The Ultimate

Remember in 1990 when you wanted to go to the New Kids on the Block concert, but you weren't allowed? Or in '92 when your mom took you to see Boyz II Men at Market Square Arena, and you were so close to the action all you could talk about for weeks was how Wanye was pelvic thrusting almost in YOUR face, and that you knew it was love.

You attended well over 30 Dave Matthews Band shows in your career, trying to explain to your parents that all 3 shows were NOT the same every year, and yes it was absolutely NECESSARY that you go to all of them every year.

There was the first solo-attendance concert, Indigo Girls and Norah Jones at the Murat Ballroom. That was a little scary because you weren't really in touch with your gay-loving side. Well you were, but you didn't know how to handle same-sex come-ons, so it was awkward. And your friends' moms were working the show and kept asking you, "but why did you come alone?". Umm. Because I wanted to see the show and no one else did.

Then there were all those Damien Rice shows in New York City. Some people thought it was weird that you went to 14 shows within a one-year time period, many alone, but you knew it was all for the love of the music. And you will remember every emotion-packed moment up close and personal, forever. Crazy or not.

Music can make you crazy. It revs up emotions in your soul that make your heart sing, that make you feel. It's life changing. Bands and songs can change your life, or the way you look at it. They can save you in moments of strife. It's hard to explain the power of music. Inside that power, there is nothing better than a live music show. Particularly of a band that has had some sort of impact on your life.

Before I went to Brazil, I was searching Taringa for some Argentine music to download. I wanted to make sure I had something to listen to so I wouldn't forget my Spanish, but also that I could start getting used to the difficult Argentine accent. Enter Onda Vaga. I downloaded their album, Fuerte y Caliente, on a whim, and proceeded to spend the next 30 days inundated with it. Seriously. I listened to the album every day, sometimes multiple times per day. I was so obsessed with the possibility of losing my Spanish skills that I often sat in my hammock spot overlooking the pool with my dicionary and pen in hand, making sure I understood everything I was singing (yes singing, because there was no way I wouldn't memorize it after so much time), so I guess you could say I became obsessed with Onda Vaga. Not in the NKOTB way of my youth where I ran out and bought posters, memorized their names, birthdates, and favorite colors, but I fell in love with their music.

When I came to Buenos Aires, I found I shared that love with my friends Jacinto and Lisbeth, both of whom told me that I was in luck because they had tons of shows during the month of April. Great! But for some reason, I missed every one for some reason or another. Two weeks ago I arrived to class with Lisbeth to receive the news that Onda Vaga would make their return to BsAs after their European tour. We immediately bought tickets and waited patiently. On Wednesday night, it happened. We came, we went, we saw, up front, up close and personal, in the throngs of hundreds of Onda Vaga-hungry adolescent girls doing their best to impersonate a mosh pit. (Their best was pretty good and I gots battle wounds to prove it.)

setting the mood

opening band - Heladaderos

whaling

onda vaga - making it happen

after riding my bike home in the pounding rain

Festival Ciudad Emergente

The BsAs government has a fantastic cultural program where they try to spread as much free culture around the city. One such event - Festival Ciudad Emergente, a free-entrance showing of up and coming bands, artists, movies, fashion, street performance, graffiti, stand up, and more. 4 full days. You could see live performances, movie screenings, live art, download free stuff, read cool art magazines, the works. It was amazing.

have to start every festival with pan relleno. it's just so good 

i've never been in a port-o-pot with a flusher. i was afraid to use it for fear of what it would do.

this girl rocked the red...down to the lipstick...Lucido

this frontwoman is my perfect dance partner...she had all my moves...La Serena

a little too rock hard for my ears, but these gals rocked it out

a little dance-off-b-boy action

zine room for your reading pleasure

life graffiti

and of course, rain

I´ve had a lot of addresses

Moving is painful. (I should know. I've moved about 18 times, but I'll spare you with the actual list). It usually consists of me sitting in the middle of mountains of stuff I´ve collected over time spent in last apartment, wondering where the hell said stuff came from. With each move I learned how to better organize and simplify. When I left Brooklyn I was purging and giving things away like it was going out of style. It was easy then because I would look at something and ask two questions 1. will this serve me at all during the next year while I´m living out of a backpack? 2. Will this have any meaning or function when I return from backpack living? If the answer to either or both questions was no, out it went. It was liberating to say the least. But know what? This shit is damn easy when you don't own anything. 

Bike + Build. Spent the whole summer in spandex. Lived out of a small duffel bag, slept on the floor every night (save for the few times I got a couch in a church). Left Indiana in October with a small-ish traveling backpack and carry-on bag. Along the way I picked up the occasional souvenir, but generally kept it light and under control. Arrived in Buenos Aires in April with 5 new pairs of Havianas, Carnival gear, and gifts from Juliana´s mom. Started living the city life (trying to remind myself I was still a budget-conscious traveler). Realized that while it´s cool and hip to run around in holey clothes when you´re living in the mountains or lounging on the beach all day, it´s sort of different when you´re trying to socialize in a big city. Bought some shoes to help with this matter. Worked with what I had. Decided I liked Buenos Aires and wanted to stay.

Cut to present day. I knew I had collected some things, but didn't realize how many things until I packed them up to move from Pati's apartment to my new digs in Villa Crespo. Now, in the grand scheme of moves, it's nothing, but from what I had before, it seems like a lot. If I give myself credit, most of it I needed to survive winter (a few long sleeve shirts, a coat), but some of it I didn't (high heel shoes). But the move was easy, and now I’m settled in my amazing new apartment.

Amazing new apartment you ask? My friend Vera, from Vienna, who I met in Calafate, was living here for the last 2 months.  She happened to be leaving as I was looking for a place. Her roommates (now my roommates), Diego and Mariana are amazing. I seriously couldn’t have been luckier to stumble on this place, and the opportunity to live with this Argentine couple willing to help me struggle through my Spanish, and invite me into their lives. I’m super excited. And look at these photos, could it be a cooler space? The answer, no, it couldn’t.  

I felt sad to leave Pati, but know I will continue to see her all the time. There's always that pit of sadness when you move from one place to the next, that little twinge of doubt, even when you know it's the right choice. 

packing - what I originally packed in the good old backpack

new additions since the beginning, which looks worse because it's not as neatly or compactly put together as original anal packing*

the whole move...if only every move was the same

my room at Pati's

Living Room at Pati's

Dining Room/Jigsaw House

Kitchen

my new apt - my little loft space

shared kitchen/common area/bathroom

upstairs

downstairs

*If you're curious as to what exactly I've purchased that now lays in this pile, here it is by country: 

Guatemala - jeans & jacket (gifted), purse and tapestry (gifted), gloves, spanish workbook - Chile - dress, skirt, scarf, wool socks, leg warmers, thermals, purse, hiking poles - Brazil - 5 pr Haviana (gifted), 3 Carnaval shirts, 3 sarongs (gifted), 2 pr shorts, 1 tshirt - Argentina - 2 reading books in Spanish, 1 scarf, 2 tanks, yoga mat, bike, helmet, chucks, heels, flats, winter coat, jeans, 2 sweaters, leggings, 1 skirt, 4 lng sleeve shirts, Mac battery, 3 nike socks, cell phone

**With all that extra, I'm still working with 5 pair of undies and keeping it fresh.

This made me cry. It´s the funniest thing I´ve seen in a while.

While browsing Facebook during my 30-minute lunch break today, I clicked on this gem via Eric Stevens. Then spent the last 29 minutes of my lunch at my desk in hysterics. Bawling laughing... Thanks Stevens.

Man Traveling With Mannequin Wife To Childhood Home
       Ned Nefer is traveling from Syracuse to Watertown, NY ON FOOT with his 6-foot tall mannequin wife named Teagan. They are traveling to a children's home in Watertown, where the two met. According to professionals, "he seems happy," but might have a mental illness.

       http://www.buzzfeed.com/mjs538/man-traveling-with-mannequin-wife-to-childhood-hom

YO TUVÉ UN SUEÑO EN ESPAÑOL ANOCHE!!!!!!

What?!

I HAD A DREAM IN SPANISH LAST NIGHT!!!!!

Do you know what this means??????

Supposedly it means I´m getting really really good at Spanish.

Is that true?????

I don´t know

What was it about??????????????

I have no idea. Only thing I can remember is that someone said this... ¨En español, no pudes decir mas mejor¨. No people, no places, no events. Just those words, in Spanish.

I´m pumped.

(And I added the below examples of me fake sleeping so you could get a real feel for what it must be like to see me dreaming...1. a part of the ever popular w+k photo of the day sleeping on foam shoulder pads 2. fake sleeping on the n train back from coney island with biancs and alissa 3. fake sleeping after a long day getting lost in valencia) Does everyone have pictures of themselves fake sleeping? Is this a problem I have?





Sometimes I get busy and forget to blog.

Or I blog, but forget to tell you something really important. And well, then I try to think of creative ways to remedy this. So this time, here´s a visual summation of some stuff in no particular order from the past few weeks...

no - this does not signify that i´ve spent time kissing French men on the streets of Paris in the 50´s. But I did go see the Robert Doisneau photo exhibit at the Recoleta Cultural Center.

i went to the tower of books. but didnt´climb up.

i went to the bici-friendly weekend events where this little demonstration proved to me that bikes take up less space than cars. more space for trees!

i ate asado for nelle´s birthday. if someone asked me to define the terms ¨meat sweats¨ or ¨food coma¨, i would just give them this photo, which was not staged and shows real events as they happened. (notice my hand still reaching for french fries)

the other extreme side-effect of asados...red wine drunkenness..derek and the b-day girl

we spent the whole night teaching chong the words to ¨Apple Bottom Jeans¨, which is a real american classic. i love the way he loves this song.

I´ve been dancing as always, just with a lack  of photos



went to a house party with nells and the crew the other night where she and i sat on the cold concrete floor in front of this door anti-socially only talking amongst ourselves (which i quite thoroughly enjoyed)

then i rode my bike to the nature reserve

incredible and super tranquilo in the middle of the city...



then i waited here...



for this chori pan smothered in aji and chimichurri...

and after that i ate this coconut, dulce de leche filled tart....

then i almost barfed...

i am afraid of getting really fat here.

and then on sunday i went to the feria in recoleta because the weather was like summer. and there i ate again.

the end.

Happiness is...

In deciding to hunker down in Buenos Aires, I have agreed to reenter a life of frugality. No big deal as I spent 3 years living this life in New York to get me on the road. But. There were two things I knew I needed to spend some money on, and I promised myself I could have once I found a job.

All Stars. I miss my Chucks. Nothing says city life like a great pair. I have been watching all of Buenos Aires running around in their Converse,  green with envy. So when I landed a job, that was my first purchase. Aren’t they pretty?

And perhaps the most important thing (here and in life in general) – a bicycle. I’ve been scouring random bike shops in search of the perfect old-school used bici. I wanted a fixe-gear, old bici. None of that road bike fancy stuff I have in the States. A totally different bike experience. I have been picturing myself riding down the Libertador bike path on this bike, smiling in the sunshine, feeling complete. After striking out several times at the bike shops I decided to try Mercado Libre, Argentina’s version of Craigslist/Ebay. Super overwhelming. It is pretty tough to buy a bici online.

But finally, I stumbled upon a beautiful old YELLOW bike, and I fell in love. I sent a message saying I wanted to buy it, the seller agreed, and just as I was about to do so, the listing disappeared. Good thing I have been honing my super sleuthing skills at work because I found the posting under a different name, for more money. Can’t outsmart me. So I wrote another note, and we agreed that the bici was mine.

Thursday after Spanish class, I navigated collectivo land to travel to Flores to pick up my new best friend, arriving much later than I had planned, a sweaty mess after having run the last 20 blocks in excitement. And a fat Argentine answered the door and said, “did you come alone?” Ummmm. Really? Shit. That’s the first think you say to me? Should I have come alone?

“Yes. Is that the bike?”

“Yes”

He brings the bike out in front, and it’s beautiful and it’s yellow, and as it comes closer to me, it is a piece of shit. The covering on the handle bars is missing chunks of foam like this guy got hungry on a ride and decided to eat it. The bike has been painted yellow. And not like painted yellow at a detail shop in a nice way with bike paint. It’s been painted yellow with like wall paint. And when you get close it looks like Cameron painted it with her eyes closed (my 3-year-old neice).

But you know what? I loved her the moment I saw her regardless. But I’m no idiot. So here’s how I knowingly bought a shitty bike for less.  (Note: I can only assume that my Spanish was not this smooth. Sounds way better in English.)

“With all due respect, do you really think this thing is worth $320 pesos?”

“Yeah, It’s a great bike.”

“It was a great bike one day. But seriously, the paint. Is this a joke? What color did it used to be?”

“Yellow”

“Why would you paint it like this?”

“Looks better”

“Ok – well I’ll give you $250 pesos, which is generous.”

“Ok.”

How easy. And then he started trying to chat me up, at which point I just jumped on my bike and fled.

Now. Riding bicycles in Buenos Aires is dangerous. Everyone has told me so. And I always reply, “C’mon. I rode bikes in NYC for years, NBD.” But New York, with it’s share of bicycle/pedestrian/taxi problems, is pretty bike friendly. Buenos Aires it appears, has a long way to go. On my way home from the bike man I was almost run over by a bus at least 41 times. Today I will buy a helmet, and I will be careful.

As I rode my bike home on Thursday, I felt complete. Seriously. Ask Pati or my friend Jacinto. When I arrived home they were sitting in Pati’s room chatting, and I burst in, sweating buckets, grinning from ear-to-ear. I threw my belongings on the floor, then did a little I-have-a-bike victory dance as they amusedly laughed at me.

It may be a crappy bike. But it’s my crappy bike, and I’m going to love it forever.

you can't tell the paint job is bad from here. tried to show it in a photo, but it's hard to tell. but imagine a bike painted with wall paint. that's what it looks like. and i still love it.

my brother told me I'm becoming a hipster

I'm like Dick Tracy.

Some days at work I feel like a detective

In my job interview, when asked what my biggest professional weakness is, I told my future boss the following:

“My biggest weakness is that I work too hard. No. That’s a joke. Don’t you hate when people say that? Barf.” (and they somehow still hired me) Seriously…

“My biggest weakness is that I want to control everything in my job. And there is nothing more impossible than this notion in any job. Sometimes when I find that I cannot control everything, I tend to get irrationally frustrated over something seemingly small. And then it’s like I’ve taken it personally that the printer is out of paper. It’s something I’m working on, but that’s it.”

And after I told him that, he informed me that there was a chance I was going to spend a good amount of time being irrationally frustrated working in Argentina. He explained that unlike the US, systems and process here are totally different. Everything hasn’t moved online like in the U.S. When he pays his taxes he doesn’t do it online. He goes to the tax place, stands in a line forever and a day, and eventually, assuming his paperwork is all correct, he pays in person in cash. How strange. Still, I told him I was interested in the challenge, and excited at the opportunity to get to learn that side of the culture.

First – let me tell you that working part-time is stupendous. Everyone should have to work only part-time so they have time to do other things important to them outside of work. Second – let me tell you how amazing it is to walk out of work every day and not think about it until I go back the next day. I haven’t had that feeling in a lot of years of working. In New York and particularly in the ad world, that was never the case. Someone was always calling or emailing or freaking out about something as if the strategy of our Delta ad could somehow make a huge difference in the world.

I’ve been asked to do an audit of all the financial records for the last year as one of my first tasks. I love the idea of this because A. I love math and numbers. B. I am really good at organizing stuff like this.

Holy frustration. I can’t find a lot of what I need. If I’m missing a bill I can’t just go online, download and print it, and move on. I have to call or email someone, explain the situation, then ask them to send me the records. And usually that means by mail. Or if they don’t have online service I have to actually go to the physical place of business to get the information.

At first I found this extremely frustrating. I mean I have a to-do list that I can’t cross anything off of because I can’t actually finish anything. But you know what? That’s kind of just working in Argentina. It’s like what can I do? I’ve done everything I can, and if it doesn’t move any faster, not really my problem. It’s such a different way of thinking. In advertising it was always, do it now, do it faster, faster, faster, work more, on and on and on. And here it’s like whatever I don’t finish today will still be there tomorrow. And everyone has that mentality. It’s beautiful.

The guys in the office laugh when I get frustrated and throw out Spanish curses in my oh-so-foreigner way. And they always tell me to calm down and take my time. No big deal. And guess what? They’re right. So now I’ve started looking at it as a challenge. That keeps me calmer.