a few words

it's okay to be pushy about getting conversations back on track.
it's okay if your brain is messy because sometimes it will be in order too.
if you are ever stuck inside for a long, long time (say at immigrations in buenos aires, say for eight hours) and have some styrofoam from a sandwich, it is super fun to roll up the pieces into little bowls and wave them away with your hand because you create snowdrift on the floor. it is also fun to make friends this way and share. oh, and it is fun to make a geometrical ring out of it too.
i got someone's email that is day8eternity and they live in the middle of a rainbow lake owned by the coca cola company. i cannot make this up!

got the tum tum blues

I have a million vegetables to do justice with soon. I hope I can live up to the challenge.
I have lost a lot of Spanish this weekend somehow. I really despise that. I am turning into an insomniac. When I don't get home til late and should be tired, I can't sleep. It is a real pain. I am beginning to think of my digestive track as an active volcano.
Yesterday I did the unthinkable and touched some filmy water. It was very pretty, and I disinfected afterward. We went to a silly party and danced, and despite the lack of extremely warm people it reminded me a lot of home. The joking isn't quite as sweet, though. I find myself more standoffish as time goes on to certain people in party situations. That behavior is very much not me, and I wish it wouldn't happen. I just don't trust a lot of strangers here. The abrasive or skeezy factor is tough to judge given the existence of benefit of the doubt. I have not been giving the benefit of the doubt unless I see someone truly deserves it. I'm not sure if it's a lack of filter or rudeness in many situations, but it is rather peculiar not knowing. I value some filters because it removes awkward misunderstandings, but I am trying to develop a more readily available lack of filter to at least test all the same. Someone last night was wearing their shirt around their shoulders, and he said that it fell off because of me. And then I said, what do I have to do with it? And he said, it came off because of you. It's like an earthquake that it came off just like this. I didn't really get it, and I said that he was the one that took it off. It is bizarre situations like these that make me feel closer to those likeminds from my culture. I really don't hate to say that and do hate to say that all at once. Mercury must not be in my sign right now, and I am looking forward to it returning. I also thought that someone was trying to clink glasses with me out of the blue so I went to cheers, and she was trying to hand a bottle to her friend. She continued to do so, and it was really funny despite being weird. They kept playing LCD sound system, and we left around the time this strange song about "where is my soul?" came on.
I am really appalled by the behavior of men here, not just Argentinians, and also by a lot of the women. I feel much more balanced than many people I have met, and that is a peculiar feeling for me. What is this supposed to mean anyway= $:)
It is something that is meant to be left at the keyboard, I strongly believe.
Everything is extremely unusual, and I have been thinking a lot about home this week. Anyways, I'm glad that Alex is coming soon because it will feel a little less surreal constantly.
Yesterday I went to Chinatown and wandered around aimlessly for the first hour. I need to return if only to find bubble tea a handfan. We went to a polo game and ended up in the wrong place a couple of times. There was a magnificent park we got lost in that you can rent boats along the river and a race track across the way from the polo field. Polo is bizarre, and some friends talked to this French tv producer friends with the best polo player in Argentina. Also we stayed and found free champagne and appetizers and mingled with some creepy men that turned out to be polo players. They were nicer than expected, and if nothing else I really do love the cheek greeting by creepy men. One invited us to his final today in a really nice suburb of BsAs and the after party. I didn't go since I couldn't sleep and not stop running to the restroom, but Sam and Sabrina did. Tavi said he would drive us back. I don't like relying on those situations.
We spotted a lovely Brazilian restaurant for future dinners, Mexican restaurant we ate at- which was phenomenal. Jesus, Sabrina, and I went to Plaza Armenia for some drinks. There were little boys holding hands and playing in the grass together. It was quite pretty and exciting to find some part of the sky with stars. Also there is the most magnificent book store ever in the area I will be frequenting with bookshelves worthy of Beauty and the Beast, and a little cafe that screeeams Be Our Guest!
Mercury, come back to me!

note to those select loved ones

I'm not sure what I'm saying in these blog that signifies I am smoking cigarettes, though, I think there was a post from a million posts back that may have said something about turning to cigarettes when I was alone here and stressed. I am aware of the risks, and I'm not a fan of the risks. I am not smoking massive amounts when I do. Most social situations in Argentina are smoking friendly, and it is hard to avoid it as much as I would like. Also, I don't think nicotine gum exists here? Also also, I don't think cold turkey exists here either.
Love you all!

the dot in the basement where you can see anything anywhere in the world

I am walking to the basement of that dot tomorrow.
The rat tail fad here has a history, as all things do. It started a few decades here as a sign to show you were in solidarity. I am guessing in solidarity with the humanitarians kidnapped and such in the 70s-80s. Certain numbers of rat tails signify certain things. A little kid from today said that rat tails are cool, and that the most cool people had 3.
I had a very long, odd day. My legs are pleading for a break. I'm giving them one. Chauchau

the spacey frontier and a missing lobe

I have been having quite the difficult time with my schedule. I keep showing up to class at the wrong times, and if it wasn't ridiculous already it is nearing the realm of the unacceptable. I have taken up coffee again which is doing me good for class, but it still doesn't put my brain into optimal overdrive. I suppose even a girl who switches spaces would stay spacey afterall, wouldn't she?
The opera is a silly affair, and that is what I like the most about it. Humans are inherently absurd, and the opera best exemplifies this inherent absurdity. A fun fact about the opera: the screens located right next to the stage served a culturally practical purpose during a different era. People, namely women, in mourning who wanted to socialize or enjoy themselves after suffering a loss would still attend the opera but in secret. I watched an opera called something after class yesterday and didn't giggle like I expected but drew things during intermissions and made up dialogues in my head. I also played the staring game with members in the orchestra and tried to count how many times I saw the diaphragm of the lead convulse.
Fried chicken exists here, which I will obtain soon. So do cocoa pebble-like cereals, which I am eating for breakfast. I have also stopped recycling neurotically (but don't feel any less guilty about it). I have taken up drinking mass amounts of coca cola on top of everything. Pistacho ice cream is a must at all times of the day, and I have spotted the most perfect cheap place for choripan just one block away from my home. I am looking forward to a weekly or bi- or tri-weekly, pushing it of course, round of mid-day choripan. It's just hard to be a happy person when you are constantly searching for organic and healthy fare in Buenos Aires without scouring the entire city. In an effort to retain my much valued happiness, I have resorted to eating things I would have dismissed in Iowa.
I went to the most enormous annual march in Buenos Aires the other day. When I first arrived, I locked eyes with one of the Mothers of the Plaza (of Mayo). She was wearing one of the infamous white scarves on her head, denoting her relationship, and we smiled at each other. Something about the genuity of it was really flooring. I nearly burst into tears but got ahold of myself.
I was able to hold onto the banner with all of the known people who were kidnapped/tortured/killed during the military regime. Most of the time I held onto the picture of a girl named Elina, and she could have been my best friend. The march was kind of a mess, but people are people. I think the number of people in attendance came somewhere around the 40.000 mark, but I cannot be sure. It went for blocks and blocks and blocks and blocks. The age range and the diversity of those in attendance was astonishing. After being in the middle of everyone in the streets, I found a nice spot in the sun to listen to some of those speaking. I made friends with a toddler who kept bumbling around the hill and using me for balance and a receptacle for beans and blades of grass he would find on the ground. I tried to give him a fuzzball that was once a feather, and he didn't know what to do with it so he just stared at me for a long time.
People have been on my mind constantly. That is, people and what it means to be a person and what it means to value life and what it means to violate life and what it means to be fanatical and what it means to transition from the valuing of life to the valuing of ideals. I have also thought a lot about emotions and what takes people from point to point. The most recent cycle of these thoughts stemmed from one of the most powerful, disturbing, and real films I have seen in a long time called "This is England." Toward the middle when emotions get twisted, I clutched the pillow and couldn't let go. Then I went to bed listening to the most recent installment of This American Life entitled "I didn't ask to be born" which made me writhe even further. The following day in my Human Rights seminar, we watched a documentary called "Breaking the Silence" detailing the experience of torture victims through out the world. My professor was one of the people on the screen, and it was interesting having already known he was a victim of torture watching the reactions of people in my class when they saw his face in the video for the first time. I have been taking the edge (created by these intense emotional catalysts) off by frequenting the Twitter of Christopher Walken. I recommend it.
Today marks the beginning of the International Film Festival, my career as a trapeze artist and tight rope walker, and the weekend. Pocho is still stupid, so that's nothing new, but he began sharing the bed with me earlier in the week, which is. Tomorrow my Human Rights class is visiting a navy outpost which I believe was one of the sites of the secret detention centers during the military regime. I may need to rush to the horse stables to take the edge off afterwards but only time will tell.
There is interesting political shiiiit going down here, and I suggest you look into it if you can.
El fin.

glass bottle moment

I am not blowing my nose throughout the entire day again! Take that infection!
On my walking adventure I spotted street protest of the day numero uno. Again, the purpose remained ambiguous. Someone was speaking into a bullhorn about something I couldn't ascertain, and everyone was holding a sign that read "cielo" (signifies heaven).
I walked about 35 blocks to the Tattoo Arcade en Avenida Santa Fe complete with "alt" clothes shops and bong shops. A few points of interest: one, the lack of privacy in the tattoo parlors. You can watch people getting tattooed through the windows. Emily questioned whether or not this would hold true even if someone was getting a tattoo on their privates. This is one instance where the term privates becomes relative. There is simply no privacy in these places. I asked if I needed an appointment and how much it would cost and both of my answers were granted. I'm going to come back one day this week with an actual image of the hummingbird of my dreams so something is not lost in translation. Also, I've never seen so many thick laced black boots and scratches and neon animal prints congregated in one area in my whole life!
I walked again about 50 blocks to the movie theater. At one point, right after the sun had set I had regretted walking alone through the streets ahead of me because it was desolate despite few bodies interspersed, but I felt okay. I came upon a busier street the rest of the walk and was glad I braved through the on foot trek.
I came upon another protest-rally in a square equally ambiguous and complete with bullhorn. I will learn the meaning of the more rare words so I can pitch in when I see fit. Every bus waiting haven had "capitalismo es egoismo" taped or written on the side of it for about 5 blocks as well. When I return to the spot I will bring my camera and take the blog on a walk with me so you can see it just like I did. I kept looking up to see if I could spot one little star of the southern hemisphere, but the sky was raisin purple. I appreciate a good tone of purple, for sure, but I do look forward to parting ways with the city from time to time. My lungs could use a break from the smog, and my eyes could gaze upon a few more constellations.
I came across a punk show being played in a beaaautiful park before I waited to go back to the theater. Something about those 10 minutes really stuck with me. I'm feeling rather ethereal regularly here. I also spotted a lady selling popcorn on the street that I uncharacteristically passed because it looked old. Also the boy the vendor was talking to had greasy hair and a baseball cap and made me nervous. That was odd. I made up for bypassing the popcorn by enjoying a glass bottle of Pepsi complete with straw and a man who popped the top for me prior to the movie of an old man with beautiful eyes. I really appreciated the purposeful slowness of the film.
My favorite part of the night is the cab ride home. I get to watch the city move for me. It's an interactive and breezy film.

losing focus "porpoise"-fully

I am not going to look for anything anymore, and that is that. It is my new goal-less goal. I think we have the meta-pizza to thank for this one.
I have placas. This signifies a pussing of the throat, and, in my case, of the entire head. My head is a puffer fish, and instead of rising it is sinking. It is a real shame, and I bark like a seal approximately every 5 minutes.
Today was a night of Anglo-isms and tonight was a day of disappointment in the program. I do not belong in Spanish level 200. Unless you feel like reading about my frustrations with the program, please ski(p/m) until the next paragraph. I know people in the level higher than my own, and I know I know at least as much as they do if not more. I knowknowknow it. I don't just thinkthinkthink it. I knoooow it. A multiple choice language test has not ever been comprehensive. When I was in high school, I always did worse on the multiple choice final than I had the entire year. Those in authooority do not sit in on these classes ill-suited for people with a genuine intermediate understanding of the language. They do not hear the effort being put forth by other members of the class, see the varied levels of skill in each class, or recognize that one measly little test is not a sufficient method of assessment for everyone. Maybe I'm not good at multiple choice, and maaaybe just maybe I learned different words than the ones put on the test. I am embittered, and I don't like having others exercise their authority over me. If the first week starts off with a review of the most basic points in the language that I learned at the very beginning of my Spanish studies, I believe that sets a tone for the entire semester. When a review begins where I left off, I find it to be of much greater use. It is also more useful, logically, to continue where one left off rather than return to go.
I feel like I'm perpetually losing the game of Sorry with the program.
I just went to an odd jazz show and heard way too many English speakers and songs. A soul group with 3 Argentine front women that sang like Aretha Franklin but looked like Argentine Stepford Wives began to sing "I'm young, gifted, and black." Sabrina and I were wondering if they knew exactly what the songs they were singing meant because every, every song was entirely in English. Furthermore, apparently jazz in Spanish doesn't exist?
Final note: Claude with a Transient Meatball = Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs
I found "pistacho" helado that tasted more like mint. I think I am going to go there every day this weekend, and especially if I able to have a green weekend.