylized version of Cuban coffee. Fawesome.

Happy Belated Earth Day!

2008-04-26T14:01:00.035-03:00

In keeping with my procrastinating nature (you never did get that birthday card in the mail, right?), here's my post on ED 2008.

So last Tuesday I hauled 17 kids off to La Reserva Ecológica in our school's "backyard" for a gorgeous romp through the wicked wild. Earlier in class I'd shown them these cute little shorts from PBS Kids Eek oWorld when right in the middle, I noticed one little girl sitting there with soft, muffled sobs. I was all, "oh honey, why are you sad?" and she goes, "because my parents work in oil." Actually, more than half my students have parents with Chevron or Petrobras or the like (the others mostly with multinational corps), and it dawned on me right then & there that I also needed to present a clipped version of All Good Things That Oil Enables in the World (my favorite being the ability to hop on a plane and experience another culture firsthand--yes, I know it's facile but these are first graders after all). It's a reflection of my getting old but I think so often moderation and tempering go missing in environmental talk, the strident, shrill extremist tone of The St ory of Stuff being just another example.

But I get it. When I was 20 and spraying factory farms with "Meat is murder" and leafleting I too felt the apocalyptic urgency of our downward-dog planetary trajectory. I had laser-like contempt for all drivers-cum-oil-guzzlers and meateaters and Republicans and suburban dwellers and malls and cheerleaders (ok, a peeved bias I can't let go off), but these days my mantra playlist shuffles between It's Not That Simple and Nothing Is Black and White to You Lost That Loving Feeling.

I have a clear memory of debating with a professor in law school about indigenous whale hunting (I was opposed to the killing of all animals for any reasons with the supreme smugness that youth is afforded). How he managed not to club me on the head for my insufferable know-it-allness I still can't fathom. What is cool about the passing of time, not just for an individual but for a generation, is that issues that seem debatable develop less clarity, like a reverse Polaroid, while certain ethos gel (if I'm making sense). The kids I'm teaching today came out of their mama's hoohoos soaking in an amniotic fluid of earth consciousness. It's a given for them that taking care of the planet matters. So while the trees in the debate need to be further bandied about and tagged, the forest is a given. And that's a good thing.

Starbuckaroo Bonzai

2008-04-26T01:44:00.014-03:00

Starbucks is coming to Buenos Aires in May and I’m peeing in my pants with excitement. Though it’s not exactly my favorite beanery (Peet’s and the now-defunct Diedrich’s beat it hands down), I like the predictable quality of their roasts, their menu, and how I can always count on my drink of choice (the excruciatingly embarrassingly named and tongue-tying iced tall double soy 2-pump Mocha Valencia) to taste how it always does. (Not to mention the customer service is first rate.)

Still, a hugely successful corporation like Starbucks does not walk softly while carrying a big latte stirrer, and it does not make its presence overseas without a lot of hand wringing within the expat community. But call me a minion because I just don’t see what the problem is. I verily guffaw into my laptop whenever I read some sad sap decrying the evilness of all big corporations on his fricking computer. Let’s face it, it’s because of some big corporations that we have the 21^st century lifestyle that we do. Without big corporations paying big bucks for research and development, mass production and distribution, we wouldn’t have computers or the internet or affordable cars or email. How about healthcare? Who develops cancer or AIDS research? (This isn't to say I don't think corporations shouldn't have ethical practices, which funny enough, are what Starbucks has in spades--how many other corporations provide health ins to part-time employees?)

Anyway, while Googling for the exact date of the Alto Palermo Starbucks grand opening, I came upon this slideshow, Starbucks vs. the Traveler, by Jim Benning, which I found quite interesting (as I do World Hum). The author goes to Tijuana to see whether the local culture’s doomed after an SB invasion. Don’t miss the comments that follow; here are my favorites:

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It seems so ignorant for people to attack big business for being what they are...the best at providing certain goods or services. Do people not realize that Starbucks was once a ma & pa store too? When Starbucks started out, it was just one coffee shop in one city for almost 20 years! I do not believe that the owners set out to destroy the unique cultures of certain societies - but rather to provide outstanding product and lively service to the people worldwide who obviously enjoy them. By Melissa Mischel

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It’s easy to condemn Starbucks, but on the other hand, as Eve says, it is someplace warm and dry to buy something small and cheap. And they offer jobs to locals. That’s not a bad thing. By Marilyn Terrell

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I enjoy seeing a Starbucks wherever I travel. It provides a nice refuge where I know I can get a great cup a coffee. I think that many people forget that Starbucks started as a single, mom and pop store in Pike Place Market in Seattle. It grew to the giant that it is because it is successful. Starbucks also gets involved in the communities it enters and provides great benefits for its employees....my husband included. By Sara

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I’m from Buenos Aires Argentina and waiting for the opening of our first Starbucks on May. I can’t believe that some posters think this chain could change a country culture, it just sells coffee. Do sushi, chinese dumplings, mexican tacos or italian pizza change yours? I don’t think so. Starbucks is another coffee chain, we have many local ones and nobody is afraid of Starbucks. So don’t worry, maybe Starbucks changed the coffee history in USA, but not in the rest of the world, they are just another coffee chain .

By Christian [Hey Christian, I’ll see your venti latte and raise you a tall half decaf skinny no whip mumbo jumbo!]

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Starbucks, McDonalds, and every other multinational are not going to ruin the entire culture of a country. People always have a choice. When I travel around the globe for business, I see people wearing Nike (USA), Adidas (Germany) and the like. Do we also expect all Germans to be running around in lederhosen, all Japanese in Kimonos, and Scotts in kilts? Every person who complains on the internet about global business is responding on a computer made by a multinational company and connected through communication lines owned by multinational companies. People who are dead set against multinational business should either hole up in a shack in the woods like Theodore Kazinski or go live with the Taliban.

By Craig [While I am not a fan of do-or-die extremism—i.e., the Taliban remark—I like Craig’s point of view.]

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Can’t stop globalization. For every Starbucks that opens in Mexico, I’m sure there must be dozens, if not hundreds, of Mexican eateries opened by immigrants in the U.S. I just wish Starbucks would make more of an effort to be more environment-friendly to provide organic coffee.

By Lin [What is the sun shade thingie they got going if not environ friendly?]

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The real controversy isn’t about Starbucks it is about chain retailers and independent smaller family owned retailers. When traveling, I opt for the local offerings, full well knowing that I am probably helping to feed a family rather than a large corporation’s bottom line. Perhaps the familiarity when traveling out of one’s comfort zone is why folks stop in at a Starbucks. At home, I shop at independent book stores and coffee shops as well. These folks provide the very best in terms of service and impact on the local communities where they are located. Are we at risk losing the very fabric of independence and the authentic colorfulness of the world’s tapestry with the growth of mega world chains. As we travel the world may we do so in a spirit of support of those whose homeland we are guests.

By Pegg [So wise, Pegg, so wise…]

------------

As I said in the slide show, it’s easy to hate Starbucks. It’s also easy to assume that Starbucks is driving indie coffee shops out of business. In fact, a Slate.com story by the author of the new book “Starbucked” reported this:

“Just over their five-year period from 2000 to 2005—long after Starbucks supposedly obliterated indie cafes—the number of mom and pops grew 40 percent, from 9,800 to nearly 14,000 coffeehouses. (Starbucks, I might add, tripled in size over that same time period. Good times all around.) So much for the sharp decline in locally owned coffee shops.”

Here’s the link to the Slate piece:

http://www.slate.com/id/2180301/

By Jim Benning [Jim, you're a rock star!]

The Story of Stuff

2008-04-26T01:14:00.009-03:00

The woman is a tad annoying and fear-mongering but the vide o's worth watching.

If nothing else, it got me thinking about the stuff I still have in storage in LA. Truth to tell, I kinda wish I had more stuff, as I often feel that my self-imposed religious spring cleaning every few years leaves me not only with less clutter but fewer sustaining memories as well. What else is a treasured item but an invocation of time? It is absolutely true that things can hold value. Nothing inspires me more than a bookshelf stuffed to the gills with good reads, for example. But as I'm resigning myself to the vagabond life, I've managed to parse down my carpet bag to mostly these: photo albums, books, CDs, tapestries, old letters/cards/journals, a few ethnic knick-knacks received as presents, and oh yeah, a crate full of holiday ornaments. What stuff do you have?

America's Next Top President

2008-04-24T22:22:00.009-03:00

My friend Richard from my Los Angeles Unified days and his partner made this little spoof of America's Next Top Model. Check it out!

Animal, Vegetable, and Mineral

2008-04-19T19:55:00.010-03:00

Living in a quaint little town (I'm about 10 minutes away from downtown Bs.As.) affords me certain luxuries. I have a flower guy and a butcher guy and a vegetable/fruit guy and an ice cream guy and a world of guys (everything but a mineral guy) tending to my consumer needs. Some of them know me so well they bring me stuff before I even ask. And then there's my chocolate girls at my favorite chocolatier, who go out of their way to make sure I know of the latest concoctions when I visit. Tonight the adorable shopgirl on duty enthusiastically unveiled the stunning Caramel con Rosa and offered it to me on the house. Muy rico! So if you ever go by Vasalissa, be sure to try that and the Jengibre and the Trufas de Cappuccino. They'll surely knock your socks off on such autumn evenings.

Delurk

2008-04-19T16:44:00.003-03:00

I've about 30 regular lurkers a day who read this blog. Who are you lurkers? Say hi or something, dammit. I promise I only play bitch on TV.

A Coffee and a Smoke

2008-04-19T15:52:00.015-03:00

I think I'm finally turning shades of Argentine. I no longer find it thrilling or even feasible to buy coffee at a cafe every.single.day and am now relying on my Saeco espresso machine to get me off. Those 7-peso cups of cafe con leche sure do add up really fast (to about 200 pesos a month according to my 5th grade math skills). Holy smoke! And speaking of smoke, this little problem that's been engulfing Argentina, pun intended, is getting really tiring. Here's a Cliff's note guide for the folks back home:

- Farmers in the delta have been clearing grass by massively burning their land down, to get ready for the new bean crops (Argentina is like the third biggest soy producer in the world)
- It's rumored that the farmers are trying to get back at the govt for the recent tiff (strike in response to tax hike) so they're burning stuff down early this year before the winter weather can offset some environmental damages
- It's rumored that the land clearing came about as a cover-up for illegal/toxic trash burning
- With more than 200 fires currently raging, all of BA is paying the price with massively polluted skies
- Imagine a bonfire following you everywhere 24/7: it's in your bed, clothes, hair. It's akin to having been in an orgy with a roomful of 10-packs-a-day smokers. I was horrified to see how dark and soot-filled my shower water was the other day after I'd rinsed off.
- School may have to be closed next week and some families are heading south or leaving for Chile until the air clears; it's that bad
- The government doesn't seem that concerned with stopping these fires
- According to an Argentine coworker, the farmers are putting out these fires with whips (WTF?)
- Helicopters are inadequate to the task (or maybe they're not being used?)
- The US embassy has issued an advisory to basically seal up all windows and limit outdoor activities (prompting me to cancel that 18-hole golf game I'd planned)
- All my years of living in LA (and traveling in Asia) have not prepared me for this--it's the most toxic thing I've encountered!
- I have a headache around the clock now and am wheezing and coughing constantly. My lungs feel so heavy. (PITY ME, DAMMIT!)

Srly, I'm not sure how much more I can take. The only thing helping me to escape this weekend is my brother's new CD. Check it out. I love my brother.

God, I love Sundays!

2008-04-13T14:44:00.008-03:00

I've just spent the last couple hours leisurely sifting through more than 500 photos of the world's street foods found here on this Flickr slideshow, my movie-viewing snack of choice being a giant bowl of popcorn liberally doused with melted butter, curry powder, shoyu, black pepper, and nutritional yeast and a tall glass of condensed-milk-sweetened Thai iced tea (I had brought a giant bag of these tea leaves from the Bangkok market in LA)--all this after a proper Argentine breakfast of medialunas de manteca and café con leche con crema. God, I love Sundays.

Deja View

2008-04-12T10:35:00.006-03:00

Sometimes in your new home, you get flashes of life from your previous one that throw you off course. They're there but for a moment, and then gone. I was walking to the neighborhood panaderia early this morning to get a handful of fresh medialunas and pan con queso for the rowdy crowd at home, when it hit me: 18 inches of masala dosa, served crisp and regal. It's not the picture-perfect focus but the emotive fallout that surprised (and also not), the voice inside my head reaffirming that I must hearken back to my Asian roots in my next wandering.

Here's the last masala dosa I had from January of this year (Artesia, CA).

Strip

2008-04-06T12:08:00.006-03:00

Broke out of my anti-social mold and went to a bachelorette party last night. Dayyum, in Argentina the male strippers get more natural, if you know what I mean and I think you do. I actually have some x-rated shots, but this is an old-fashioned family blog, fer fuck's sake.

Good Afternoon, Vietnam

2008-04-05T17:04:00.010-03:00

I just had one of those spontaneously cool afternoons where my aimless meandering ended up more interesting than anything I could plan.

I was in Palermo for my monthly injection of Mark's Deli's iced mocha (btw, they offer it para llevar now, and it felt rather deliciously SoCal walking around with a big plastic cup and straw--I know, I know, I'm lame) and decided to wander into the Vietnam store, a way cool but way expensive boutique selling gorgeous clothing mostly in red and yellow hues created in that SE Asian country by hopefully well-compensated locals. Anyhow as it turned out the restaurant in the back of the store opened for business as of last night, and I ended up sampling the spring rolls and the classic café su da. And get this--they even have pho on the menu, though not today for some reason. Oscar and Marta, the couple that owns the store/restaurant, were so excited to meet someone born near Vietnam that they just pulled up a chair at my table, and we chatted like three old pals for nearly an hour.

And that in a nutshell encapsulates what I love best about Argentina: the friendliness, warmth, and open curiosity of complete strangers. So that's the good news anyway; the bad news is the food needs...um, to kindly put it, improvement. Times like these I wish my mom were here to give them a tip or two. She can outcook anyone, including Vietnamphilic Argentines.

(Alas, I didn’t have my camera with me today…)

Everyone Hates Me or (otherwise titled) Woe Is Me

2008-04-04T23:25:00.019-03:00

It's as inevitable as the setting sun or death & taxes. There comes a point in every personal relationship I have when I become disappointing. (At least here at work it's taken me two years to get there.) And what I mean by that is I just don't need people enough or alcohol-induced socialization enough for whatever the fuck's considered normal, and this lack of need gets in the way of perception. Maybe it comes down to extroversion vs. introversion--not to be confused with shyness--but I really would rather spend my weekends/evenings strolling the city discovering new stuff all by my lonesome, or curled up with a good book, than with mass companions. This has served me well back home, but I'm finding that in the insular, artificially shrunken world of expatting, it stamps a big scarlet S (for "savant") on your forehead (or in my case, fivehead) the more your RSVPs fall resoundingly in the "No" column.

Case in point, last weekend I decided not to go to a progressive dinner party (the kind where you walk to a new home for each course) when I realized there would be kre8tiv games played in teams (such as, create a silly new dance with your teammates!). If there exists an alternative hellish social event as creative team games, I sure couldn't picture it (oh OK, a scrapbooking circle with Oprah fans?). The end result was alienation from a few coworkers. Because here's the thing about international teaching, you are certainly eating where you're shitting and your coworkers are indeed your friends, no matter how much you resist the notion. It's a mind-altering amalgam of that adage, "you can pick your friends, but you can't pick your family." sigh

ETA: This is all orthogonally related to whether I like my coworkers, which I do. There are some great people in the bunch.

Apropos of Something

2008-04-04T23:08:00.005-03:00

I wrote about bad customer service being the norm here just the other day and funnily enough this afternoon my Argentine friend (the one with the sister who's just moved back from the States) unveiled to me their secret plan to open a business in the near future offering what they called "American-style customer service." I swear I didn't mention my recent spate of complaints to them, because I have better manners than that, y'know?

Grub, Good Ones

2008-04-02T15:43:00.005-03:00

I just had the greatest Carrefour shopping experience--well, as great as it can be considering the double-digit inflation (ouch). In my cart were the following super-cool items:

- Pepperidge Farm orange Milanos (a new import)
- Pepperidge Farm goldfish, pizza flavor (another new import)
- these Hong Kong brand potato snax, mayonnaise & tomato flavor (how I love weird Asian stuff)
- this Argentine version of mac-n-cheese, a hit at our house (actually, it tastes so much cheesier/better than Kraft's)
- a giant box of Toffifay

I'm almost sure I should be ashamed of the above food choices, but lalalalala...I can't hear you, health conscience.

To Counter the Previous Post...

2008-04-02T13:03:00.005-03:00

I hereby commend Cafe de Paris in Vicente Lopez for their consistently good service. Prompt offering of the menu and no disappearance once the food's been delivered. Customer service rating: 3/4 stars!

A Series of Misfortunate Events

2008-04-02T10:04:00.020-03:00

Lately I've gotten such bad customer service (one time sitting in an almost-empty café for nearly 20 minutes before the girl stopped her window cleaning to come over and take my order*) that useless bitching about it to random expat coworkers is no longer enough, dammit. From now on I'm going to post about it here to appease my tortured soul. (Don’t worry, should I get the unexpected above-average service, I’ll boast about it here too.) I really don't get how in Argentina, on a top-ten list of priorities in daily business operation, customer service falls perhaps 7 or 8.** Isn't having repeat customers a very basic business tenet? Kinda like, making profits = good?

I've an Argentine friend whose sister just re-moved here after living 7 years in the States, and she's utterly horrified to recall the minute details of Getting Things Done. Case in point, she goes to buy a cell phone her first week. It fails to work when she gets back home, apparently not picking up a signal. She calls the guy who sold it to her, and he pleads ignorance, even going so far as to hang up on her twice out of anger! So she goes back to the place and, instead of getting to speak to a live person, is ushered to a phone area where complaining customers call to uh … voice their complaints. The case is still unresolved.

Another Argentine friend: Her home line just goes dead one day. She makes numerous calls to the phone company, but no repairman comes out. One day her boyfriend happens to spot a phone guy in uniform out and about in their neighborhood and decides to offer him money to come and have a look. He finds out that the phone line’s been cut, probably by a neighbor. And get this--this actually took place THREE months ago, and still the company has yet to send anyone over to fix the problem. (They can't go with a new phone service because unlike the States each company has a monopoly on an area.) Here’s the kicker: They’re still getting their monthly phone bills as per usual and, when they complained, were told at least they’re given a small discount off the regular fee. The case is still unresolved.

Here’s me: I live in a house and thus pay a municipal fee. All fine and good. After all, someone has to pay to fix the cracks on the sidewalk and to staff the guard booths. Oh wait. So this fee has been 45 pesos a month for the past year and half. But then lo and behold, one day I open my mail to see that it’s jumped from 45 pesos to 162 (that’s a 360% inflation)! No explanations, just a business-as-usual bill with the giant hike. Horrified, I ask a friend who speaks fluent Spanish to call the company to see why we residents were getting reamed up the ass. The municipal lady says to her--the property value went up, what do you expect?! What indeed! And then last week, I get yet another bill from the city this time saying I owe three back payments from 2007, all random months. (But, but--I made all my payments.) So I call to inquire, and the lady on the phone snottily says, you need to bring in proof that you made the payments. Say what? Of course I have the receipts showing I paid those months but my greater point is this: How can their system utterly fail to show that the payments were made when they were done electronically? Or are they scamming me and hoping I wouldn’t have the receipts? And, what a huge pain in the ass this all is!

OK I am tired of whingeing, though I’ve plenty more examples. Business students, I want a writeup of these case studies on my desk by tomorrow morning.

* Oftentimes I get tired of waiting and seek out the waitstaff myself but on this particular day, I refused to.

** I'm in no way saying bad customer service can't happen in the States. The question isn't, does it happen, but is it likely to as a rule? Perhaps the nature of the American litigious society and the "customer is always right" mantra prevent abysmal operations in mass quantities. Also in the States, there exists a hierarchy so that if you encounter an asshole, you can go to his manager or his manager's manager. And if a product fails to do what it's supposed to, there's an infrastructure in place to solve the problem. Until businesses in Argentina buy into the accepted model of "good customer service -> repeat/more customers -> greater profits"--and let's face it, even a 50% buy-in would be an improvement--businesses will continue to be poorly run here. /soapbox

Dreaming of Warmer Places

2008-03-30T23:22:00.003-03:00

El Calafate

2008-03-30T22:46:00.013-03:00

(1) The Edenia, a fantastically remote hotel with 4-star service and Lago Argentino in the backyard, (2) the Perito Moreno Glacier, bigger than the entire city of Buenos Aires, (3) a friendly little iceberg we ran into on the all-glaciers tour, (4) crampons, red carpet hot, (5) the Spegazzini Glacier, as tall as a 24-story building.

Dear Abby

2008-03-30T19:58:00.011-03:00

I get uh...interesting emails on occasion, and this is no exception. If Suzette was sincere, then I deeply apologize and sympathize with the wonky stress that's causing her to think either (1) I'm Argentine (you don't even have to read this blog carefully to know I'm too much of a first-world asshole to be from here), or (2) I have an insider's perspective on the people's history of Argentina (and yeah, I'll be sure to get some advice from all the Argentines I know on how an American can survive the crash. After all, the two economic systems are the same). If Suzette's a big ol' fake, I say kudos on the political porn spam. It sure beats being asked if I'd like to see young girls with farm animals.

--------------------------------

Hello! Hola!

I was looking around for an Argentine blog in English & ended up looking at yours. Hope you do not mind the snooping, but I have a purpose & some questions that I hope 'people in Argentina can answer for me....

Given what is going on right now with America's financial infrastructure, which is so horrible & beyond the pale that I cannot believe that our news media is talking about anything else (!!!) Idiots that they are!

Anyway..

Makes me wonder about what Argentina went through, when the economic system there went under collapse.. I was just old enough to notice, but not old enough to fully pay attention.

For the average person, what was that like?

How did people survive?

What lessons could we learn from Argentina's experience & how could an average person like myself prepare to endure a national financial melt down?

Because, short of foreign nations deciding to keep the Golden Goose of America laying eggs, we are likely to implode under the weight of outrageous financial shenanigans perpetuated by our banking institutions and investment banks.

Talk about a group of insane, greedy, clueless ass holes!!! They have really done a number on us all.

Every day, more is revealed about the extent of their insanity.. The Federal Reserve has thrown out the rule book & just keeps pumping more money into their hands, as if somehow they would ever have enough money to bail out trillions & trillions of dollars of debt! There is no way they can do that!!

I cannot believe it, now I see that the Fed is going to auction of ANOTHER BILLION DOLLARS to these financial CRIMINALS.

There may not have been a law against what they have done, but if so, that is only because our politicians were too stupid to regulate these greedy crooks! Shocking!

Anyway., Since I am afraid we are headed for a meltdown & soon.. do the Argentines have some advice, based on their own experience, of how an average citizen can survive such a thing?

I would deeply appreciate your response & perspective.. It is outrageous that such a rich country should find itself in this situation, but we have been raped by men with no conscience at all.

Thank you..

The Vacaying Mind

2008-03-15T19:46:00.015-02:00

Day 1:

Truly, being on vacation rox, and when I grow up I´m gonna be on vacation forever! It´s magical really. As soon as the school bell sounded on Friday, a dam burst forth from my leaden chest kinda Alien like and I started feeling all Julie-Andrews giddy, spinning and dancing in my living room later that night while stuffing my carryon to the gills with fake Advils, scarves, fluffy novels (such as Carl Hiaasen´s Skinny Dip), and the shortest platform shoes I could unearth from my closet. Where was I going? I´ve already arrived, dear readers, in El Calafate, Patagonia, where wide swathes of blue skies amply beckon, cozy artesanal chocolate shops litter the main drag, and the air feels so fucking fresh you even forget to admonish your teen for forgetting to pack his deodorant. El Calafate, home to one of the few advancing glaciers in the world (Al Gore´s exception), and we´re going trekking on it tomorrow morning. Wheee. I sure hope those crampons look hot with my fake hiking outfit. (Seriously, I own no pants so you can imagine the trainwreck appearance I have in store for my tour group.)

Even our flight on Aerolineas went unhitched. And I was so ready to bitch about delays, rude tudes, and third-world infrastructured aeroparque. Not even close. Everything went according to God´s plan. Even our hotel is as contrary to the Buenos Aires customer service (as in none) credo as you can divine. The staff here is bemusingly exemplary and get this--proactive in their job, seeking us out for talk of shuttle times and catered box lunches and internet access and why it´s not worth it to buy a VIP seat on Monday´s all-glaciers cruise and would you like another cup of cafe con leche delivered to your room and my shift is over so may I introduce you to the new guy? Anyone thinking of coming to earth´s end? Please stay at the Edenia and tell them theshortestfuse sent besos.

Dinner awaits, so more to come though it must be said--I really wish you were here.

God Bless America!

2008-03-13T23:17:00.009-02:00

I've a care package coming, and damn if I ain't praying like mad that these cans* will make a surprise appearance. They would look stunning next to my processed cheese spray (white cheddar flave). Yes, yes, I realize they'd never eke by TSA and require refrigeration and blah blah, but whatever dude. Stop marshing my mallow. I sincerely hope chocolate chip cookie dough is in the works.

* no preparation, no mess, no clean up, and organic to boot. genius

Call of Duty

2008-02-21T23:07:00.003-02:00

Earworms

2008-02-16T18:58:00.026-02:00

I don't listen to the radio much here. Even so, it's hard to avoid pop hits as they somehow manage to earworm their way into my subconsciousness, just like in the states. This track, Limon y Sal, by Julieta Venegas, who I think is actually Mexican (wiki's just informed me she was born in TJ! How cool is that?), was everywhere a year and a half ago when I first arrived. Hence, I'm linking it for posterity. I know one day when I'm far, far away, the memories of living in Argentina will flood me upon hearing it.

This year's soundtrack is inescapable if you happen to watch TV. Miranda's catchy salsa-esque Perfecta, all 3 minutes and 44 seconds of it, plays continuously on Sony TV. Seriously. Every other commercial break invokes it! Either the band is related to someone at the station or they have some major dough. Maybe one of the band members is a Kirchner third cousin? Also, how hot is the guy in the lime shirt and orange overalls (despite the lime shirt and orange overalls)? Also, doesn't the lead lady look Almodovarish? Also, is that supposed to be a pomegranate?

A Letter for Misha

2008-02-12T15:03:00.002-02:00

Misha Bruck, 12/xx/1961 - 2/10/2008

“What does it mean to have lived a good life?”
Lars, age 7: It means that you had a nice time your whole life.
Darya, age 6: It means somebody did something sweet to you, or you did something sweet to them.
Elyss, age 7: It means you had people to love.

Our first talk was on Harry Potter,
when you brazenly called JK Rowling an egomaniac.
You were golden tanned, carefree, having left a boat job
garbed in your bleached white shorts,
an attire that would be lovingly mocked by your wife,
time and again.
You scoffed, “She had the nerve to demand an all British cast!”
I disagreed with you,
but thought it funny your passion
about banal books you wouldn’t dare open.
I didn’t know the fervor you would have
for everyday things,
though they would be later recounted by Emu to me:
edible wildflowers
the Nazis in Argentina
Jon Stewart
dogs and cats and birds
good food and drinks (even sharing my love of Malta)
gardening
books, the lot of them
wanderlust
and of course, your wife

It’s a cliché to say we don’t know what we have
until we lose it.
It’s even a cliché to deem that a cliché.
But forgive me, Misha, for not telling you sooner than here:
How kind and good-hearted I thought you were
How grateful I was to have you in Emu’s life
How happy you made her, a cherished wife
And how she found her match in you in these wondrous ways:
the whimsy—
that walks the world with a playful patter
the critic—
that sees the world with enviable clarity
the artist—
that creates and creates
(while the rest of us posture)
the traveler—
that casts the world and oceans as an office backdrop
Morocco, a honeymoon destination

You were something of a maverick,
at times bruised by rules, all rosy colored
at times kicking them to the curb, unsung
but always passing by
with a genuine heart, and brio.

I know you’re somewhere in the outer realm now,
with an eye at Machu Picchu
and a bookcase of facts at your disposal,
crafting that soup café you wanted to open
in the same careful, loving way you built your fountain
in the yard where Lazarus now roams
looking for you.
So it is, that we will one day again feast all together.
But until then—
a toast:
to the good life you lived
and the many people you loved.

Luxury

2008-02-10T12:44:00.001-02:00

"Of course it isn't necessary, but sometimes a little luxury is necessary." - snooty in-law
"What the hell does that even mean?" - Marie

I'd been watching too many DVD reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond, a reliably funny, albeit unglamorous show. So in an effort to reduce my dependence on old sitcoms (last year, it was nonstop The Office, so overplayed in our household that both spawn and I would dream nightly of the characters), I splurged and got digital cable last week. An outright lie--I got it because the thought of not getting 24/7 election coverage this year in English seemed unbearable. So now I'm happily cocooned in BBC and CNN International, no other soundtrack even necessary. Another blatant lie. Because with digital cable, you get about a dozen music-only channels, a decent international mix, though my mainstay so far's been the Opera channel. Washing dishes is so much sexier with Don Giovanni.

Other perks I'd missed from my previous incarnation as watcher of digital cable:

- onscreen TV guide, making it easier to keep track of Anthony Bourdain's "No Reservations," which seems to follow no rhyme or reason in scheduling
- the helpful "Info" button, particularly living abroad where movie titles get changed (and not always logically translated either). It's kinda like immersing oneself in a twisted game of "Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon." I see an incomprehensible movie title on Info, take note of the actor names--Matthew McConaughey, Kate Hudson--and 1, 2, 3 seconds later... scream verily unto myself: How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days! Oh-so fun. Ready to play along? Kenneth Branagh, Helena Bonham-Carter, Tom Hulce ... (no Googling allowed!)
- more frequent current eps of The Daily Show with my beloved Jon
- More Asia coverage, or just international coverage, and not just news stuff. Yesterday I caught a half-hour show on my favorite Bollywood actor, Shah Rukh Khan
- possible Tifaux feature

Having said that, the BIGGEST nonperk is the loss of our SAP function! SAP, if you don't know, allows you to undub any program and restore it to its original language. With SAP, we were able to turn the Simpsons back into English. Needless to say, someone in the house who's not me isn't very happy with digital cable. And to assuage guilt, yesterday someone who was me went out to buy him a DVD collection of Futurama.

Gig: Photo Hunting!

2008-02-10T12:39:00.001-02:00

I've decided to start doing PhotoHunt's weekly photography challenges, since my Java Junket (I had to look up the name since I'd long forgotten it) was such a raging success at keeping me unbored. (Careful readers may detect a tad of sarcasm.) Also, I covet a digital SLR and hope to have one by my next post (as in country, not as in blog writeup), so practice, practice, practice.

This week: heavy

I is for Inefficiency

2008-02-09T00:56:00.002-02:00

It never fails to amaze me how difficult it is to procure a simple train ticket in Argentina. Six times out of ten the ticket machine is out of order, at which point I cross the tracks to visit the other machine (neither ticket booths are manned after early afternoon in my little town), where nine times out of ten "exacto cambio" is lit up. Okaaay, but here's the rub: The fare is no longer a handy 50 centavo, as the rate's just been raised to 65, requiring me to search deep pockets for a friggin 10 centavo piece--not that plentiful to go around--and the unfuckingbelievably elusive 5 centavo piece! Arrgh. So what this ultimately means is that in sheer disgust and utter frustration, I end up jumping the train without a ticket. But hey, that's OK, because five times out of ten there's no one to collect it at my destination anyway.

Home Free Home

2008-02-07T21:15:00.001-02:00

The Workhorse vs. the Showhorse

2008-02-07T19:09:00.002-02:00

Long but well worth it.

Oh yeah, and this.

I was talking to an old friend last night and joked about how just as I won't let Oprah (arguably my most-despised American after Dick Cheney) influence my book choices, likewise with presidential candidates. What I meant to say was, even when I've wanted to tackle a novel widely critically acclaimed, something happens as soon as I spot that O label, and I'd sooner curl up with Danielle Steele than be caught with it. (My almost-exception being Night, by Elie Wiesel, which was on my Amazon wishlist years before gaining endorsement by her maudgesty. Honest.)

What I meant to say was, I have always had a difficult time with the cult of personality, Oprah or otherwise, and this blind worshipful thing in the media with Obama (did you read the fanboy article by Chabon?), whom I like OK, is irksome. I guess I inspire the opposite of that maternal adage: If everyone jumps off a cliff, would you?

See for me, it comes down to the heart vs. head thing, and it's why no matter how many lavish talks my born-again folks glob onto me, I just.don't.feel.it. Promises of heaven and eternal soul sound purty, but homegirl needs the nitty gritty, or just evidence, lots of it. I'm not willing to will a half-full glass out of thin air.

So what I'm trying to say is, given the state of our country, I don't want a prez who'll take a bit to get his feet wet, who conveniently has no record of human failings up for attack. And really, I'm rather pissed at Obama for throwing himself in the way right now, when what we want is to wrestle the WH away from the Repugs. Come back in 8 or 12.

But what I really, really want to say is, this is the first time I've actually liked our top two, and that fact alone gives me hope. No audacity needed, thankyouverymuch.

Dumpling Dearest

2008-02-05T23:34:00.003-02:00

Southern California has a huge Asian demographic, and if I remember correctly, in my premed program at UC Irvine, we actually outnumbered whites by 3:1. So it's no surprise that not only can you find grub of every ethnicity there but it's almost always sensationally prepared. And I'm not talking Disneyfied PF Chang or anything with higher than a B health code rating, but grimy little grub towns like Little Saigon or Thai Town, where the more health code violations served up, the tastier your dish is likely to be. (Just kidding, sort of.)

So here's my favorite dim sum place in Orange County. My family's been coming here for more than 20 years now, and I've watched myself age right along with the little old lady cartpushers. The place's not as feverishly patronized as those in Monterey Park. In fact, a name search on Chowhound.com turned up nothing, which pleases me to no end as it's horrific enough to wait 40 minutes for a table on the weekends. But man, is it worth it. The dim sum here has an appealing Chinese-Cambodian fusion, which basically means more heapings of fried garlic in everything. It's a good way to mix up the LA organic sprouted food living in which I indulge occasionally (although admittedly not enough). Ying and yang. Crash and burn. My m.o. in a salty/sweet nutshell.

Here are just some of what we sampled during our last visit. And fuck you blogger for screwing up my captions again! (They tried to make me go to html tables and I said, no, no, no!)

shu mai: plump shrimp in translucent rice paper

some kinda shrimp/pork dumpling, in stew

pork with water chestnuts

battered, deep fried (some kinda) fish with roe. sounds nasty but tasty to bite into into a belly full of eggs.

soft tofu stuffed with shrimp paste

my fave: taro balls with meat filling in a crunchy potato flake? shell

sticky rice with Chinese sausage with bits of scallion

fried turnip cake with chives, incredible texture and taste

the only dim sum dessert I like: sesame balls with red bean filling

a typical overburdened cart

chili paste: the sine qua non of any dim sum experience

PhotoHunt: Play

2008-02-05T19:34:00.001-02:00

I've decided to start doing PhotoHunt's weekly photog challenges, since my Java Junket (I had to look up the name since I'd long forgotten it) was such a raging success at keeping me unbored. (Careful readers may detect a tad of sarcasm.) Also, I covet a digital SLR and hope to have one by my next post (as in country, not as in blog writeup), so practice, practice, practice.

So this week: narrow

Force Fed on Durian Love

2008-02-03T21:50:00.001-02:00

When I was a wee lass growing up in Phnom Penh, one of the signs that my oft-traveling father was nearing home was the kitchen appearance of the thorny sexy durian fruit in all its spiky glory (people die wandering below its trees unaware, just so you know). Much is written about this most-maligned fruit in the foodie world that I needn't bother. Oh OK, I will bother. It's like the foie gras of the fruit world, neatly dividing eaters into two camps: slaves and heretics. Unlike foie gras, the only torture to be endured is the scent; the taste is not unlike heaven.

So when pops came home from his travels to France or the states, we kids would gather around the fruit, giddy with excitement as our taste buds started Pavloving away. Pa would show off his durian brandishing skills with much pomp and circumstance (I'm talking to you, Anthony Bourdain!), deftly prying each compartment gently open to expose plump custardy membranes, each one curled in undisturbed slumber. Then we would devour them, thoroughly, sitting in a circle, until one by one, the custard disappeared. Much more than just the taste, durians to me have always stood for poignant reunions and homecomings, long ago centered around my father, until a few years ago around my younger sister who strayed the furthest from the rest of us (picking her up from the airport meant a trip to the produce section of the 99 Ranch Market), these days around myself when I return home from Argentina.

Long live the durian! Also--you haven't lived until you try my mom's coconut sticky rice with durian pudding. Wanna meet mom?

Admit It--You Missed Me!

2008-02-02T14:28:00.001-02:00

I've had little inspiration lately, dear readers; hence, the lack of posting. Perhaps my sole energy's been too focused on eating and napping and shopping and lounging and eating some more, with little brio left to lift a posting digit. Because I'm constitutionally lazy, I won't bother to recount the heartstopping excitement of my nearly 7-week break. Instead, a photo montage... BTW, other than my possible ineptitude, why is it so effin' difficult to post multiple pictures in blogger? I want a scattered layout with captions, y'all, but instead they get jumbled in one congealed column. Any tips out there not involving html tables--I'm only willing to divert my napping energy so much.

Edit: Never mind, I'm a slut to flickr mosaics now...

Reducing Blur

2008-01-19T23:57:00.002-02:00

I'm wasting time at a Starbucks in West LA, awaiting spawn who's chilling at the home of an old school friend. As my visit here wraps up, I feel swirls of angst, one part dread at the thought of returning to work (despite this being my best professional gig yet), one part melancholy at having to bid family adieu again, and at the very center, a chewy nougat of excitement at the thought that in exactly a year and a half, I'll be expatriating to some other fascinating part of the world. The world is big--did you know that?

Paging Mr. Fleeting!

2007-12-27T16:10:00.001-03:00

My favorite signs on the voyage.

The View from Seat 17

2007-12-27T10:40:00.000-03:00

Vive Via Bariloche

2007-12-27T09:43:00.001-03:00

Anyone who knows me IRL knows I've been waxing poetic about coche cama travel for a while now, without having actually been on one! (Anyone who knows me IRL knows I tend to do that, plead fanaticism without the benefit of personal knowledge--it's a charmingly irksome trait.) ANYWAY, I can now put my money where my mouth is (or whatever the fuck that saying is) as my first foray into these luxury long-distance buses (my chosen empresa, Via Bariloche) lived up to (most) expectations.

Check out the photos:

- Seats that recline an advertised 180 degrees, altho equipped with my handy-dandy protractor, I measured a mere 175, but any flatter is arguably worse since it imparts the sensation of having your head lower than your feet (courtesy of pulledoutofmyass.com). The ottoman can be set on decline or flat.

- Cookies & coffee at greeting; cold & hot meals for dinner; breakfast; beverage choice of champagne, wine, sodas, or water.

- Movies in English with Spanish subtitles: Eragon, Transformers, Spiderman 3 (none my taste); also a mostly crapful yet bizarre compilation of late 80s music videos--can you spot the angsty Sinead O'Connor before she went all pope-insane? On-board entertainment is perhaps your only wild card, since DVD choice will depend on your steward, and speak of the devil...

- A personal steward, who by decree has to be strappingly handsome (in the photo, he was offering candy)

We did coach to Iguazu (approx. U$S60) but opted for first class (approx. U$S80) back. Trust me--worth the splurge. Coach, while more comfortable than the typical airplane seat, felt cramped and of course, was nowhere near a flat bed. Also, your odds of sitting next to a baby with croup and a nose-picking toddler are 10x higher than on first class. (This I did have firsthand experience.) Now I know that roundtrip airfare to Iguazu is not that much more, but I'm a firm believer that travel isn't travel unless done on the ground. And being able to lavishly tour Misiones in all its red-earth glory was worth it.

But back to my first-class busing, the 16 hours just flew by and by. Maybe it had to do with sleeping next to a 4-ft-wide window cocooned in a lulling, rolling vehicle, where I was treated to a spectacular view of unrelenting pine forests, the aforementioned tierra roja, a lago, and assorted crackerjack towns with sunkissed kids waving, replete with lightning at sundown (see next post for visuals). I'm def sold on this (a modern person's) version of a vision quest.

Too bad the filthy Greyhound can't come close. I'd love to visit all the flyover states thisaway.

Random Shots From Colonia del Sacramento, Uruguay

2007-12-23T13:51:00.001-03:00

Only in South America can you rent a friggin' golf cart and drive it down a major road. God bless South America, I love it so! It was nervewrackin' hilarity to weave around the giant trucks and tour buses blasting our clown horn. (So fun I almost peed myself.) The faint-hearted rent their golf carts downtown, whereas we did it right off the Buquebus and chugged along at 15 mph from the port to the historic district. Haha, are we men or mice?! Men! (albeit stupid ones...)

One mar on an otherwise perfect day: The cannibalistic menu! I'd heard of reverse discrimination but this, quite frankly, is taking it a tad too far...(although it seems to taste like chicken).

My Vacay Officially Begins!

2007-12-23T11:45:00.002-03:00

Hello, all you ardent readers. Here's my itinerary for the next 6 weeks, posted because I'm a list whore. If you plan to stalk & kill me, do yourself a favor and look for the Paris Hilton wig and white sunshades, mk?

12/23 - 12/27: Iguazu Falls (hopefully with a peek from the Brazil side)
12/29 - 1/7: Los Angeles, Coto de Caza, San Diego, Poway
1/7 - 1/12: Cruise to Cabo San Lucas and vicinity
1/12 - 1/25: Southern Cal again with side excursions to San Francisco and possibly Taos and Santa Fe, New Mexico
1/25 - 2/3: Back to South America for another coche cama trip, either north to Córdoba or south to Junin de los Andes to visit Elizabeth and her brood.

Now I want me a pretty little rag & bone! (Apropos of nothing, how good is that Argentine beverage ananá fizz?! It's like a boozy Cactus Cooler...)

EZE Was Anything But!

2007-12-22T22:01:00.001-03:00

Last night was one of those zany-in-a-bad-way experiences from airport hell, a cautionary tale for children to tell their parents, less such parents forget the all-important key to the magic kingdom.

It started so well. At 5 PM, spawn and I took a remise to EZE for his solo flight to the US. We made it in under an hour, a work of miracles considering it was afterwork Friday and a holiday weekend. We've become such adroit international travelers, he and I--each racking up more than 12K miles every year--that we practically sleepwalked through the officialism: paid the unaccompanied minor's fee of U$S75 at the AA counter, got his boarding pass, paid the airport tax of U$S18, bought some dollars at the exchange window. As smooth as a baby goose's behind.

Then came the moment of farewell: Spawn and I exchanged a tearful-only-on-my-part goodbye, 'til we meet again in exactly a week. Being a most excellent mom, I harangued him nonstop:* Call or text once you get through security and immigration, call or text before boarding, make sure you get boarded first with elderly people, text when you get to Chicago, text when you board Chicago for LA. Simple, right?

I waited a few minutes after he disappeared from view, then wandered outside the airport building for what seemed like miles to buy my ticket for the Manual Tienda Leon bus heading downtown. I was positively excited by the deed, since it would have marked my first colectivo experience in Argentina. I wanted a leisure bus ride back into town, collecting my thoughts on another semester's end.

So I got my ticket (32 pesos) at the kiosco and began waiting for the 7:30 bus, the saleslady losing patience with me as I bugged her yet again, yo espero aqui? (There was no bus stop sign or line or designation, except in her mind.) She rolled her eyes, si, si! Ten minutes passed, and I was as dubious as ever, until around the corner a giant bus started to turn toward me... but wait...here's a call from spawn! He sounded exasperated, "Mom, the immigration guy says I can't go because I'm missing some sorta letter!"

Me: "Wha--? What letter? Show them your unaccompanied minor card!"

Him: "I did! They said I don't have my parents' permission to travel alone!"

Me, the realization of what I'd forgotten settling in: "Oh shit! Meet me where we parted."

I hauled ass back to the airport and saw spawn tearfully coming out of security. He said we needed to go downstairs and talk to the Migraciones people. We had a mere 30 minutes before boarding.

I took one micro-look at the Migraciones lady and knew doomsville. And by golly, if my Spanish vocabulary of 19 words utterly failed me on such an occasion. She had even less English. We were practically miming, with spawn too upset to be helpful in any sense of the word. (Ninety minutes of daily Spanish at school for naught.) Finally, one rueful traveler opined, "You really should go back to the AA office and see if they can sort it out for you" (or lady, you've hogged the window long enough, it's my goddamn turn). And so we hauled more major ass across the diameter of the airport.

The lad at the AA counter started with, "You shouldn't need the letter because you're American citizens.** You're on vacation, right?"

Me: "Not exactly, we're living here."

Lad: "Ahh...that's the problem. You need the letter."

Me, playing dumb: "What letter is this? His father is in the states and he's going there to be with him, so of course he has his permission to travel!"

Lad's manager, newly emerged from the aircon room in the back: "You need the letter. I was in this situation years ago, and my father had to go to the consulate in the United States to get his permission notarized. I'm sorry, [and...here come the dreaded words] there's nothing we can do." Arrrgh, arrrgh, fuck me!

Here's the thing: I am practically OCD when it comes to this kinda crap. I had my custody papers translated by a certified translator, notarized, Apostilled, and coddled by Silvia, the frighteningly robotic gatekeeper at the Argentine Consulate in Los Angeles. Ditto for every other scraps validating my right to live, and spawn's. (Actually, getting a work visa for Argentina required everything short of being blessed by the Pope, though I had my rez for Italy ready should that've been necessary.) For the past year and a half, I dutifully carried around this dossier of very.important.papers (including the Consent for International Travel of Minor) whenever we traveled, but not once were we ever asked for them. So, on spawn's very first solo exit from Argentina, it slipped my (already vacationing) mind that he'd need them. Looking back, it seems so frankly idiotic this oversight, I feel I need to be taken out back and shot.

The silver lining: I was able to recoup the bus ticket, the unaccompanied minor's fee, the airport tax, though it cost me an extra U$S254 to switch spawn's tickets to my same flight. (There goes the iPod nano I was going to get myself. It is to weep...)

Actually, the real silver lining is that this morning I was able to procure seats for spawn on my coche cama trip to Iguazu tomorrow. I'm totally excited;*** he's somewhat excited. I sincerely hope we travel happily ever after.

The End

-----
Footnotes:

* Spawn's traveled as an unaccompanied minor plentiful times with better than no hassles, he was treated like royalty. Thus, this fiasco was orthogonally related to his solo traveling.

** Lad's incorrect: You need the other parent's permission regardless of whether you're residing or vacationing in Argentina.

*** Though I still feel like a fucktard for last night's debacle.

Unscathed

2007-12-18T22:32:00.001-03:00

At the risk of jinxing myself--knock, knock, knock--my stay in Argentina in general and BA in particular has been pretty damn safe. I've meandered home punch-drunk many a times in the dark of night, with little unease about my own safety, my path from the mitre to home as tranquil as can be. For the past 18 months I witnessed no crime as a matter of fact, short of littering, which sadly is as common as teen couples playing tongue twister in public--do I sound like an old grouch or what? (Get off my goddamn lawn, you stupid brats!) Yes, yes, I realize littering is not a crime here.

All that changed last Sunday when on the way home from DT on the midday tren, I was suddenly jolted out of my seat by a deafeningly cacophonous C-R-A-C-K! A rock the breadth of my fist had come flying through the window and just barely missed my noggin. The train cops ushered a few of us onto the platform for a head-shakin' good time, and it took no less than 10 minutes to dislodge the splintered glass particles. The window seater next to me was not so lucky and had to be rushed to the hospital to have her scalp examined. On a calamity scale, it seemed like nothing in retrospect, more like the hijinks of a bored street kid--a bored stupid kid, that is. Still, it was terrifying in its own way, if only because for a weentsy split second I was convinced, like a good little American, that it was an act of terrorism.

You'll Thank Me Later

2007-12-15T21:06:00.001-03:00

I'm always on the lookout for new-to-me music that's good. Check out Glide's top 20 albums of 2007, complete with YouTube links. Most of them are too slow and folksy for my taste tho, and I'd only previously heard of 5/20. Outragedly, I ask where's Wilco's "Sky Blue Sky" on that list?! Wholeheartedly, I concur with "Icky Thump." Additionally, I was heartened to see that Battles, Arcade Fire (I LOVED their Funeral album!), Animal Collective, and the Shins got an honorable mention. Happily, I'm off to listen to Andrew Bird.

(My very unscientific thoughts on the top 20: The "Breaker" video by Low is appropriately low-budget funny; the National reminds me of Interpol; "The Underdog" tune is catchy; "Crossing Line" is soothing and um, thanks for the subtitles; I can't stand Eddie Vedder, probably because I saw him back in '91; and lastly, jeepers creepers, the honorable list has way better bands than the top 20.)

The Season to Be Effin Jolly

2007-12-15T20:15:00.003-03:00

Despite the title, I've nothing snarky to say, so I'm just going to post these pics showing me in rare form--i.e., happily getting on in social situations. Oh, I'm not the misanthrope I once was--those days are long behind me--though I will still choose my own company over a group one any day. (And I've a solo trip to Iguazu to look forward to...so woohoo.) It's not that I find myself fascinating; I just hate faking interest in other people when I don't feel like it, despite being able to do it well. Grinchdom and sociopathy aside, as of late I've been having fun (with an uppercase F) doing holiday fêteing with my coworkers. Fa la la la la...la la la la.

Name All 3 to Win a Prize!

2007-12-13T23:03:00.001-03:00

A girl can dream, right?

N is for Neville, who died of ennui

2007-12-13T22:39:00.002-03:00

OMG, when is this writer's strike going to be over? I so need a fresh ep of The Office! Instead, I wasted five minutes of my life creating this.

And on the 7th day, God created Target...

2007-12-12T19:36:00.001-03:00

Much as I like living in Argentina, I really pine for regular conjugal visits from my beloved Target, whose goods are getting more fantastically amalgamated in design-n-practicality all the time. If I had to whine about one expatting experience here, it'd be: I just can't stand the lack of choices in everyday products! I know it's a pansy-ass first-world problem, but hey, why the hell should I censor myself on my own blog? Let's face it, the jumbo Jumbo can't meet barely half my consumer wants. Look what today's perusal turned up: Candles that reek of synthetic fragrance, on par with reject candles you'd find at 99 cent stores in the states, towels that are little more than gauze in their absorbency, mediocre body soaps (except for maybe these new imported Dove cream bars), juice readily sweetened with aspartame (actually, food rants deserve their own post). And forget being able to afford exotic home decor crafted Some Place Else (though if you're hard up, you can always amble over to OKKO where it's marked up a bazillion percent). It's just no fun checking off an everyday shopping list. Yet at mon amour Tarjay, even the commonplace is quality and a good bargain.

I am old enough to recall the days back in the 80s and 90s when Target was as unhip as Walmart and K-Mart (though really, no place can quite rival Walmart for its share of Nascar-shirted sloppers and shelf after shelf of ravaged goods). But thanks to an image makeover and just better, more selective products, Target is now ballparking Old Navy in the clothing department, Ikea in the Office department, and Pier One in the Home department--all under one roof and with a Starbucks in the foyer to boot. During my last T-spree, I found a groovy, 100% cotton, retro floor-length halter dress for like 30 bucks (what would it be here at John L. Cook?), a bejeweled Madras table runner for like 20 bucks, a gorgeous black wallet clutch for like cheapoh bucks, and adorable Swedish-looking desktop caddies for my classroom for like...whatever it was, I was able to afford one for each student. Not too shabby. Functional beauty at a discount. Win/win.

I realize there's more here than meets the eyes. Supply and demand, economics, all fueled by politics. And there are worse things for an Argentine to worry about, like double-digit inflation, than what array of products is available. I wanna shut up about this because I'm privileged enough to be making dollars over pesos. Still, it's human nature to discriminate and differentiate. In fact, on Bloom's Taxonomy, Synthesis (seeing patterns from diverse elements) and Evaluation (with bitching being its evil twin) are all higher-level thinking skills, so I guess you could say I'm just practicing what I teach.

Bitchfest aside, this post is really about my upcoming shopping spree at Target, so grab an hour or two and walk down these virtual aisles with me, k?

[Best finds ever: The Spanish vocabulary shower curtain, $20, and the stainless steel countertop compost pail, $24.99, 4th picture. Other noteworthy stuff: 100% cotton eyelet bed in a bag, webcam with speakers, funky lanterns, poetry cubes, cool pleather bag.]

Story of My Life

2007-12-11T23:13:00.001-03:00

I suppose it's the math geek in me, but graphs like these thrill. How I wish everything in life can be x- and y-plotted with an absolute degree of certainty. I'd swagger about with so much cock and confidence in my manifest destiny. Better yet, let's make everything binary so that my odds of getting it right are half.

The Apex of Pleasure

2007-12-10T21:18:00.003-03:00

Certain topics predictably litter expat blogs here...taxi drivers, dog poo, steak, and of course, ice cream. I'm going to raise my odds of being a cliché by waxing poetics about the latter.

I'll put it in the simplest terms possible: The ice cream in this country fucking blows frozen chunks off of other ice cream! (To be fair, while in Italy, I was too busy making love to pasta to take note of their gelato.)

Anyhoo, the flavor I'm currently obsessed with is sambayón granizado, which is like a doozy egg custardy concoction made with port wine or masala wine, not sure which, swirled with chunks of dark chocolate. The effect is stunning, kinda sake-like but with sharp bites of cacao. Different heladerias seem to inject a different amount of vino, and tonight’s version from Sweetie would have been enough to get me arrested back home in my Elantra GT. Really what I should do here is have sambayón while riding in a taxi to nullify the bad driving effect. How’s that for double cliché points?

More Holy Land

2007-12-08T23:34:00.002-03:00

Tierra Santa

2007-12-08T21:53:00.002-03:00

The world's first religious theme park got a visit from me and my folks today, under a blanket of gorgeous blue skies after a thankfully brief rain spell. At least we were dressed for the part: My pop had on his Forever Blessed baseball cap, literally, while I had on my Kitsch Indexer hat, figuratively. My other hat, What Would Jesus Pun, was safely tucked away in my purse though readily available should I need it, which I did (see below).

Tierra Santa, in a nutshell, was like a Hanna Barbera version of Jerusalem meet the Aladdin Hotel from Vegas. Everything was made from chubby-looking hollow plastic, from the lifesized figurines of peeps (there were whores aplenty!) and animals depicting key biblical scenes to the exotic middle-eastern architecture. I kept thinking surely this was created tongue in cheek, but since I'd met few religious zealots with good senses of humor in my lifetime, I chalked it up to unironic worship, the realization of which made the trip even more fun. The highlight of the park was this 18-meter Jesus that would resurrect every hour accompanied by a rousing recording of "Hallelujah," though sadly not the Leonard Cohen version. Each time the music blasted, all park devotees would freeze, search the sky adoringly for Him, and be moved by the Moment.

Switching hats for a moment here, I kept looking for the Mary-Go-Round and the Perish Wheel (tm my brother) but alas, Tierra Santa was short on rides though long on entertainment, like the wheee-inducing Creation show: a 15-minute intravaganza with flashing discoish strobe lights and plastic robotic animals appearing in the order that God created them, all played to some tune by the ethereal Enya. And by God (sorry), if it wasn't worth the wait for Day 6--when the famous pair appeared! Adam boasted the original 6-pack, you see, and a murmur of understanding broke out among the female audience members as we watched mechanical Eve inch her plastic body closer.

By dinner time, I searched high and low for The Garden of Eatin' but none appeared, though there were plenty of good options. I ended up getting a tasty falafel from some Arabian café, which came with a side order of tabouli that was a bit heavy on the parsley. The sign even said they offered Turkish coffee! Speaking of coffee, I was hoping for a café called He Brews, but alas, was let down again by the Man.

Seriously though, my parents had fun, and that, dear readers, made the pilgrimage totally worth it.

The Delta

2007-12-01T21:11:00.001-03:00

Catamaranned down the delta last week. It only took me a year and a half to check off this basic guidebook must-do. It was tranquil cruising down the river gazing at rich weekenders sunning and boating by their vacation homes. Tranquil when I wasn't seething with jealousy, that is. I am not a big fan of Tigre, the town, but the delta was picturesque enough, reminding me of Thailand of all places. Supposedly there's a famous cemetery around that I should to see... (just kiddin, sort of).

Casa Mom

2007-12-01T20:49:00.001-03:00

My mom made vermicelli with imperial rolls for dinner tonight, a classic Vietnamese dish. You take lettuce leaf, drop in some rice noodles, fresh veg (bean sprouts, cilantro and mint, shredded carrot, spring onion), an imperial roll (made with chewy, sour rice paperskin, muy rico), wrap it all up, then dip in a sweet/sour, fish-sauce based dressing. mmm...

Stuff, Weird Ones

2007-11-27T22:55:00.001-03:00

My folks are here, though I think there must have been one madcap message mix-up. Somewhere in Argentina someone's parents got the invite to come and chill-lax, while mine came with 4 luggage full of...strange ingredients for cooking up batches of Oriental dishes (at least they spared me the tiny sugar crabs this time). See exhibit...

1: Vacuum-packed crunchy egg noodles, for some kind of bird's nest concoction. Also, cases of rice paper wraps.

2: Um. Pack after pack of cooked salted duck eggs WITH GOLD YOLK (the label screams).

3. Nothing strange about this one, though I did recently notice it in Barrio Chino, costing a bazillion pesos apiece. Damn if it ain't worth the import jackup.

4. My sister Sarah sent this mug and it fucking rocks my world. Lee's Sandwiches, if you aren't lucky enough to know, is only the coolest bahn mi (Vietnamese sandwich) franchise ever! Sipping their cafe su da is like injecting condense-milky espresso straight into your veins.

5. I can't believe the nerve of my parents--thinking a gourmand like myself would suck face with such sugar drivel, such Britney-worthy comestibles, such...oh who am I kidding? I begged for these. I heart les trashique faux cupcakes, I do, I do.

My Folks Are Here!

2007-11-27T22:42:00.001-03:00

me and pops today on the tren de la costa.

Casa Felix

2007-11-25T11:20:00.001-03:00

It was my fourth time at Casa Felix, the hidden puerta cerrada restaurant that's part of a dining trend that's smokin' up the Buenos Aires night scene (there’s a New York Times piece on it, look it up). Casa Felix is helmed by chef Diego Felix, who although Argentine picked up his gastronomic training in the states and all over South America, chiefly in Paraguay. His strikingly beautiful girlfriend, Sanra, an American, works the pastry/dessert component. For 65 pesos/person (it used to be 70), you get this fantastically multi-layered, multi-course meal that's either vegetarian or pescatarian or vegan (your choice) involving fresh, seasonal, and sometimes organic players. Fourth time's the charm--as were the first, second, and third. Truth be told, I've never had an experience there that wasn't outstanding in some way.

Casa Felix used to be in an eclectic, funky space in Palermo Hollywood, complete with an open-air courtyard (it often reminded me of something you'd see in that hipster part of LA known as Silverlake). Now it's in Chacarita, a family nabe I never read about, in an even bigger, funkier space--also with an open-air courtyard. I was pleased to see that the ambiance hadn't been altered with the move, since I so loved the tree murals and the under-the-stars seating (weather permitting) of the old place, also because part of dining in someone else's house requires a leap of aesthetic faith of sort--i.e., that they won't have, as my brother Bo so charmingly put it, shitty taste in decor. (The concept of a closed-door restaurant eluded him, and he kept picturing us barging into someone's Roseanne-like living room decked with thrift-store art and a blaring TV used as a soundtrack.) Rest assured, Bo was comforted by what he saw.

In a crunchy little nutshell, we had an amazing meal. Each course kept topping the previous in complexity and taste. I think Diego's specialty lies in how he twines the salty, sweet, and sour in a compelling way--often mixing veggies and fruit so you get your vities and minerals all out of the way--the end product being some kind of taste bombshell. It was like having a wholesome frat (oxymoron much?) party inside your mouth--and with raw zucchini of all things! (Even my awesome mom can't get me to eat that.)

So here was last night's lineup:

(1) Tropical white wine sangria (with floating bits of pineapple and mango)

(2) Spicy black bean dip served with homemade bread, not pictured because I ate it all. [The bread was so pillowy soft, I wanted to doze on it.]

(3) Organic zucchini rolls stuffed with steamed beets, goat cheese, and pine mushroom with an apricot and saffron dressing. [This was to die for. Even the carrot slaw was crunchy sweet. Seriously, I think I heard Nannette moaning from the sheer deliciousness of it all.]

(4) Mbeyú with chunky tomato and pineapple salsa, scattered with Colombian or Bolivan peanuts. [The grilled mbeyú was addicting. I kept swiping off of other people's plate. Mbeyú is a Paraguayan carb made with yucca and taro, although to my rather uninformed palate, it tasted an awful lot like Japanese mochi, pounded rice. Actually, my thirteen-year-old budding foodie pointed that out.]

(5) Melon granita, to cleanse the palate and prep you for the main course, which was...

(6) Grilled grouper fish with sautéed seasonal veggies, lime-flavored mashed potatoes with yellow chilies, served with a side of black-olive tapenade. [Outstanding kaleidoscope of flavors: salty fish, mouth-puckeringly sour puréed papas--though I didn't detect any chilies--and sweet smashed olives. Each bite had something interesting. Swoon.]

(7) Carob and peanut butter cake with orange mousse. [This was good though to be honest, we were so stuffed at that point I’m not sure we did it justice. The orange topping was less mousse and more icy sorbet-like. I liked this, but I will forever plead my loyalty to their staggeringly good tres leches cake, first served back in February.]

(8) Cocido negro, a Latin American hot beverage involving burning the yerba maté with sugar to get that dark color. [Musky and sweet and oh-so comforting nearly 3 hours later...]

Good food + good company = one of life's greatest pleasures. And in this intimate, hidden diner, you get to revel in both. So...what are you waiting for--they only seat 12 a night! Make that reservation stat. www.diegofelix.com

Mood Swings

2007-11-25T01:12:00.001-03:00

This four-day weekend has thrown me for a loop. So dazed/confused am I without my 40-hour workweek anchor that I'm invoking Yahoo! Calendar for regular mood guidance (not to mention, the mood ring I sent away for has yet to arrive). Why does it matter what day it is? Well in my too-limited mind, I equate each day of the week with an emotional stasis (perhaps all modern humans are hard-wired to do this). For example, Sunday is mood-ring black (think tense, nervous, anxious), the proverbial dread-in-the-pit-of-the-belly "shit, I forgot to lesson plan again" day; whereas Saturday, in true mood-ring blue form (think calm, relaxed, lovable), is the universal "you can't make me effin care about anything" day.

Anyway, being that (1) this is Saturday, (2) I'm still in my PJs and bunny-slippered, (3) I'm feeling lovable, I've chosen to whittle away copious hours on YouTube in search of a soundtrack to this "worker's playtime" (tm Billy Bragg). And this awesomely poppy tune from '06 is my current earworm:

Mind Melt

2007-11-24T13:16:00.001-03:00

Last night I went down to Niceto Club to see Battles, the most rockin quartet of guys since Il Divo. (Just kidding--about Il Divo being rockin that is.) Battles from NYC is what's known as a math rock band, which is something like experimental post-rock done by aliens,* which is way cooler than it sounds when you're sober. They brought the place down, and by the time they did their single, Atlas, I made a passionate commitment to self to Google-stalk the beautiful Ian Williams for the rest of his life. (According to Nannette, Ian was dancing all by his lonesome self to Interpol right behind us post-show but alas, I was unaware of this serendipitous groupie moment.) I'll upload my camera video later. Until then, here's their official version.

* I wish I didn't lack the vernacular to talk music but lamely, I do.

Java Junket: 20

2007-11-22T19:40:00.001-03:00

Enfundá la Mandolina. Café con leche y crema. 3.5 pesos! 11/21/07

Enfunda la Mandolina

2007-11-22T19:16:00.000-03:00

With an insider rec from my dear friend Macarena (whose exact words were, "We eat more than just asados, you know"), we managed to trek down to Enfunda la Mandolina in Palermo (self-billed as una cocina atípicamente porteňa) last night for a sampling of Argentine fare that's absent grilled meat. The setting was lushly gorgeous and playfully littered with retro toys and non-thematic knick-knacks. The food was comforty, lickety good, with most platos principales being 12-15 pesos (entradas being 5-7)! Despite the reverse sticker shock, no details were skimmed on, least of all the presentation--many of the dishes were served in adorable candy jars that were tipped over in a lake of coulis. We ooh-aahed our way into a delicious carb coma all night long. Notably, it was the most attentive service I've had in town (you hear that--Cafe Tortoni and Mark's Deli?!). I will definitely head back, if only for the tiramisu, which despite its massive popularity among the XX-chromo crowd had always left me rather unconvinced as a fan--until now. Nice work, Enfunda, nice work...

Pictured: pastel de papas, front entrance, fried faina, abondigas, and rabas

w00t!

2007-11-22T17:29:00.001-03:00

You know you've been waiting for this list so here it is: What I'm thankful for on Thanksgiving 2007.

- less than a year until we elect a new president in the US--w00t!
- my son's relatively good adjustment to living in a new country, year 2
- my beautiful, healthy extended family, visiting and non
- that I can still fit a size L in the Forever 21 clothing line
- health and optimism
- my gorgeous home and the nearby cafe
- my students, who remind me minutely how much pleasure there is in learning and growing
- my friends, who persist despite me being me
- the upcoming cruise to Cabo San Lucas
- Nannette's Feast (coming soon to a theatre near you...)
- Argentina, for reaffirming that no matter where you are, people just want the same things in life

Now I might as well have another slice of sweet potato pie and OD on the touchy feely. And for Sarah, my fave Cambodian Martha Stewart, I post our dinner pictures thusly.

Pictured: ginger batata with burnt marshmallow topping, backyard dining, temperature pin that came with the bird (pops up when the turkey's cooked), roasted turkey (basted in white chablis and though originally frozen was the moistest evah) pictured with egg noodles, mashed papas with oodles of manteca, scratch stuffing with Argentine chorizo and fresh provencal herbs, sweet potato pie

Vending Machine Redux

2007-11-20T17:10:00.002-03:00

Mmm...Smells Like Bacon

2007-11-19T23:35:00.001-03:00

I haven't found bacon here that tastes like home, though I did find this awesome bacon flow chart.

Welcome to the Dollhouse

2007-11-19T21:26:00.001-03:00

These lusciously black dolls from San Telmo invoke some sorta irrevocable fetish in me. I swear it's not lewd or inappropriate--I just would love to line them up on my fireplace mantle, taking each one down every so often to whisper sweet nothings in her ear. When I was an immigrant kid in the US, my biggest dream outside of raising a colony of sea monkeys was to own a Shirley Temple doll, having just discovered the jaunty, curly-headed moppet on Saturday retro matinees. In bumper-sticker terms, I guess you could say I brake for dolls, the more cherubic, the heavier my lead foot.

One of my fondest memories from Cambodia was getting a sweet little French doll from my aunt Vanna who was living in Paris at the time (today she lives outside of Paris). It smelled stunningly like sugar with spindly limbs. The French intruder was adored so much that I had nannies lining up to create miniature Khmer outfits for it, resulting in a sewing-machine one-upmanship. I've a foto of me and the doll in matching batik tops and sarongs. If you're nice, I'll look for it.

My doll frenzy reached its altitudinous high when years later in the states, I stealthily snatched my younger sister's Baby Alive doll (remember those?) one afternoon and threw it kicking and screaming into the washing machine. I'm not sure what possessed me--lack of oxygen to the brain? But Baby Alive never looked quite alive again. To this day my sister has yet to forgive me for this crime of passion. (I am so misunderstood.)

The Soap Grope

2007-11-18T22:22:00.000-03:00

Catchy name coined by spawn for these soap handle doodads. Though not as hygienic as a hand pump, they are more pleasing to the eye and makeshift-fun in their rotatable ability to activate a dizzy spell, or maybe I need to get out more.

That Warm Fuzzy Feeling

2007-11-18T19:29:00.000-03:00

My super-cool brother and his gorgeous wife are here visiting, and I've been walking around grinning like a maniac. I know God invented family for those of us allergic to Prozac.

Ready-Made Excuse

2007-11-18T19:27:00.001-03:00

I get accused of being a bitch with regularity. Praise the Lord, I now have an excuse, cuz nothing comes between me and my beeyotch jeans...

Mate Vending

2007-11-18T19:22:00.000-03:00

I've a thing for drink vending machines, those Japanese ones with the warm coffee cans being my favorite. I spotted this the other day. Pretty awesome.

Java Junket: 19

2007-11-18T19:19:00.001-03:00

Café Tortoni. Café con leche y crema. 6.5 pesos. 11/18/07. Hands down the most atrocious service I’ve encountered in BA (and I've seen plenty). We sat for a good 25 minutes before someone grudgingly shuffled over to hand us a menu--despite all the fanny-packed yokels who came in after us getting served. I so didn’t want to be that Ugly American and bitch ad nauseum about how.things.work back home, but Jesus on a stick, as someone who's had a good run as a waitress I couldn’t help but get my panties in a twist over the inane and lame service. Wild chocolate con churros can’t drag me back.

Java Junket: 18

2007-11-18T19:17:00.001-03:00

El Aconcagua (San Telmo). Café con leche y crema. 6.5 pesos. 11/18/07. I love this divey homey diner, where heaping plates of comfort food are served 24 hours a day. It's the kinda stuff my mom would make, were she to be Argentine.

Java Junket: 17

2007-11-18T18:47:00.000-03:00

The Coffee Store (across from La Quinta). Café con leche y crema. 7 pesos. 11/17/07

Pond Life

2007-11-14T22:51:00.002-03:00

I believe this to be true, that I was a whiny kind of kid. I remember sitting in a drab train station when I was 4 or so, feeling as though I would suffocate from chest-heavy gloom, the weightiness of which I wasn’t able to communicate beyond soft syllables. I was cradling an oversized mug full of lumpy ricemeal next to my face, hoping the scent of milk sugar would take me elsewhere. Except there was no elsewhere. We were in a neglected train station on the outskirts of Siem Riep, having just got words that the Khmer Rouge were near. When my cereal ran low, I lifted my head and wailed for more. I’m sure I wanted to cower in a corner or shake my mother for answers, but it came out ungracious. I was a whiny kind of kid, completely lacking the poise to deal with catastrophic changes. I was an embarrassment to my mother.

We had just evacuated our home in Siem Riep, a coastal town most famously noted for Angkor Wat. My father wasn’t around, so my mother somehow hauled 4 kids, a nanny, and a servant to the nearest train station to wait for … what? The details are vague. I remember the muggy heat though. I had just spent an entire summer tearing up lily pads. When our house was built, my father had dug out a pond beyond our kitchen door and garnished it with plump lily pads and orange fish. He’d taken great pride in the house, having designed the master plan himself. There was that circular stairway leading up two floors, a tiled recreation room where he played exotic American music, and of course, mosquito net decorating every inch of the bedrooms. No doubt when the Khmer Rouge burst into the backyard, they spotted a pond littered with shreds of lily pad.

The Tea Connection

2007-11-11T20:01:00.000-03:00

It's a piece of the southland right in the heart of Recoleta. The Tea Connection, with its pretentious LA vibe, offers up precious pots of brewed tea leaves--green/red/black, herbal/not, fruity/straight, etc. etc., with killer baked goods. Also refreshing to see as many vegetarian sandwich options (on black-olives bread no less!) as meaty ones. Plus, tofu salad with ginger/green onion vinegrette! This home girl's going back soon, if only to test drive the whole grain apple pancakes. Crushed ice, turbinado sugar--mos def a love connection.

Frosty Fallic

2007-11-11T19:50:00.000-03:00

It's evocative, alright (I practically blushed when it was handed to me). The Freddo cubanito is a must for any discerning ice cream lover. Hard waffle cone shell, chocolate-dunk at either end, and the richest, creamiest dulce de leche helado at its core! It's food porn the way God intended, and deliverable, as all good porn should be.

You have cubanito envy, doncha?

Java Junket: 16

2007-11-11T19:40:00.000-03:00

Freddo. Cappuccino (coolio freebie: scoopio of coffee ice cream w/chocolate-covered espresso beans). 6 pesos (lowest price so far). 11/11/07

Africano

2007-11-10T17:03:00.000-03:00

Forget all that education stuff. Society should be judged solely on whether it can produce fine tea and chocolate. Thus gladden was I to see that Industria Argentina offers up the Misra label as a strong contender. La sensualidad del chocolate en un te...mmm

Next to Godliness

2007-11-10T17:01:00.001-03:00

I was tantalized by the pull of opium but this soap sucked donkey ass. Imagine trying to move a block of wax all over your body, absent lather or suds, though it does make for a cheap (and awkward) depilacion device...

Java Junket: 15

2007-11-10T16:57:00.001-03:00

Los Girasoles. Cappuccino. 8 pesos. 11/10/07

Java Junket: 14

2007-11-10T16:51:00.000-03:00

1000 Millas Car & Moto Wash. Cappuccino. 7 pesos. 11/9/07

Java Junket: 13

2007-11-08T16:57:00.000-03:00

Clasica Victoria. Cappuccino. 7 pesos. 11/7/07

Take This Quiz!

2007-11-08T16:04:00.000-03:00

Dunno which presidential candidate's got your back? Check this out. I managed to get 78% Kucinich and 78% Gravel, which is funny because I'm liberal, but not that liberal. And where's Stephen Colbert when you need him?

This Pesky Pakistani Problem

2007-11-06T17:48:00.000-03:00

I have friends who love to talk shit about the US (admittedly an occasional pastime of mine), comparing Bush to Chavez--bitch, please--and the US government to a terrorist state. But when shit like this Pakistan thing hits the fan, I like pointing out to them subtle (not) differences, because regardless of what you think about the US, we have heads of government who give up control within the rules of the law and without mayhem and bloodshed. I mean--suspending the constitution, declaring a state of emergency, and detaining thousands of justices and lawyers, all without the aid of Mel Gibson in a starring role? Hollywood and hyperboles are the closest thing we have to that experience.

And because Pakistan is on my mind, I thought I'd offer this deliciously deadly recipe from one of my students' parents who is Pakistan born. It's for these Brazilian crackballs called Brigadeiros:

Put the contents of one small can condensed milk,
1 tbsp butter, 4 tbsp cocoa in a pan. Cook on medium
fire, stirring all the time until the mixture become
thick and starts detaching from the side of the pan.

Leave to cool completely. Grease hands with butter and
break off little pieces, forming into small balls.
Roll the balls in the sprinkles until completely
covered. ENJOY!!!

Tonight I Miss My Mom

2007-11-04T23:31:00.005-03:00

My mom married my dad when she was just 17 years old. It was an arranged marriage, though she’d already met him once. He was smitten with her, the story goes, when he first heard her singing in a throaty operatic voice on some local radio program. This was Phnom Pehn in the early 1960s. I can only imagine what he must have felt when he actually set eyes on her. My mom, you see, was a raving beauty. Long black hair, coarsely thick; fierce almond eyes, dark as coal; and cheekbones so cut you could set saucers on them. And gauging from the random photos of her in chic 60s fashion, she also possessed a perfect hourglass figure, something she refused to pass on to any of her daughters. Her claim to fame though were her lips, the lower one a perfect triangular jut, an exact replica of her real mom’s.

I say real because as a very young child, my mom was given away to be raised by her adoptive mother, who was actually the sister-in-law to her real dad. My real grandmother had birthed four daughters, each one probably a mounting disappointment in a culture that favored boys. For reasons unknown to anyone, my real grandmother plucked my mom, the third born, out of the entire girly bunch to be tossed aside. It was decades later before I realized how much this event shaped her, for although she was raised entirely by her adoptive mother, my mom lived just kilometers from her real family and saw on an almost-daily basis her sisters going about their business within their intact family, without her.

My adoptive grandma was Chinese and possessed a legendary personality of steel, perhaps the predecessor to the dragon lady stereotype. My mom has never said much about her upbringing, but I gather that she loved and respected her second mother with both a sense of foreboding and awe. Mah, as we children called her, had been married to a successful Chinese businessman. He died when my mom was quite young, leaving her under the sole care of Mah and her entourage of servants.

Mah was the classic storybook charismatic bully. She demanded love, loyalty, and attention, all high prices, but in exchange, you get a glimpse of her enigmatic smile and more importantly, her approval, which made you clamor for even more of it. I remember one time when I was 5, being asked by Mah to dance to her favorite Chinese operas. It was a hot sticky night. We were both bored. I loved my Mah and couldn't say no if I tried, so for what seemed like hours on end, I hammed it up for her in her suite, the one with the chilly black-and-white parquet floor and floral drapings. Delirious with sweat, I moved and swayed to flashes of my beloved Mah reclining in bed, smiling as she waved a silk fan in front of her face.

[More to come. Here’s a picture of my mom and me taken last July. She’s 64 now. I love my mom.]

Spawn's List

2007-11-04T17:07:00.000-03:00

Documented for posterity.

Top 5 Movies:

1. The Iron Giant
2. Kung Fu Hustle
3. Donnie Darko
4. This Is Spinal Tap
5. League of Extraordinary Gentlemen
(bonus) 6. Iron Monkey

Top 5 Books:

1. Coraline, by Neil Gaiman
2. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, by what's her name
3. Varjak Paw, SF Said
4. Slaughterhouse Five, Kurt Vonnegut
5. Catcher in the Rye, JD Salinger

Top 5 Songs on Current Playlist:

1. Jerk It Out, by the Caesars
2. Tarantula, by Smashing Pumpkins
3. Parallel Universe, by Red Hot Chili Peppers
4. Dashboard, by Modest Mouse
5. Feel Good Inc., by the Gorillaz

Top 5 Manga Series:

1. Bleach
2. Full Metal Alchemist
3. Eyeshield 21
4. Hunter X Hunter
5. Death Note

Top 5 TV Shows:

1. The Office
2. Samurai Jack
3. Scrubs
4. King of the Hill
5. Malcolm in the Middle

Top 5 Classes:

1. Algebra
2. Creative Writing
3. Spanish
4. Biology
(Cheat alert) 5. Volleyball (and he says it should be #1)

Back in Kansas

2007-11-04T16:03:00.000-03:00

It seems perverted to dine at Kansas for supersized American fanfare when so many cool Argentine places abound. But some things defy explanation, and just as I guiltily pleasure in Hit Me Baby One More Time, I dig Kansas despite the inner commentary from my best self. I lovvved the mop-like BBQ brush and must have squealed so loud in delight that the manager beelined over to tell me to put the camera away.

Misterio

2007-11-04T15:57:00.001-03:00

I'm a sucker for package design. These little heads make the wine immediately alluring. OK, so I like them for bringing to mind the tiki torches from Survivor: Whatever Island edition.