You say "Falklands"; I say "Malvinas"

But I think we can all agree that their coat-of-arms is pretty darned nifty:

Let's demonstrate!

A los Argentinos les gustan manifestar. (Argentines like to take to the streets)



Last year, I commented on the apparently irrepressible tendency of folks here in Buenos Aires to take to the streets in protest, at the slightest provocation. It was a poor day for protests if I saw only three on the way to school. Granted, the fact that my route to school took me past "Tribunales" (the High Court Building, a favorite site for street protests) may have influenced my perception. This year, my impression had been that the frequency of demonstrations had dropped somewhat. Apparently, I just haven't been hanging out in the right spots, because as the chart below indicates, this September has actually seen a spike in frequency, with five major blockages in the city just yesterday alone (see photo above):



This doesn't even include yesterday's most serious demonstration, at the Kraft factory outside the city (following Monday's announcement of major layoffs). There is considerable editorializing about the level of dissatisfaction among the populace:



It is hard to know whether one should be encouraged by all of this, as a sign of public involvement in a healthy democracy. Given the historical volatility of Argentine politics, as well as a history of street demonstrations which have taken a tragic turn, it appears to have many people worried. Despite the superficial prosperity, there is a definite sense that this is a moment of particular instability in the economy. As la Presidenta Kirchner was doing her tour of the U.S. last week, complete with Obama photo-op, the general consensus in the city seemed to be that she should more appropriately have been at home, trying to deal in a serious fashion with the assortment of problems that face the nation.

Empanada Update

This photo shows two empanadas, purchased earlier today at a local bakery (la panaderia). Though you would have no particular way of knowing it from their outward appearance, the one on the right contains chicken ("pollo"), the other contains beef ("carne"). Both were delicious, definitely superior in quality relative to the generic Jumbo Foods empanadas sold in el supermercado. But again, if there is a way to infer the contents from their exterior appearance, nobody provided me with the secret decoder.

What's that you say? Isn't "pollo" classified as a type of "carne"? Not here in Argentina it isn't. There's only one kind of carne in these parts. The kind that moos.

Jedbangers

Until now, this blog has been reprehensibly silent on the subject of heavy metal, a situation which this post shall endeavor to remedy. Whether you are a fan of death metal, thrash metal, black metal, power metal, or one of those extra-alienated doom or goth metal types, this post's for you. So listen up, motherfrackers! (I'm talking to you, Peter Compton!)

Oh, you can say that what attracts you to metal are the dominant use of the Aeolian progressions I-VI-VII, I-VII-(VI), or I-VI-IV-VII and Phrygian progressions (implying the relation between I and ♭II (I-♭II-I, I-♭II-III, or I-♭II-VII)). But we know that it's really the persistent invocation of the tritone (an interval spanning three whole tones—such as C and F#—a forbidden dissonance in medieval ecclesiastical singing, leading monks to call it diabolus in musica—"the devil in music", which symbolic association causes it to be heard in Western cultural convention as "evil"). That, and the whole headbanging aspect. Why else do you keep renewing that subscription to "Headbanger" magazine?

Or, as it's known in these here parts (and, to the extent that this post has any point at all, which is doubtful, this would be it), "Jedbangers". A name which cracks me the hell up.

Regrets, I have a few

As my time in Buenos Aires draws to an end, it becomes obvious that there are certain experiences I shall have to forgo this trip. For instance, that trip to Tigre - Paddy and I chose comfort over exhaustion, and my plan to go with Ed this past Saturday had to be shelved in favor of the exciting living statues contest. Also, it seems as if Fate is conspiring to prevent my seeing THE film of the moment, "Los secretos de sus ojos"; despite two efforts to see it with Rodrigo, we have so far not managed to do so.

Similarly, the fact that Friday will be my last evening here makes it highly unlikely that I will be able to participate in the exciting excursion detailed below, much as it pains me to keep my readers in the dark as to the exact nature of the misteryous "Big Ear Pest",



not to mention the macabre tale of Rufina Cambaceres, "the young lady who died twice". Though that name does ring a bell from last year, I'm afraid the details elude me right now.

However, I suppose I could bring a mate to the laberynth of handcrafters on Saturday:



assuming I can find a thermos large enough.

There are some events which occasion not even a tinge of regret, however:



I can safely say that the horror which the thought of this "event" provokes has nothing whatsoever to do with my advanced age. At no point in my life would such a prospect ever have elicited any reaction other than sheer unadulterated horror. As a card-carrying INTJ, I wear my introversion as a badge of honor. If you are an extrovert, who rolls your eyes as you read this, might I suggest that you try spending an evening alone reading a book, or with your thoughts. Oh, that's right - sorry - you don't have any, do you? Besides which, your treasured memory of that delirious pub crawl is going to look like this:



The plain people of Ireland: Here, that's a bit harsh, isn't it? What's wrong with getting together with a few pals for a couple of pints?
MOTP: Nothing. Nothing at all. But what makes you think that things are going to stop after a couple of pints? Take a close look at the debauched faces in those pictures, and tell me that someone isn't going to end up damaged by the end of the night. It's all fun and games until someone ends up with a broken limb, you know.

Bibliomania

Of course it was bound to happen. After weeks of (relative) self-restraint, I ended up going on a binge today in the Libreria del Libertador on the Avenida Corrientes, leaving with roughly a dozen books in various categories. The fact that I paid only a fistful of dollars for them is of no consequence - their purchase has definitively pushed me over the threshold, meaning that a trip to the DHL office later in the week to arrange shipping is now no longer optional, but mandatory. On the plus side, this means I can enjoy a further binge tomorrow, secure in the knowledge that one might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb. Relative to the cost of shipping the first 10 kilos, that for the next 5 kilos is peanuts.

I blame Ciro for this. Routing our afternoon stroll past the bookstore in question was an act of sheer gleeful malevolence on his part. He knows full well that the Libreria del Libertador is my particular Achilles heel here in Buenos Aires.

In other news, plans for my Madrid trip are now final - I will be leaving San Francisco on Friday, October 23rd, arriving back the evening of Tuesday, December 1st. I should get back to San Francisco from B.A. this coming Sunday afternoon (October 4th).

Our muse it doth refuse to stop (WARNING! Doggerel Alert)

Damn you, anonymous challenger! This is the kind of thing that keeps some of us from sleeping, and I need my beauty sleep. But there's more:

Lines composed while brushing and flossing

If you should suffer from the caries,
Which often times cause for despair is,
Fear not for here in Buenos Aires,
The quality of dental care is
Very good, a thing that rare is
But not down here in Buenos Aires
The dentists, like benign tooth fairies
Will save your teeth from Raton Perez.
Cancel your trip to the Canaries!
And come on down to Buenos Aires.

I trust this doggerel is bad enough to meet any challenge.

A mash note to Buenos Aires

After the recent outburst of regrettable doggerel, I thought it only fair to list some of the reasons I adore this city. In no particular order (and without much elaboration, because it's late, and I still have to write my nightly essay for tomorrow's class with Ciro):

• Orderly bus queues.
• Lingering in cafes, bars, and restaurants: there is no pressure to move on, once you receive your order, you are left in blessed peace to read, chat, watch the passers-by.
• Ice-cream as good as, and possibly better than, that in Seville.
• The general architectural ambience, which is like a cross of what one imagines New York to have been in the 1950s and Paris as it is today.
• The stunningly high prevalence of bookstores, new and used, and the impression that this is a highly literate population. I mean, they name their chocolate bars for Shakespearean characters, for goodness sake!
• Everything about the school - my teachers, classmates, and the remarkably high quality of instruction.
• The fact that I get to walk at least 50 blocks daily, often more. (I know, I could do this in SF as well, but the fact is I don't)
• The general good humor and charm of almost everyone I've met here - people just seem naturally helpful and friendly.
• The ludicrously favorable exchange rate.
• The wine.
• The absence of packs of marauding wild dogs, unlike another Latin American capital I could mention.
• Electronic tango.
• The feeling that the city brings out the best in me.

And with that, good night for now.

The Dangers of Lox

Warning: this post contains juvenile humor. Expectant mothers might possibly find it offensive. Or they might find it hilarious - que se yo?

One of the great things about frittering away hours on assorted time-wasting sites on the internet is the way that one hilarious time-wasting site often leads to another, with even greater potential for hilarity and time wastage. This is the process that led me to the often side-splittingly funny "Let's Panic about Babies" website, which I recommend unreservedly, if only for the following table of:

substances to avoid during pregnancy

Warning, link may not be entirely safe for work, as it may cause you to cackle uncontrollably at your desk, and has no obvious redeeming social value. But then, redeeming social value is grossly overrated, and where else are you going to learn about the

DANGERS OF LOX

Contains: Jewishness, Scandianavianness, that bloated brunchy weekend feeling
Effect on Fetus: Baby will be born covered in capers; cats will follow Baby everywhere; your house will be plagued by reindeer

The site has much, much more to offer -

baby panic

Possibly my other favorite item on the site is the picture ad that plaintively asks:

"Infant stressing you out?"
1-800-DINGOES
"One call is all it takes!"

Accepting the Doggerel Challenge

A comment on a previous post wondered if I could write poetry even worse than that of James McIntyre. The answer is - "of course" - though not necessarily for long stretches at a time. But just off the top of my head, here is the

Weather Report for the City of Fair Breezes
(lines composed while attending to Nature's call)

Oh here in downtown Buenos Aires,
The temperature it often varies,
Rain drizzles down like pee of fairies,
And washes downtown Buenos Aires.

Whether you are a Capricorn, or even an Aries,

You'll like it here in Buenos Aires.

Though the temperature it often varies,

And rain drops down like pee of fairies.

I could go on, but I think I've proved my point.

Sunday Diorama Update (special vamp edition)

Evita fashion show

A first lady has to be decked out nicely. Something that the good folks at the Evita museum recognize:







For a more extensive sampling of Evita's fashion choices, visit the virtual collection at the following link:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/gaelstat/sets/72157622468412032/

Evita Redux

Estatuas Vivientes!

Today I got to go to my favorite event in all of Buenos Aires - the annual living statues contest! Here are a few of the ones I liked best:












The entire set may be seen at the link below:

Living Statues 2009

Que disfruten!

Bad poetry showdown

For years now, scholars have been arguing over who should be the true holder of the title of worst poet ever. Most agree that there are only two serious contenders (where poetry in "English" is concerned, at any rate). One is Scotsman William Topaz McGonagall, whose poem "The Tay Bridge Disaster" certainly justifies his consideration as a serious candidate. For years I was in the McGonagall camp, but more recently I find myself leaning more towards James McIntyre, Ontario's "Chaucer of Cheese". To see why, keep on reading (at your own risk)

MOTP readers are invited to register their own opinions, by adding a comment to this post.

The evidence:

The Tay Bridge Disaster
William Topaz McGonagall (1879)


Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
’Twas about seven o’clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seem’d to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem’d to say --
“I’ll blow down the Bridge of Tay.
”When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers’ hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say --
“I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay.”
But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers’ hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov’d most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.
So the train mov’d slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o’er the town,
Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill’d all the people’s hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav’d to tell the tale
How the disaster happen’d on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.

Now let's hear from James McIntyre:

Ode on the Mammoth Cheese
(Weight over seven thousand pounds)

We have seen thee, queen of cheese,
Lying quietly at your ease,
Gently fanned by evening breeze,
Thy fair form no flies dare seize.
All gaily dressed soon you'll go
To the great Provincial show,
To be admired by many a beau
In the city of Toronto.
Cows numerous as a swarm of bees,
Or as the leaves upon the trees,
It did require to make thee please.
And stand unrivalled, queen of cheese.
May you not receive a scar as
We have heard that Mr. Harris
Intends to to send you off as far as
The great world's show at Paris.
Of the youth beware of these,
For some of them might rudely squeeze
And bite your cheek, then songs or glees
We could not sing, oh! queen of cheese.

We'rt thou suspended from balloon,
You'd cast a shade even at noon,
Folks would think it was the moon
About to fall and crush them soon.


Dairy Ode

Our muse it doth refuse to sing
Of cheese made early in the spring,
When cows give milk from spring fodder
You cannot make a good cheddar.

The quality is often vile
Of cheese that is made in April,
Therefore we think for that reason
You should make later in the season.

Cheese making you should delay
Until about the first of May.
Then cows do feed on grassy field
And rich milk they abundant yield.

Ontario cannot compete
With the Northwest in raising wheat,
For cheaper there they it can grow
So price in future may be low.

Though this a hardship it may seem,
Rejoice that you have got the cream,
In this land of milk and honey,
Where dairy farmers do make money.

Utensils must be clean and sweet,
So cheese with first class can compete,
And daily polish up milk pans,
Take pains with vats and with milk cans.

And it is important matter
To allow no stagnant water,
But water from pure well or stream
The cow must drink to give pure cream.

Canadian breeds 'tis best to pair
With breeds from the shire of Ayr,
They thrive on our Canadian feed
And are for milking splendid breed.

Though 'gainst spring cheese some do mutter,
Yet spring milk also makes bad butter,
Then there doth arise the query
How to utilize it in the dairy.

The milk it floats in great spring flood
Though it is not so rich and good,
Let us be thankful for this stream
Of milk and also curds and cream.

All dairymen their highest aims
Should be to make the vale of Thames,
Where milk doth so abundant flow,
Dairyland of Ontario.



Oxford Cheese Ode

The ancient poets ne'er did dream
That Canada was land of cream,
They ne'er imagined it could flow
In this cold land of ice and snow,
Where everything did solid freeze,
They ne'er hoped or looked for cheese.
A few years since our Oxford farms
Were nearly robbed of all their charms,
O'er cropped the weary land grew poor
And nearly barren as a moor,
But now the owners live at ease
Rejoicing in their crop of cheese.
And since they justly treat the soil,
Are well rewarded for their toil,
The land enriched by goodly cows,
Yie'ds plenty now to fill their mows,
Both wheat and barley, oats and peas
But still their greatest boast is cheese.
And you must careful fill your mows
With good provender for your cows,
And in the winter keep them warm,
Protect them safe all time from harm,
For cows do dearly love their ease,
Which doth insure best grade of cheese.
To us it is a glorious theme
To sing of milk and curds and cream,
Were it collected it could float
On its bosom, small steam boat,
Cows numerous as swarm of bees
Are milked in Oxford to make cheese.

Exciting diorama update

I almost forgot to alert readers to last week's new additions to the matchbox collection. As is evident from the photos, there is a distinct nautical theme -





Coming soon - the extremely rare Bettie Page and Olivia Newton-John matchboxes. The collection is about to "get physical"!

Full matchbox coverage may be found here

http://www.flickr.com/photos/gaelstat/sets/72157622164615327/

Meditation XVII (John Donne)

I had always thought that the famous "No man is an island" lines were a free-standing poem, and didn't realize that they are part of the following longer piece (I'm not sure I buy into the whole 'affliction as treasure' metaphor, but those of the island, and the bell, are undeniably powerful):

Meditation XVII from Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions (John Donne, 1624)

Nunc lento sonitu dicunt, morieris.
(Now this bell tolling softly for another, says to me, Thou must die.)

Perchance he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill as that he knows not it tolls for him; and perchance I may think myself so much better than I am, as that they who are about me and see my state may have caused it to toll for me, and I know not that.

The church is catholic, universal, so are all her actions; all that she does belongs to all. When she baptizes a child, that action concerns me; for that child is thereby connected to that head which is my head too, and ingrafted into the body whereof I am a member. And when she buries a man, that action concerns me: all mankind is of one author and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated. God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice; but God's hand is in every translation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again for that library where every book shall lie open to one another. As therefore the bell that rings a sermon calls not upon the preacher only, but upon the congregation to come, so this bell calls us all; but how much more me, who am brought so near the door by this sickness.

There was a contention as far as a suit (in which piety and dignity, religion and estimation, were mingled) which of the religious orders should ring to prayers first in the morning; and it was determined that they should ring first that rose earliest. If we understand aright the dignity of this bell that tolls for our evening prayer, we would be glad to make it ours by rising early, in that application, that it might be ours as well as his whose indeed it is. The bell doth toll for him that thinks it doth; and though it intermit again, yet from that minute that that occasion wrought upon him, he is united to God.

Who casts not up his eye to the sun when it rises? but who takes off his eye from a comet when that breaks out? Who bends not his ear to any bell which upon any occasion rings? but who can remove it from that bell which is passing a piece of himself out of this world?

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were. Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

Neither can we call this a begging of misery or a borrowing of misery, as though we are not miserable enough of ourselves but must fetch in more from the next house, in taking upon us the misery of our neighbors. Truly it were an excusable covetousness if we did; for affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it. No man hath affliction enough that is not matured and ripened by it, and made fit for God by that affliction.

If a man carry treasure in bullion, or in a wedge of gold, and have none coined into current moneys, his treasure will not defray him as he travels. Tribulation is treasure in the nature of it, but it is not current money in the use of it, except we get nearer and nearer our home, heaven, by it. Another man may be sick too, and sick to death, and this affliction may lie in his bowels as gold in a mine and be of no use to him; but this bell that tells me of his affliction digs out and applies that gold to me, if by this consideration of another's dangers I take mine own into contemplation and so secure myself by making my recourse to my God, who is our only security.

Puerto Madero

Today, we went on a little class excursion to Puerto Madero, pictured above. "We" included Monica (from Brazil), Ed (from England), and Ciro (el prof);



Of course, I was there too (pictured below, with a bovine acquaintance)



(note to self: work on that dopey grin)

This was my first time in Puerto Madero, which is B.A's version of London's Canary Wharf. Though it is undoubtedly an improvement over what was there previously (abandoned dockland), I found it somewhat soulless and interchangeable with any similar development in any other major waterfront city (including, for instance, the presence of a Hooters, as well as a branch of TGIF's, where the waitstaff were forced to wear demeaning comical costumes). Monica, on the other hand, finds it completely enchanting. Different strokes, and all that ....

It's ironic, but perhaps emblematic of the difficulties I have with it, that its signature bridge (seen in the first picture above), designed by world-famous Valencian architect Santiago Calatrava, was inaugurated (or whatever one does with bridges) on December 20th 2001. This was the day when the economic bubble of Argentina's Menem years finally burst, with riots in the city that lasted through the night. A day where police violence resulted in the loss of 32 lives.

As I may have reported earlier, many Argentines believe to this day that to utter the name "Menem" is bad luck, and they instead substitute the word 'Yeta' ('bringer of bad luck'). Shades of 'he who must not be named' in the Harry Potter books.

But it was a pleasant excursion and - hey - after a while anything is preferable to yet another discussion of the correct use of the subjunctive. Which seems to be all that is left to discuss, as far as Thpanish grammar is concerned. Because, quite evidently, its subtleties are infinite, and not to be grasped by mere foreigners.

Nonetheless, I intend to keep on trying!

Sweet Hamlet-y goodness

I think the fact that there is a chocolate bar named after Hamlet attests to the generally high level of cultural literacy here in Buenos Aires. I fully expect to see "Macbeth" blood sausages in the butcher's section at the supermarket.

(Note to self: under no circumstances allow yourself to be tempted by the 'Titus Andronicus' meatpies)

The plain people of Ireland: Here, what's yer man on about now. Sinead! Nuala! Tell us, what's "Titus Andronicus" about again?
(voice of Nuala, offstage): Oh, Daddy, you really don't want to know. It's a horrible play - very grand Guignol.
The plain people of Ireland: Dear God, what's the girl on about? Is this why we paid out huge gobs of money to the nuns, so that our own flesh and blood would be talking above our heads?

Back on the Plain

Excellent news! I am glad to report that MOTP will once again be taking up residence on the Iberian plain, on or around Saturday October 24th, with plans to stay in Madrid through December 1st or thereabouts. Even better, the same Madrid apartment from earlier in the year is available, so once again I will be neighboring the establishment pictured below:



At the risk of disappointing certain readers of this blog, I would like to make it quite clear from the outset that there will no repetition of the whole spring candy-pooping animal diorama excesses.

But five weeks in Madrid in autumn! Yay!

Operation Baked Goods Status Report

Regrettably, the recent spate of dental excavations and renovations has severely curtailed the ability of MOTP staff to invest adequate amounts of time and effort in the OBG-Argentina initiative. Thus, this week our investigation has been reduced, quite literally, to performing curbstone research:



But, based purely on the visuals, one has to think that there is definite potential here.

We hope to be able to provide a more comprehensive update, complete with gustatory details, in a future post, once all this irritating crown-and-post nonsense has been taken care of. Unfortunately, that won't be for another week.

El conducto

A word to drive fear into the most resolute heart is the Spanish word "conducto", meaning root canal surgery. Today I got to experience this less than delightful procedure first-hand, spending a total of two hours and twenty minutes in the chair of the charming Doctora Marisol. As I may have mentioned before, there are relatively few professions in which demented perfectionism would be considered a good thing. Dentistry is, however, one of them.

Back tomorrow for the first leg of the 'post and crown' procedure. But I suspect that the only one who really cares about any of this might be me. So I will leave it at that for the evening.

I'd like to be able to report that root canal work gets a bad rap. But it's every bit as hideous as everyone says. Even in beautiful Buenos Aires. But at least here it has the virtue of being inexpensive.

Altruism Update

MOTP regrets to report that this whole putpocket phenomenon (see yesterday's post and associated comments) has taken a distinctly sinister turn for the worse. As our roving correspondent reported earlier today:

"Baked Do-Goods said...
OMG! I woke up today and found an Empanada of Unknown Shape and Hence Filling in my pocket!"

Unfortunately, police in Santander report that disgruntled Basque separatists, in an effort to hijack this new eleemosynary trend, have taken to stuffing empanadas with Semtex, and tiny detonating devices, prior to placing them in the pockets of their intended victims. Authorities are reported to be very worried about the potential for widespread chaos throughout the Basque region, particularly since efforts to cross-train members of the canine drug-sniffing unit to seek out the booby-trapped empanadas have been conspicuously without success. According to a spokesman for the anti-terrorist squad in Santander:

"So far the training sessions have been totally unsuccessful - the puppies just gulp down the empanadas, apparently under the mistaken notion that they are just doggie treats".

Travelers are urged to turn in any unsolicited empanadas to local police. Under no circumstances should such items be placed in the microwave!

MOTP staff continue to monitor this dangerous situation closely.

La llama que llama

Any U.S. resident who has been exposed to more than ten minutes of television within the last five years cannot have escaped the ubiquitous Geiko gecko, the Cockney-accented spokesbeast for Geiko insurance. Day and night, this perky little green critter exhorts us to consider switching to Geiko for our car insurance needs (he's not nearly as annoying as one might imagine, despite blanketing the airwaves with his presence).

Comedic animal spokesbeasts are, of course, not the sole preserve of Geiko. Argentina has its share as well. One of the most famous in recent years was the (now retired) "llama que llama", who - logically enough - was a spokesbeast for the phone company Telecom. Here are two examples of this fine spokesbeast in action:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nhAcQ9ca8Ck

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nxkLorN4PCU

Warning - there are some twenty of these videos in all - you may find it hard to stop at just two.

For language geeks only: the second link above is particularly funny, as it involves a further play on the word "llama", which, in addition to meaning "llama", as well as the third person singular present tense of the verb "llamar" (to call), also means "flame". Thus, the spot is playing with the idea that 'lanzallamas' (flamethrower) could also mean a device for throwing llamas.

Either you find this kind of thing funny or you don't . Personally, I think these llamas are hilarious, and that the whole ad campaign is pure genius.

Altruism run amok

"Visitors to London always have to be on the look out for pickpockets, but now there's another, more positive phenomenon on the loose - putpockets. Aware that people are suffering in the economic crisis, 20 former pickpockets have turned over a new leaf and are now trawling London's tourist sites slipping money back into unsuspecting pockets."

- Reuters: 'Putpockets' secretly slip cash into bags and pockets
theage.com.au, 24 August 2009.

Ever since first reading about this whole 'putpocket' phenomenon, we here at MOTP central have been fascinated. In an era where news organizations world wide are having to cut back on such luxuries as foreign correspondents, we felt sure that there was more to the story than Reuters might have been able to track down. So, sparing no expense, we did a little investigation of our own. The results were sobering, as this brief report from our roving correspondent suggests:

More sinister examples of the eleemosynary impulse gone awry have also been reported. Scotland Yard is particularly interested in locating the shadowy figure they have dubbed the "barracuda", whose modus operandi is to drug and kidnap unsuspecting visitors from hotels in the city centre, and transport them to a warehouse which has been outfitted as a dentist's office, where they are subjected to multiple tooth implants before being returned to their hotels.

According to a police spokesman:"Although the charitable impulse of this reverse tooth fairy might be considered admirable, the execution has often been problematic. In particular, the use of children's teeth to augment existing adult dentition has resulted in some victims waking up with far more than a regular complement of teeth, up to as many as 44 in extreme cases".

Another worrying trend has been the increased number of reports of hotel guests waking up in a bathtub full of ice, with fresh incision scars, to find that they have been the recipients of a third kidney.

Here at MOTP, we will continue to monitor developments in this ongoing saga of altruism run amok. Our readers deserve no less.

Azaleas in Bloom

Spring is coming to Buenos Aires!



Mañana!

Lost in the Museum

"Hey, Sancho! How did we end up in the Evita museum?"



"Beats me! I didn't think donkeys could swim that far."

Rooney's Boutique Hotel

Normally, this blog steers clear of anything that smacks too overtly of product placement. But occasionally, one stumbles across a product or service that is so remarkable that an exception has to be made. As regular readers will know, my friend Paddy visited from Washington D.C. for ten days earlier in the month. While here in Buenos Aires she stayed at a hotel in the centre called

Rooney's Boutique Hotel.

From start to finish her entire stay there was absolutely terrific. The location was ideal and the hotel is gorgeous (the painstakingly renovated home of the writer Leopold Lugones, whose complex family life was discussed in a previous post). Most importantly, the staff were uniformly charming - professional, incredibly helpful, just really nice, friendly people, who made her stay there truly memorable. And there is actually a "Rooney" - the hotel is owned by a compatriot of mine called Kieran Rooney, from Belfast, as nice a guy as you could ever hope to meet, and a resident of Buenos Aires for over nine years now.

Located right in the heart of Buenos Aires, very reasonably priced, with expected features such as free Wi-Fi access, and some more unexpected, like free tango lessons three nights a week, Rooney's is a gem of a hotel. I have no hesitation in recommending it to anyone who might be thinking of heading to Buenos Aires. Further information available by clicking on the link to their webpage above.

A lazy day!

One of the hazards of having an apartment as nice as the one here in B.A. is that, after a pretty gruelling week (including, let's not forget) four hours in the dentist's chair, it becomes far too easy to just lounge around at home, listening to the latest from Gotan Project on the CD player, and not accomplishing much of anything. Oh, strike that - it's not a hazard, it's a pleasure.

But a day where one's main achievement is cleaning the Augean stable of one's inbox (trimming the number of messages from over 20K to 10K so far, and we're not done yet, nosiree bob!) calls for a little more.

Maybe I'll head out in search of sustenance. I know a place just down the street that does a fine Chicken Maryland....

My latest American Express statement has entries like "dinner for two, including wine and tip - $45", "complete dental checkup and 2 inlays - $679". OK, that may not be the exact wording, but you get the point. This year things are even more ludicrously inexpensive than last year, as the exchange rate is considerably better. The U.S. dollar, which was valued at about 3 Argentine pesos a year ago, is now worth - typically - somewhere between 3.80 and 3.85 pesos.

Why don't I just move here and have done with it? (To any of my friends in SF, that's a rhetorical question - I'm not actually serious. At least I don't think so.)

This brings up the reasonable question of my long-term plans. After all, I hope to take the DELE superior, which is the Everest of Spanish proficiency exams offered by the Cervantes Institute, in November. Assuming it goes well, it leaves me only the flimsiest of excuses to take further Spanish language classes. My original plan had been, once Spanish was 'done', to repeat the whole experience in French. More recently, however, I've been having the thought that it seems a shame not to put the Spanish I've learned to some use. So the notion of perhaps trying to set something up where I would spend time as a visiting lecturer in statistics at a university in some Spanish-speaking country has crossed my mind. I hope to investigate this possibility further when I go back to Madrid in November.

Even if that idea comes to nothing, France as a backup option doesn't seem half bad.

Arr!

Just remember, today be international "Talk like a Pirate" day, me hearties!

Relatos de viaje : del libro al blog

(I am using this post to archive a short piece I wrote for the school newsletter this week. We will return to your regularly scheduled language in the next post.)

En el año 1974, Bruce Chatwin, periodista del Sunday Times de Londres, viajó a Patagonia por primera vez. El paisaje y los habitantes le encantaron tanto que decidió despedirse del periódico para quedarse en la región. Después de viajar seis meses por Patagonia, Chatwin publicó sus recuerdos de viaje como libro. "In Patagonia" salió en 1977 y fue un gran éxito, aclamado por la crítica y el público, ganando el premio prestigioso Hawthornden y el premio E.M. Forster también.

Chatwin no fue el único escritor que se quedó encantado con Patagonia. En 1979 salió el libro "The Old Patagonian Express" del escritor estadounidense, Paul Theroux, relato de un viaje que el autor había hecho en varios trenes, desde Boston, en el norte de los Estados Unidos, hasta Tierra del Fuego, en Patagonia. El libro de Theroux también recibió críticas muy favorables y es considerado, como lo de Chatwin, un clásico del género "relatos de viaje".

Si Chatwin o Theroux hicieran sus viajes hoy en dia, claro que su forma preferida de recordar sus memorias de viaje no sería escribir un diario, sino crear un blog. En nuestra época, en la que cada viajero tiene su portátil y hay cybercafés en las esquinas más remotas del mundo, no hay nadie que no pueda crear su propio blog. Hay tantos "bloggers" como viajeros, y se supone que hay tantas razones para crear un blog de viaje como viajeros también. No puedo adivinar los motivos de otros, solamente compartir mis propias razones para escribir este blog.

Lo empecé hace dos años cuando me decidí a aprender español. Tiene dos objetivos para mí: como crónica de mi "viaje de aprendizaje" del castellano y como modo de comunicación con mi familia y mis amigos. También los comentarios que dejan otros viajeros en el blog me conducen a otros relatos de viaje muy interesantes. A veces la experiencia de vivir fuera de mi país y lejos de mis amigos puede ser complicada; el esfuerzo por captar mis impresiones y mis pensamientos en el blog me ayuda mucho a procesar la experiencia. Claro que hay otras ventajas prácticas también - por ejemplo, la posibilidad de cargar y compartir mis recuerdos fotográficas (más de 3,000 desde el principio de mi "aventura española") en sitios de red como Flickr.

Les invito a todos mis lectores a echar un vistazo en mis fotos:

www.flickr.com/photos/gaelstat

The Rule of Carolina

The rule of Carolina (aka 'la regla de Carolina') states that the only consonants which can appear doubled in Spanish are those appearing in the name 'Carolina'. Tonight I had dinner with the very Carolina who first taught me this rule.

Oddly enough, we had pizza for dinner. It is a sign of my incurable geekitude that I find this hilarious.

The plain people of Ireland: What's he on about now? We don't get it.
MOTP: PiZZa! See, there is no 'z' in 'Carolina'. Oh, never mind ....

RECURSOS EN INTERNET PARA ESTUDIANTES DEL ESPAÑOL

Cuando empecé a aprender alemán, en el año 1968, teníamos un libro de conversación (aburridísimo) y un libro de gramática (aún más aburrido) y nada más. Hoy en dia, en cambio, hay una riqueza increíble de recursos para quien quiera aprender cualquier idioma extranjero, no solamente el castellano. La mejor estrategia para descubrir todos las ayudas de aprendizaje del español que se puede encontrar en internet es hacer su propia búsqueda por Google (o cualquier otro sitio de busca).

Como motivación, les ofrezco esta corta lista de sitios útiles, con algunos comentarios sobre el contenido, para empezar:

1. www.cnn.com/espanol/
2. www.elpais.es/
3. www.literatura.org/
4. www.indiana.edu/~call/
5. www.cervantes.es
6. http://www.rae.es/
7. http://www.lanacion.com.ar/


1 = CNN News en castellano
2 = diario español "El País" en internet
3 = sitio sobre la literatura argentina contemporánea : incluye artículos sobre varios escritores, entrevistas, cuentos, y notícias de eventos literarios
4 = sitio muy amplio del "Spanish CALL Project" de la universidad de Indiana (EEUU) - ofrece diversas cosas interesantes, entre ellos un surtido de ejercicios muy buenos para estudiantes y profesores del español. También ofrece enlaces a varios otros sitios que tienen que ver con el aprendizaje de la lengua española
5 = sitio del Instituto Cervantes (el centro de nervios para "las culturas hispánicas en Internet"). Quizás la dirección de red más importante de esta lista - ofrece recursos para estudiantes y profesores, ejercicios, información sobre los examenes DELE ("Diplomas de Español como Lengua Extranjera") y mucho más ....
6 = diccionario de la Real Academia de la Lengua Española (para cualquier duda sobre el uso actual del español)
7 = el diario argentino "La Nación" en internet.

Que disfruten!

Cristina's Trifecta

Over my delicious dinner of Chicken Maryland*, a delicacy that I had previously only known from my youth in Ireland, but which, I am delighted to report, is a staple menu item here in Buenos Aires, I attempted to improve my Spanish by reading "El Pais". In an otherwise fairly boring article about la Presidenta Cristina's (Kirchner's) efforts to push through anti-monopoly legislation affecting the telecommunications industry the following concluding sentence caught my eye: (Cristina is responding, peeved, to suggestions by reporters that her husband Nestor, who preceded her in the presidency, was pulling the strings)

"Como si yo fuera una persona que no decide y quien decida sea Nestor Kirchner", respondio, enojada.

("As if I were an indecisive person, and the one who decides were Nestor Kirchner", she replied, annoyedly.)

That italicized sentence, containing, as it does, three separate uses of the subjunctive, leaves me slack-jawed in admiration. With just a tinge of despair. You see, this is the kind of sentence I can only aspire to. Never in my life could I manage to get all those three subjunctives correct. I would certainly have managed that "Como si yo fuera" (denoting a condition deemed by the speaker to be impossible), probably even that "sea Nestor" (another supposition that the speaker deems unreal). But that "quien decida" (where the subjunctive is used to denote a lack of specificity about the person who is actually the decider) - not in a month of Sundays!

Sigh.

*: you could look it up; most versions include a deep-fried banana and pineapple rings. 'Nuff said.

El codigo de las empanadas (continued)

Continuing (briefly) with yesterday's topic. The whole vexed subject of empanada decoding is apparently infinitely more complex than one might ever have thought possible. I checked with Ciro this morning, and it appears that there is no 'universal empanada code'. That is, inferences based on shape or other indicators have to be drawn locally, specific to the particular place of manufacture. So that the fact that a triangular empanada from Jumbo foods contains tuna is of no help in deciphering the contents of a triangular empanada produced at a different establishment.

Ciro did say that some manufacturers try to help the consumer by tracing helpful abbreviations on the exterior surface of the pastry. Thus, 'CS' would mean 'carne suave', 'CP' corresponds to 'carne picada' and so forth. This system does appear to presuppose a certain command of Spanish, however - for instance, it assumes that the consumer is savvy enough to see past the potential eucharistic associations of the abbreviation 'JC' to figure out that the contents are more likely to be ham and cheese than the body of (depending on one's views on transubstantiation versus consubstantiation*) one's personal Lord and Savior.

*: a specific heresy subscribed to by assorted Protestant sects, or - to use the quaint Irish phrase - those who dig with the other foot.

Happy Birthday, Dale!

With only two hours to go (well, three in Canada), and my e-mail still not working, let me use this forum to wish a most excellent birthday (what's left of it) to my brother-in-law, Dale. Last year I sent him a fine model car for his birthday, only to have Canada Customs take it to pieces and not really reassemble it properly. So this year, I'm afraid the best I can do is send him a picture of his own car, currently in the shop (AGAIN), as I understand it.



And a fine vehicle it is too!

Hope you had a great birthday, Dale, and that I see you guys again in the not too distant future.

Un abrazo.

David

Empanada Semiotics (also an OBG update)

Dear Jumbo Foods:

It's probably a consequence of my currently reading "Barthes para Principiantes" (Barthes for Beginners), but I couldn't help thinking earlier this evening, as I gummed down some of your tasty baked goods, "Have you ever considered hiring a professional semiotician"? For one thing, (s)he might have something to say about your somewhat ill-considered name choice as a company. And some pointers about how to package your product line in a consumer-friendly fashion:



Chalk it up to my non-Argentine ancestry, but I'm afraid that, when confronted with the cornucopia of flaky goodness pictured above earlier tonight, I found myself at a distinct loss. How was I to know, for instance, that 'triangular' is code for 'delicious tuna', or that the other, more misshapen, item on the left in the second picture would contain 'carne with black olives'? I'm sure that this is information every good Argentine absorbs with his mother's milk, but spare a thought for us poor foreigners. My ignorance about the semiotics of differently shaped empanadas lent a decidely aleatory touch to tonight's dining experience.

Granted, you are not alone in your erroneous assumptions about the semiotic savvy of consumers. For instance, it has taken me half a lifetime of noshing on the kind of chocolates that come in gift boxes to figure out that square or rectangular almost always means caramel or nougat (a kind I would definitely have to avoid in my current temporarily dentally challenged state), while oval almost always indicates a fondue filling of some kind.

But the manufacturers of Whitman Samplers, Cadbury's Milk Tray assortments, Rowntree's Black Magic and the like generally take some pity on their sweet-toothed customers and include a little schematic diagram to help decipher the contents of their various chocolatey treats, a feature which helps minimize the frequency of such hideous events as finding a tooth-marked delicacy (i.e. tried and rejected) nestling innocently in the box.

Perhaps you too might consider such an aide-memoire? If only to help us pitiful foreigners who are just visiting this great land of yours.

I, for one, would be droolingly grateful.

Communication Difficulties

Yahoo! Mail (you know, the system with non-existent spam filters) has been balky all day. So anyone expecting to hear from me who doesn't should know that it is nothing personal. Having lost a couple of composed messages already, I've given up on it for the moment. I hope the problem is fixed soon, but it is beyond my control.

In other news, I'm back from la dentista, starving as I didn't have any lunch, with the drooling semi-facial paralysis characteristic of residual anaesthetic effects. Hungrily eyeing the delicious-looking mush that I can look forward to gumming down later this evening. But I look forward to going back tomorrow to having my two shiny new implants put in, and to greatly improved masticating abilities in the days ahead. Maybe I should alert the local restaurateurs* to get ready to put another steak on the parrilla.

You may wonder why I seem to spend so much time at the dentist when I come to Argentina. I think the real puzzle is why more people don't. Even factoring in the airfare down here, it will still cost me far less than it would have done in San Francisco (and my experience with Kaiser's dentists has been less than stellar). In addition to being completely charming, Doctora Marisol was extremely professional, obviously very competent, and spoke perfect English. Plus I can kid myself that it's an adventure down here and pretend that I'm having fun. More easily than at home anyway. However, it would be nice if the fillings that I got during my twenties would stop lodging themselves in whatever I happen to be eating at the time. But maybe, like artificial joint replacements, there is some kind of natural life expectancy for dental work.

*: this word was extraordinarily difficult to type correctly; even now I'm not sure I managed to do so.

The plain people of Ireland: Here, this is very boring today. Reading this entry is like being in the dentist's chair.
MOTP: That may be the case, but at least it doesn't take two hours and leave you with a semi-paralyzed face like a drooling idiot. Anyway, what do you expect, wretches? Life isn't all beer and skittles, you know.

DELPO !!!

Earlier this evening I was having a hard time figuring out why so many people in stores, bars, and restaurants seemed to be transfixed by the TV screens. After all, there wasn't a soccer match on, so the state of semi-paralysis seemed strange, to say the least. It was only as I was browsing the Yahoo! Argentina headlines just now that the penny dropped. In huge font size, the headline blared:

Del Potro vence a Federer y gana Abierto EEUU
(Del Potro beats Federer to win the U.S. Open)

Thereby presumably salvaging a portion of the national pride, which took a beating after last week's successive losses by "La Seleccion" on the soccer field.

In other Yahoo! Argentina frontpage news, the country is apparently abuzz with rumors of romance between the hosts of "Talento Argentino" (Argentina's got talent)

Junto con el rating, crecen los rumores de romance entre Catherine Fulop y Maximiliano Guerra

At least we know that such developments are unlikely between Ellen deGeneres and Simon Cowell.

Yeah. I know. It's a slow news day. So sue me.

Evita!

As I write this, Paddy's plane should be taxi-ing down the runway at Ezeiza, ready to take off for Washington Dulles. It was a wonderful week - great weather, great food, many long leisurely conversations, with just the right amount of cultural and tourist activities thrown in (I am in awe of Paddy for taking advantage of the free tango lessons at her hotel, as well as scheduling her own private lesson with the instructors).

Inevitably, this afternoon we ended up at the Evita museum in Palermo. Which was not at all tacky (as I had feared it might be), and quite a bit more interesting than I had anticipated. With a great gift shop. Here are a few pictures:







I even got to satisfy my matchbox quota for the week (note that they double as nifty refrigerator magnets):



Finally, before Paddy left, we got to satisfy our prurient curiosity and check out the street where Governor Sanford's mistress lives (only one street over from the Evita museum, though I should stress that we have no way of knowing whether or not it is the particular block indicated on the sign)



I am, of course, sad that Paddy has left. But tomorrow begins a new week, with fresh challenges. Such as my role as editor-in-chief of the inaugural edition of the school's newsletter. (No, gentle readers, I didn't ask for this honor - some have greatness thrust upon them). The good news is that I will have both morning classes with Ciro for the week.

And so, good night.

What's that? The taxi scam? Maybe some other time. Oh, all right. Let me start by saying that, after it happens, you ask yourself - "how ever could we have been so gullible?" The answer is twofold. First, it all happened so fast. And second, if you never trusted anyone, you'd have to spend your whole life lurking in your apartment. Which, ultimately, seems like it would be a far worse fate than being taken for an amount that, in the general scheme of things, was pretty negligible. Far better to be in a position to have such a misadventure, and to be able to laugh about it afterwards, than to spend one's whole life sheltered from such escapades.

A final note of practical advice. Should you find yourself in an Argentine taxicab, be ready to pay with small bills. Should the driver tell you the notes you just handed him are fake, DO NOT HAND HIM ANY MORE NOTES*. Instead, just get out of the taxi, while offering to take the matter up with any available policeman. If you can write down the number of the taxi while doing so, so much the better.

Naturally, of course, we did none of these things. And were taken for suckers instead. Fortunately, not for a particularly large amount.

Luckily, this was a very minor blemish in an otherwise perfect week. And now, really, I have to go to bed.

*: this was where we really messed up.

At the mall

Today, we went to the Abasto shopping centre, where we saw a Ferris Wheel:



as well as a kosher McDonald's:



The latter was, of course, closed what with being a Saturday and all.

Right now I am examining the map to plan tomorrow's trip to the Evita museum, and - only a block away - the street where Governor Sanford's mistress lives. Good times!

Sadly, tomorrow is Paddy's last day.

At the museum

Before we return to the sore topic of the great fake banknote taxi scam, here's a pleasant memory from yesterday. Paddy and I went to MALBA, the fancy museum of American art in Palermo. In the bookstore, I found this delightful set of little books for children, for only 20 pesos (a little over 5 dollars) for the entire collection:



My favorite is definitely the one which tells the story of the invention of 'dulce de leche':



Though the story of the Buenos Aires zoo comes in a close second:

The great Argentine taxi-driver fake banknote switcheroo scam

Oh yes. We will have more to report on this, once we have regained our composure. Let's just say for now that being left with this particular collection of "banknotes" in your possession, as the taxi vanishes into the distance, is not a particularly good sign:



Can *you* figure out why? Of course you can! And, with the benefit of hindsight, so could we.

Full details of this particular scam, and advice on how YOU can avoid being similarly taken for a ride, tomorrow.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go lie down.

Que dicen los Rice Krispies?

The sounds of global Rice Krispies:

English: "Snap! Crackle! Pop!"

French: "Cric! Crac! Croc!"

Spanish: "Pim! Pum! Pam!"

German: "Knisper! Knasper! Knusper!"

Danish: "Piff! Paff! Puff!"

Finnish: "Riks! Raks! Poks!"

Dutch: "Pif! Paf! Pof!"

Afrikaans: "Knap! Knaetter! Knak!"

Because enquiring minds need to know.

National tragedy

Normally this blog steers a mile wide of all things sports-related, but it would be remiss not to report on the general sense of stupefaction that has taken hold of the Argentine capital after tonight's stunning loss of La Selección, [also known as the Albicelestes (Light blue and whites)] in the World Cup qualifier versus Paraguay. Tonight's 1-0 loss in Asuncion against the clearly superior Paraguayan team, following on Sunday night's loss to Brazil, places the Albicelestes' chances of qualifying for next year's World Cup in significant jeopardy.

In a country where soccer is something akin to the national religion, folks here in B.A. couldn't be unhappier. The name of former national idol (Diego) Maradona, who took on the role of head coach of the Albiceleste squad last year, is in grave danger of becoming a byword.

This trip's quest

Every trip needs a quest. After some discussion with Paddy at the flea market in San Telmo on Sunday, we decided that this month's theme should be matchboxes. Compact, moderately interesting, suitable for building dioramas on those slow Sunday evenings, and spanning a broad variety of themes. Here are some examples from Week 1:





Some of the matchboxes shown even double as nifty refrigerator magnets. how cool is that?