I did in fact have a Thanksgiving meal, prepared by the mother of a friend of mine who is visiting and brought, from the States, some integral ingredients. It was a good meal: all the right flavors for the day, five twenty-somethings and my friend's mom, sharing this day far away from the location of its inception.
Recently, the discussions I have been having with friends here, American friends, are really political. Really angry, fed up, clear and lucid. So in the presence of an older generation who welcomed the discourse, we kind of had at it (again) about America. Is it my approaching departure that is riling this all up? Why do I feel more like a conscious citizen here than I do most of the time there? I understand why so many talented authors and artists leave their homeland to understand it with more clarity. To be articulate.
I am scared to lose my articulation. I am scared to return to the States and lose this urgency, this feeling of being enraged. (I'm not walking around with steam coming out of my ears, but you know what I mean). Is it going to be that I return home, return to comfort and security, safety, my own language that this anger will go away? In this experience of having to put myself out on a limb, often feel alone and an outsider, is that when I feel the need for change? This lack of security, mentally, physically, economically, and linguistically, is enraging. It is anxiety-making. When will we ALL start to feel it in the United States? To what level must the water rise for it to affect everyone?
Friday, November 23, 2007
Sunday, November 18, 2007
And when you are done watching that speech, watch John Stewart on Crossfire from four years ago or so. He does a wondeful job and what he talks about, I think feeds into what Obama is saying.
Last night I had the pleasure of having a conversation with an old friend of mine, who I went to high school with, who is here studying as well about the state of our country. Perhaps being here makes things more lucid, I am often having moments of clarity especially on issues concerning the United States. Being here, in a country anxious for democracy to work, yet being from a country that prides itself on longstanding democracy, and continues to despite everything to puff up its inflated view of itself to a point that it willing to let our planet die a sloy and painful death, leads me to believe that the change we need to make in the next year needs to be a slightly more radical one than many people are willing to admit. But I hestitate to use the word "radical," because that riles up conotations of a lost era, rather what I mean by radical is we must return to the roots of our society and government and how we once were. It is radical in the sense that it is so far from what we have now: we have fallen so off the mark, so far off into absurdity that we must unite this country so that we can deal with poverty, healthcare, education.
I want you to take thirty minutes to watch a speech that Barack Obama gave in Manning, South Carolina. I want you to listen to what he says whole-heartedly; he speaks to the idea of transformation, aspiration, hope, return, he speaks to humaness, a sense of person that trancsends politics, and is driven to make the world a better place. And in my mind, from where I stand we would be doing ourselves a disservice to say one more time, "this country can´t elect a Black president" or "he doesn´t have enough experience...." Well for chirstake, we elected the worst president known to the US, with the most heartless, lying team of greedy bastards to cheat the American people along with him, that perhaps it is time we challanged ourselves. We are so far deep, that only a radical change, a shift, a return, a challenge to the institutions that run the United States, will bring us out.
I want you to take thirty minutes to watch a speech that Barack Obama gave in Manning, South Carolina. I want you to listen to what he says whole-heartedly; he speaks to the idea of transformation, aspiration, hope, return, he speaks to humaness, a sense of person that trancsends politics, and is driven to make the world a better place. And in my mind, from where I stand we would be doing ourselves a disservice to say one more time, "this country can´t elect a Black president" or "he doesn´t have enough experience...." Well for chirstake, we elected the worst president known to the US, with the most heartless, lying team of greedy bastards to cheat the American people along with him, that perhaps it is time we challanged ourselves. We are so far deep, that only a radical change, a shift, a return, a challenge to the institutions that run the United States, will bring us out.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
On returning
I´ve lately been thinking a lot about what it is going to be like to return to the United States. I have about a month left here, and to be honest, I´m getting a little tired of it. I like this city a lot, I think I could maybe live here someday (I never say things like that), but right now, mainly I think I just miss home, friends, challenging academics, and just American culture and counter-culture in all its glory. I actually saw a bootlegged version last night of Judd Apatow´s new baby, "Superbad" (which will come out here as Supercool), and well without giving anything away, it is hilarious. But its hilarity is American-born and although the Argentines may find the awkwardness of American high school students funny, there is so much more that is there in our sense of humor (which varies from country to country, but also varies within the US without a doubt), sarcasm, awkwardness, all of it is specific to our culture. It is like we have private clubs that are societies, some people float between and are able to understand and be understood in two or more, but for the most part we stick to our club. It would be great to be funnier in Spanish: I´ve tried being sarcastic and it didn´t really fly, but at the same time, I like using humor as an inside joke. That is to say, the American students that hang out here, we like to laugh together because our senses of humor are like one big inside joke. Many movie references and television references are nostalgically made.
Anyway, those are a few things I will enjoy having back in my cultural fannypack, but I imagine that the novelty will ware off and soon I will miss this culture that got to know. I think I might have written this before, but my dad told me that the culture shock of returning to the US can be harder than the reverse. Mainly because people in the US treat each other so differently than the rest of the world. This will be alienating at first. I will be very sad not to kiss every person I meet or know on the cheek when we greet or say goodbye. The custom gives proximity a chance, it is a warm feeling to be greeted this way, and if you don´t mind, I will be leaning in the first time I see you all again. Don´t hold back!
Anyway, those are a few things I will enjoy having back in my cultural fannypack, but I imagine that the novelty will ware off and soon I will miss this culture that got to know. I think I might have written this before, but my dad told me that the culture shock of returning to the US can be harder than the reverse. Mainly because people in the US treat each other so differently than the rest of the world. This will be alienating at first. I will be very sad not to kiss every person I meet or know on the cheek when we greet or say goodbye. The custom gives proximity a chance, it is a warm feeling to be greeted this way, and if you don´t mind, I will be leaning in the first time I see you all again. Don´t hold back!
Yesterday, I was sitting on the subte, tired and worn out from waiting at Migraciones for a couple of hours to get my actual visa, now with one month left (I had a temporary one up until now, I guess they want to make sure you are for real). A man, who I´ve seen before on the subway, particuarly on the line that I ride, came on selling what he is always sellings: pens. But these aren´t the regular pens that people on the subway sell; like the one that I bought a couple of days ago that stopped working a few minutes after I started using it for the first time. It only cost one peso, so I figured no loss to me, and I was glad to have exchanged with the man who sold it to me.
Anyway what struck me yesterday about the man on the subway whose hoarse voice had spent hours and days and years appealing his product over the whurrrr of the subway, was how seriously he took what he was doing. He always begins his schpeil by telling his audience, "I come bringing wonderful news" and then he goes on about these Italian pens, showing them draw on pads of paper, asking passengers to test, to see for themselves. What was moving about it, especially this time, was that I noticed he said, to prove to us his gaurantee, "I have been doing this for six years" which implies that since the crisis in 2001, this has been the man´s occupation. And I bought a pen from him, because not only did I trust this man, I knew that what he was doing was totally meaningful: creating some esteem for himself in a place where little esteem is given, where people are hardly recognized for their effort, that they are trying in a society that his little resource, in a society that fucked over many people 6 years ago. It is a privilege for me to write about people and to have my experience here, to come and then leave, to decide who I give money to and who I don´t give money to, but I felt that I owed this man something, and simply put, I think it was my respect.
Anyway what struck me yesterday about the man on the subway whose hoarse voice had spent hours and days and years appealing his product over the whurrrr of the subway, was how seriously he took what he was doing. He always begins his schpeil by telling his audience, "I come bringing wonderful news" and then he goes on about these Italian pens, showing them draw on pads of paper, asking passengers to test, to see for themselves. What was moving about it, especially this time, was that I noticed he said, to prove to us his gaurantee, "I have been doing this for six years" which implies that since the crisis in 2001, this has been the man´s occupation. And I bought a pen from him, because not only did I trust this man, I knew that what he was doing was totally meaningful: creating some esteem for himself in a place where little esteem is given, where people are hardly recognized for their effort, that they are trying in a society that his little resource, in a society that fucked over many people 6 years ago. It is a privilege for me to write about people and to have my experience here, to come and then leave, to decide who I give money to and who I don´t give money to, but I felt that I owed this man something, and simply put, I think it was my respect.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Los vecinos, el documental
I filmed for my documentary two days ago. It is amazing to feel in charge of this creative, political piece and to have a clear idea of exactly what I want to express through it. We went to a woman named Alicia´s apartment and I interviewed her. She was really interesting and very welcoming to us, 4 American studients, and very supportive of my idea. Her sister was disappeared at the age of 23, and Alicia is a very active member of the organization. She told me that her daughter looks a lot like her sister did, and in fact studies and is intersted in the same things as her sister was. A very good moment on camera. She also lends her garage to the vecinos to store and make the tiles that they place in the ground for their friends and families. It was an amazing sight: a small room, filled with cement squares that all read different names and dates of when the people were disappeared. The family members and friends of the desaparecido are asked to place the letters in the tile, and help in its creation. As one of the women who I interviewed said, (along the lines) we don´t know where they are, they were disappeared, so we are creating a place for them, that friends and family can recognize as a reclaimed space.
Then we went to this cafe/cultural center nearby Alicia´s apartment and recorded their meeting, where they were talking to this brother and sister (adults) about the ceremony of the tile placements for their parents. Also at the meeting were these two girls, 16 years old, who are doing projects about teachers and students who were disappeared (murals, plaques) in their high school. Interviewed them too. They were so passionate and interesting. It was awesome to communicate with them, especially since, although I am older, I could definitely relate. They will give the documentary so much. I was just blown away by these girls. They were great. They will give my piece a whole different perspective.
Then we went to this cafe/cultural center nearby Alicia´s apartment and recorded their meeting, where they were talking to this brother and sister (adults) about the ceremony of the tile placements for their parents. Also at the meeting were these two girls, 16 years old, who are doing projects about teachers and students who were disappeared (murals, plaques) in their high school. Interviewed them too. They were so passionate and interesting. It was awesome to communicate with them, especially since, although I am older, I could definitely relate. They will give the documentary so much. I was just blown away by these girls. They were great. They will give my piece a whole different perspective.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Cristina, first woman president...
So to no one´s surprise Cristina Kirschner, the current president´s wife, won the presidenal election. What is so interesting is that she lost by a landslide in Capital Federal, yet in the rest of the country carried the victory. What happens here and seems to be the long standing story, is that Buenos Aires, the city and province votes radically, whether to the left or right, but would never vote for someone as middle of the road, unclear values wise, figurehead as Kristina. The porteños prefered the conservative candidate, Carrió, also a woman, to Kristina, but she couldn´t appeal to the rest of the country. Too porteña. There is a fracture in their national identity...Buenos Aires feels like its own country....
Catch up: Mendoza
I was just in Mendoza for the last four days. Era divina! The city of Mendoza: tree engulfed streets, clean air, a siesta, wonderful parks, tranquilo gente, etc etc...Mendoza is the western most province that boarders Chile and the home to the highest peak in the world, outside the Himalayas. The Andes are amazing. And the home of the Malbec wine. Now I`ve seen teh Andes from Jujuy and from Mendoza and I plan to go to Peru, to get yet another view of this monstrous landscape.
On one day, Katherine and I rode bikes through the town of Maipu to see bodegas. I was really hungry when we started out so we went straight to the restaurant, really chi-chi, created for tourists like ourselves. I would have prefered a pit stop to eat choripan (sausage on bread for 2 pesos), but nothing was open, probably because everyone was siesta-ing...We rode our poorly fitted hybrid bikes along bumpy roads, and since Katherine is blond, and since we are girls, the common sounds of a sloppy kiss was puckered our ways multiple times. "MMMWWYA, chicas!" When we were eating at the restaurant, Almacen del Sur, that apparently grows all its own produce and makes special gourmet things, we happened upon these two women, one Canadian and the other French who were quite sloshed at the point since having been to a few bodegas before. They were laughing and making that kissing sound, and mockingly saying "chicas!" We couldn´t help but laugh with them, a relief since the ride there had been well, not so pleasurable. We shared a wonderful bottle of wine there, their cheapest best one, recommended by our sweet waiter, it was called San Felipe.
We had the best wine I had ever had in my whole 5 or so years of imbibing alcohol...The Malbec is a treat, a speciality of Mendoza. After the over priced, but deliciously fresh meal, we did make it to a bodega, where we met a really nice man, Christian, who served us an aged or "añejo" wine and a newer one. We bought a really good wine from him for 15 pesos. (Yes thats 5 American dollars. Despite the economy´s instability, Mendoza looked pretty good, a lot cleaner than Buenos Aires, a steady economy based on vino? perhaps.)
Met several characters here and there: A man named Oscar found us when we were wandering through Uspallata, a town outside of the city Mendoza, and took us on a personal tour of the Andes in his SUV. He took us to this look out of the 7 colors, litarlly a mountain that was orange, green, blue, yellow, and three others. And wehn we had our lady time: manicures, pedicures, facials, we met a Syrian woman Dibe, who wouldn´t stop giving me shit for having short fingernails. She said she worked miracles on my fingernails. She also made us bleed and had bad aim with the polish...There were the several different pairs and groups of people passing through our hostel, staying there as well. Many of them had been to Buenos Aires and hardly any of them had anything good to say about it. To my surprise, I kind of took that personally. Yet the only couple who said that they loved it was a couple from Mexico City, with whom I talked Mexican politics...They had a good saying "cuando paga, el perro baila" that is to say: when you pay, the dog dances, basically it means "money talks" which is how there government seems to work these days... Perhaps this couple was more used to the dirty, overwhelming beauty of Buenos Aires, that is a bustling, poor, metropolis, than many other travelers (mainly Western Euros and Americans) with whom we spoke are not. Buenos Aires is a lot to get used to coming from the United States. All we could tell them is that it really grows on you....and time has helped us to love this city.
On one day, Katherine and I rode bikes through the town of Maipu to see bodegas. I was really hungry when we started out so we went straight to the restaurant, really chi-chi, created for tourists like ourselves. I would have prefered a pit stop to eat choripan (sausage on bread for 2 pesos), but nothing was open, probably because everyone was siesta-ing...We rode our poorly fitted hybrid bikes along bumpy roads, and since Katherine is blond, and since we are girls, the common sounds of a sloppy kiss was puckered our ways multiple times. "MMMWWYA, chicas!" When we were eating at the restaurant, Almacen del Sur, that apparently grows all its own produce and makes special gourmet things, we happened upon these two women, one Canadian and the other French who were quite sloshed at the point since having been to a few bodegas before. They were laughing and making that kissing sound, and mockingly saying "chicas!" We couldn´t help but laugh with them, a relief since the ride there had been well, not so pleasurable. We shared a wonderful bottle of wine there, their cheapest best one, recommended by our sweet waiter, it was called San Felipe.
We had the best wine I had ever had in my whole 5 or so years of imbibing alcohol...The Malbec is a treat, a speciality of Mendoza. After the over priced, but deliciously fresh meal, we did make it to a bodega, where we met a really nice man, Christian, who served us an aged or "añejo" wine and a newer one. We bought a really good wine from him for 15 pesos. (Yes thats 5 American dollars. Despite the economy´s instability, Mendoza looked pretty good, a lot cleaner than Buenos Aires, a steady economy based on vino? perhaps.)
Met several characters here and there: A man named Oscar found us when we were wandering through Uspallata, a town outside of the city Mendoza, and took us on a personal tour of the Andes in his SUV. He took us to this look out of the 7 colors, litarlly a mountain that was orange, green, blue, yellow, and three others. And wehn we had our lady time: manicures, pedicures, facials, we met a Syrian woman Dibe, who wouldn´t stop giving me shit for having short fingernails. She said she worked miracles on my fingernails. She also made us bleed and had bad aim with the polish...There were the several different pairs and groups of people passing through our hostel, staying there as well. Many of them had been to Buenos Aires and hardly any of them had anything good to say about it. To my surprise, I kind of took that personally. Yet the only couple who said that they loved it was a couple from Mexico City, with whom I talked Mexican politics...They had a good saying "cuando paga, el perro baila" that is to say: when you pay, the dog dances, basically it means "money talks" which is how there government seems to work these days... Perhaps this couple was more used to the dirty, overwhelming beauty of Buenos Aires, that is a bustling, poor, metropolis, than many other travelers (mainly Western Euros and Americans) with whom we spoke are not. Buenos Aires is a lot to get used to coming from the United States. All we could tell them is that it really grows on you....and time has helped us to love this city.
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