I came one step closer to making my dream of becoming a Latin American dictator a reality yesterday when I received my very first death threat.
'D A' writes (poorly and without any punctuation or diacritics in Spanish):
i found out everything you did in your stay in buenos aires
i ask you never return again because you are dead man
i swear i wait for you in ezeiza [the airport] and you are not going to enter to the country
wanker fatty take care of yourself if you want to remain alive
you already know with whom you had lain son of a bitch you're going to see how you will end the next time
don't even think about calling anyone here i have everything under control
i know everything you are dead man if you call anyone here
[one of those angry face smileys to round off the death threat]
I made a few calls to Buenos Aires to discover the identity of my secret admirer, but to no avail.
I will keep you posted as this melodrama unfolds - but rest assured - no one calls me 'fatty' and gets away with it.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
de qué estás hablando, Willis?
The dialect spoken in Argentina (as well as in Chile and Uruguay) is much different from any other in Latin America and certainly Spain. Many of the words (seemingly all of the more common ones and much of the grammar even) differ greatly from my castellano madrileño. Intonation (replete with effusive hand gestures) is much more akin to Italian (the largest ethnic group in the capital) and there are many borrowings from English, German, French and indigenous languages, specifically Guaraní.
As in much of Latin America, the preterit or simple past (hablé) is used instead of the present perfect (he hablado) and direct object pronouns (lo, la) replace indirect objects (le).
When attempting to speak like the locals, with their ‘ž’ and their ‘š’ for ‘y’ (as in yo = sho) and ‘ll’ (calle = cazhe) and unable to refrain from zezeando – that lispy Spanish ‘th’ for c’s and z’s many of you hate (cerveza = therbetha) – I found myself literally frothing at the mouth and basically sounded like a Brit trying to imitate a Southerner.
Which was quite unnecessary. The locals seem to love my accent and the feeling is mutual, thank you. About 95% of the locals thought I was Spanish, while others guessed French or Brazilian for some reason.
I spent my first weekend there almost exclusively with Spaniards, only partly by accident, in order to firm up my accent. All of the new argentino words, expressions and patterns of speech were, however, surprisingly easy to learn (the second person singular or familiar ‘vos’ form, used instead of ‘tú’ is, for example, almost without exception, entirely regular as well as terribly quaint.
People are incredibly friendly, which extends to the way they speak and what they talk about. No subject is off limits and their curiosity knows no bounds – examples: a particular waiter seemed obsessed with the progress of my laundry and a taxi driver asked me the size of my penis. They do most of the talking – and literally will not shut up - they go on and on and on. It may surprise you to learn that I enjoyed the break.
As in much of Latin America, the preterit or simple past (hablé) is used instead of the present perfect (he hablado) and direct object pronouns (lo, la) replace indirect objects (le).
When attempting to speak like the locals, with their ‘ž’ and their ‘š’ for ‘y’ (as in yo = sho) and ‘ll’ (calle = cazhe) and unable to refrain from zezeando – that lispy Spanish ‘th’ for c’s and z’s many of you hate (cerveza = therbetha) – I found myself literally frothing at the mouth and basically sounded like a Brit trying to imitate a Southerner.
Which was quite unnecessary. The locals seem to love my accent and the feeling is mutual, thank you. About 95% of the locals thought I was Spanish, while others guessed French or Brazilian for some reason.
I spent my first weekend there almost exclusively with Spaniards, only partly by accident, in order to firm up my accent. All of the new argentino words, expressions and patterns of speech were, however, surprisingly easy to learn (the second person singular or familiar ‘vos’ form, used instead of ‘tú’ is, for example, almost without exception, entirely regular as well as terribly quaint.
People are incredibly friendly, which extends to the way they speak and what they talk about. No subject is off limits and their curiosity knows no bounds – examples: a particular waiter seemed obsessed with the progress of my laundry and a taxi driver asked me the size of my penis. They do most of the talking – and literally will not shut up - they go on and on and on. It may surprise you to learn that I enjoyed the break.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
where's the beef?
I’m pleased to announce the winner of the great steak contest and hence the winner of a giant bifé de lomo the size of your head, purchased at the best and most expensive supermarket in all of Argentina on my last day is... Dr. T.R. Parker of Poughkeepsie, New York.
I consumed 38 and a half steaks during my seven-week stay in Argentina (the other half of my last steak I was forced to trade for a half portion of Galician grilled octopus – what would you do?). Dr. Parker was closest, having guessed 33 steaks, followed very closely by Vladan Crha of Prague with a guess of 46. Those of you (and there were many) who guessed over 70 are simply insane or wishing to cash in on my non-existent life insurance policy.
I am not so pleased to announce that ALL of my meat – more than U$D 100 worth – was confiscated by the Department of Agriculture at US Customs in Miami. Several kilos of vacuum-packed top grade beef, more than two dozen sausages and fuetes, more than twenty packs of bondiola, jamón crudo (prosciutto), matambre and panceta will allegedly feed the fires of the airport furnace along with the lighters and toenail clippers of outbound passengers.
I am left with an assortment of relatively mediocre cheeses and canned seafood patés.
The USDA claimed a threat of ‘mad cow disease’ (unknown in Argentina) as the reason for the seizure. This would imply that my intention was to feed my expensive, high-quality steaks raw to American cows as part of some peculiar terrorist plot or just for the hell of it. ‘Hoof in mouth’ disease was what they gave for the theft of my pork products – implying that my plan was to rub the noses and lips of American pigs with the smoked and cured body parts of their Argentinean cousins. I leave it to you, dear reader, to determine the likelihood of these two scenarios.
A more likely reason is a highly-politicized and moneyed corporate US Farm Lobby that is unable to compete with superior and cheaper free range beef and pork, in order to better push their substandard hormone-laden, genetically-modified, pent-up, tortured, artificially-fattened, mutant aberrations of nature on an uneducated public – thanks to a Congress and an administration that depend on their cash and votes.
The only meat allowed in from Argentina is cooked chicken – not exactly their strong suit – although I wouldn’t know, as I never had any during my stay.
The woman next to me on the plane from Miami to New York (a venerable 80 year-old witch from Jamaica with gold teeth, a cane, and obvious respiratory problems) had a suitcase full of jerks and curries (over 250 dollars worth, according to her) confiscated as well. They left her only with a single veggie empanada. She was pissed and so am I. And so is Dr. Parker. Thanks for playing and be sure to write your congressman!
I consumed 38 and a half steaks during my seven-week stay in Argentina (the other half of my last steak I was forced to trade for a half portion of Galician grilled octopus – what would you do?). Dr. Parker was closest, having guessed 33 steaks, followed very closely by Vladan Crha of Prague with a guess of 46. Those of you (and there were many) who guessed over 70 are simply insane or wishing to cash in on my non-existent life insurance policy.
I am not so pleased to announce that ALL of my meat – more than U$D 100 worth – was confiscated by the Department of Agriculture at US Customs in Miami. Several kilos of vacuum-packed top grade beef, more than two dozen sausages and fuetes, more than twenty packs of bondiola, jamón crudo (prosciutto), matambre and panceta will allegedly feed the fires of the airport furnace along with the lighters and toenail clippers of outbound passengers.
I am left with an assortment of relatively mediocre cheeses and canned seafood patés.
The USDA claimed a threat of ‘mad cow disease’ (unknown in Argentina) as the reason for the seizure. This would imply that my intention was to feed my expensive, high-quality steaks raw to American cows as part of some peculiar terrorist plot or just for the hell of it. ‘Hoof in mouth’ disease was what they gave for the theft of my pork products – implying that my plan was to rub the noses and lips of American pigs with the smoked and cured body parts of their Argentinean cousins. I leave it to you, dear reader, to determine the likelihood of these two scenarios.
A more likely reason is a highly-politicized and moneyed corporate US Farm Lobby that is unable to compete with superior and cheaper free range beef and pork, in order to better push their substandard hormone-laden, genetically-modified, pent-up, tortured, artificially-fattened, mutant aberrations of nature on an uneducated public – thanks to a Congress and an administration that depend on their cash and votes.
The only meat allowed in from Argentina is cooked chicken – not exactly their strong suit – although I wouldn’t know, as I never had any during my stay.
The woman next to me on the plane from Miami to New York (a venerable 80 year-old witch from Jamaica with gold teeth, a cane, and obvious respiratory problems) had a suitcase full of jerks and curries (over 250 dollars worth, according to her) confiscated as well. They left her only with a single veggie empanada. She was pissed and so am I. And so is Dr. Parker. Thanks for playing and be sure to write your congressman!
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
they grow up so fast
In celebration of his 20th birthday and the fact that they finally turned the hot water back on in his palatial squat (or squatty palace – I haven’t decided which, but it’s really nice or was or will be), a.v. invited me over for dinner tonight:
av: Do you want to come over for dinner tonight? I’m making dinner.
mg: Sure! What time?
av: Now’s good.
mg: Do you want me to bring anything?
av: Nah, nothing. Maybe just some bread and tomato sauce and some grated cheese.
mg: Why don’t I just bring over a couple of pizzas? It would probably be easier.
av: Because we’re having pasta.
I have to say, given the proper ingredients, that boy can cook. We had pasta with tomato sauce and grated cheese and watched 'Scary Movie', while his little brother flirted rather successfully with half the country in a multi-tasking blur of popups over MSN chat.
We threw the garbage out of the window as we had already taken the garbage out once that evening after cleaning the kitchen in order to make dinner. For his birthday, I gave him a pipe and an NYPD t-shirt. He just needs a little balance and hot water and he’ll be fine.
av: Do you want to come over for dinner tonight? I’m making dinner.
mg: Sure! What time?
av: Now’s good.
mg: Do you want me to bring anything?
av: Nah, nothing. Maybe just some bread and tomato sauce and some grated cheese.
mg: Why don’t I just bring over a couple of pizzas? It would probably be easier.
av: Because we’re having pasta.
I have to say, given the proper ingredients, that boy can cook. We had pasta with tomato sauce and grated cheese and watched 'Scary Movie', while his little brother flirted rather successfully with half the country in a multi-tasking blur of popups over MSN chat.
We threw the garbage out of the window as we had already taken the garbage out once that evening after cleaning the kitchen in order to make dinner. For his birthday, I gave him a pipe and an NYPD t-shirt. He just needs a little balance and hot water and he’ll be fine.
Saturday, March 3, 2007
la ley y el orden
Many of you have pointed out that the picture I’m painting here appears to be rather negative. I’ll address that more generally elsewhere. But for starters, here are the facts about crime minus the spin:
None of my friends here have been mugged, beaten or even pickpocketed, with the exception of the Bush family, who are no friends of mine – an event that, I’m proud to say occurred a block away from my house (I’ve been trying to find her mobile at the bazaar for weeks so I can prank call ‘Daddy’ at three am). In fact, the only place my friends have actually been robbed is Spain.
I have never felt threatened and I live in an essentially ‘bad’ neighborhood according to most locals – a ‘no go’ area at night, according to the more conservative tour guides. I go out a lot at night and so, have to leave from and come back home at night or early in the morning, respectively, and have never had a problem.
People used to say the same things about the East Village when I lived there in the early 90’s before my rent shot up by a factor of six. Fact is it’s probably a bit more dangerous now that people have more than $10 in their pocket and won’t put up a fight for it (and probably don’t have a gun as well), as was the case back then.
The streets of my neighborhood, especially mine, Defensa - the oldest street in the city, are busy to packed with locals, tourists, cops, cartoneros, passing buses and taxis almost 24 hours a day. Restaurants are open until 2 am, bars until at least 4, clubs until 8. Many places are 24 hours. I have never felt unsafe coming home at night, usually on foot, crossing most of the neighborhood from the center or from much further afield. Actually, what often happens is I meet someone on the street and we wind up going for beer and breakfast, talk for a few hours and never see each other again.
Buenos Aires is no more dangerous than New York or Madrid and much less so than much of London, Paris, Poughkeepsie or Middletown. My 'bad' neighborhood, San Telmo, is much safer than Žižkov.
These urchins I keep going on about are just very unsupervised, misguided and rather uninhibited kids who build social structures according to the degree of risk involved in a particular shenanigan. Not really a positive cycle of behavior reinforcement. Their damage (depending on what your wearing at Carnaval) to society is minimal and they’re actually learning valuable lessons in socializing in the process. My childhood wasn’t very different. It beats sitting home alone watching television.
None of my friends here have been mugged, beaten or even pickpocketed, with the exception of the Bush family, who are no friends of mine – an event that, I’m proud to say occurred a block away from my house (I’ve been trying to find her mobile at the bazaar for weeks so I can prank call ‘Daddy’ at three am). In fact, the only place my friends have actually been robbed is Spain.
I have never felt threatened and I live in an essentially ‘bad’ neighborhood according to most locals – a ‘no go’ area at night, according to the more conservative tour guides. I go out a lot at night and so, have to leave from and come back home at night or early in the morning, respectively, and have never had a problem.
People used to say the same things about the East Village when I lived there in the early 90’s before my rent shot up by a factor of six. Fact is it’s probably a bit more dangerous now that people have more than $10 in their pocket and won’t put up a fight for it (and probably don’t have a gun as well), as was the case back then.
The streets of my neighborhood, especially mine, Defensa - the oldest street in the city, are busy to packed with locals, tourists, cops, cartoneros, passing buses and taxis almost 24 hours a day. Restaurants are open until 2 am, bars until at least 4, clubs until 8. Many places are 24 hours. I have never felt unsafe coming home at night, usually on foot, crossing most of the neighborhood from the center or from much further afield. Actually, what often happens is I meet someone on the street and we wind up going for beer and breakfast, talk for a few hours and never see each other again.
Buenos Aires is no more dangerous than New York or Madrid and much less so than much of London, Paris, Poughkeepsie or Middletown. My 'bad' neighborhood, San Telmo, is much safer than Žižkov.
These urchins I keep going on about are just very unsupervised, misguided and rather uninhibited kids who build social structures according to the degree of risk involved in a particular shenanigan. Not really a positive cycle of behavior reinforcement. Their damage (depending on what your wearing at Carnaval) to society is minimal and they’re actually learning valuable lessons in socializing in the process. My childhood wasn’t very different. It beats sitting home alone watching television.
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