I met E last night for dinner.
When E and I meet for dinner, we generally meet without a plan. We just say "Let's get dinner" and then hopefully find a place to eat. I don't know the city well enough yet to have specific destinations.
We met last night in Chelsea prior to going to the Upright Citizen's Brigade to enjoy some much needed laugher.
As usual, we began wandering around aimlessly but this time put a cap on for long we would wander prior to just backtracking and going to Burritoville.
Walking down 23rd Street, E turned to me and said "Did you see who that was?"
"What? No. What?"
"That was Ethan Hawke."
"Oh. My. GOD." Best celebrity sigthing thus far and I missed it!!! "Where!?" I demanded information.
"See that unkempt, hill billy-looking man in the baseball cap? That’s Ethan Hawke."
I quickly turned around and caught a glimpse of Ethan Hawke's back.
"Oh my god!" I said again. "Oh my god. Oh my! GOD!!! OH MY GOD!!! I LOVE ETHAN HAWKE!!!"
"Do you want to stalk him?" offered E.
"YES!!! OH! MY GOD!" I was giddy. I explained to E that I have loved Ethan Hawke since the days of Dead Poets Society, in which he played Todd, the softspoken and adorable student who learns about confidence and friendship with the help of Robin Williams. I explained that I'd been so jealous that some of my coworkers had been in an elevator with Ethan Hawke in our building. I was suddenly 14 years old.
We backtracked. I hoped for some sort of elaborate stalking escapade that would give us invaluable information about Ethan Hawke's life that would ultimately culminate in Ethan Hawke and his friend sharing a burrito with us, and in Ethan Hawke becoming my new best friend.
E said "He looks homeless."
"Yes, he does" I agreed, as our stalking mission ended abruptly as Ethan Hawke and his friend got tickets to a movie at the Chelsea Cinema. "Do we have any spies in there? How are we going to know what movie he's going to?" I demanded. "You know, he's still hot even when he looks homeless. I love Ethan Hawke."
We hovered for a bit longer. I am the worst stalker ever. I couldn't contain myself. I kept saying "E, let's pretend like we're waiting for another friend to meet us and that's why we're just standing here..."
But I wasn't just standing there. I was rocking back and forth trying not to stare at him and repeating "Ohmygodiloveethanhawke."
It was interesting that nobody seemed to care that he was getting a ticket to a movie. E thinks that perhaps nobody recognized him in his surly outfit. I thought it was weird that Ethan Hawke had to get a ticket to a movie at all.
I said "E, I dare you to ask him to be an extra in your movie. I totally dare you. I will give you 10 bucks if you do. I will buy you dinner!" but clearly that particular dare was worth a lot more than dinner, so we didn't talk to Ethan Hawke and he therefore is not my new best friend.
Drat.
E and I grabbed dinner at an Indian restaurant, where I ended up leaving my sweatshirt because we were running late to meet R, R's girlfriend J who might actually be my new best friend, and D at the Upright Citizen's Brigade. I tried to blame Ethan Hawke for our being late but they would have none of it. "But we had to stalk him!" I explained.
The show last night at UCB was based on Craigslist. Basically, some dudes solicited sketch comedy on all of the Craigslists around the world and then staged the worst, most bizarre, and potentially funny skits they received. It was funny. Most funny, though, was this guy who set actual Craigslist postings to music.
Everyone was rabid for this guy, and I could think only two things about this:
1. That guy was good. Entertaining, funny, awesome, nervous, which I can appreciate.
2. I could totally do that. Like that's what I do, right? I set the absurd to music! For example, soon you will all be treated to my B side "Scary Eccentric Scientist" from last July. There's no reason I couldn't do something like that, right? It's not like the songs were musically ambitious or complex. As long as the content is good, people will respond to it. I could totally do that! I would totally do that, except that now the idea is taken. But maybe I could set blogs to music. I don't know. Either way, I am so going to an open mic next week.
I digress...
After reclaiming my sweatshirt from the Indian restaurant, the five of us went to have more than a few drinks.
I am a mess today, but I don't mind, because I needed to relax.
Conversation waivered between E's movie career, stereotypes, bestiality, and the importance of non-fucked up parenting.
After drinks D said "What was with your face?"
"What do you mean? My face?"
"During parts of the conversation you just had this face. I can't explain it."
I explained that I'd actually experienced some profound moments during the conversation about family. R's girlfriend J and I apparently have some shared skeletons, and there is something powerful about knowing that the person you are seated next to might actually understand you without your having to explain yourself, to justify yourself, to defend yourself.
It was a great night. I feel hungover but happy.
Yes. I feel happy. I think I suddenly feel like I belong.
Friday, July 29, 2005
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Jobs I Don't Want
OK.
Sometimes I find myself hating my job.
But, I always find it useful to make lists of jobs that suck way worse than what I do.
Like I just really wouldn't want to be a lawyer.
Yesterday I thought of another job I really wouldn't want to do.
And I think it could quite possibly be the worst job ever.
It is:
Person who works underground in the subway in the small booths that aren't air conditioned and where it apparently gets to be around 120 degrees on some days and there is no air down there and they can't leave and have to deal with annoying and annoyed people all day.
Well, I'm sure there are worse jobs, but man, that was the worst thing I could think of yesterday when it was 100 degrees here and when I was underground for like 3 minutes and thought I was going to die.
Can you think of anything worse?
Sometimes I find myself hating my job.
But, I always find it useful to make lists of jobs that suck way worse than what I do.
Like I just really wouldn't want to be a lawyer.
Yesterday I thought of another job I really wouldn't want to do.
And I think it could quite possibly be the worst job ever.
It is:
Person who works underground in the subway in the small booths that aren't air conditioned and where it apparently gets to be around 120 degrees on some days and there is no air down there and they can't leave and have to deal with annoying and annoyed people all day.
Well, I'm sure there are worse jobs, but man, that was the worst thing I could think of yesterday when it was 100 degrees here and when I was underground for like 3 minutes and thought I was going to die.
Can you think of anything worse?
Noticed
I waltzed into work this morning, late, due to a vile mood.
Vile, vile, vile.
As a direct result of vile mood, I placed approximately 11x more effort than usual into my appearance this morning. I did things that, gasp, involve hairspray! There's a theory that if you think you look good you may actually start feeling good, so whatever. I figured I'd give that a shot since, well, there are really no other options because I just can't feel good about things right now.
I walked into the lab, and who did I see? A My Mundane Life In Song alunmi who hasn't been representing lately - Jimmy!
I gave Jimmy the air guns and said "Good morning sir!"
He said "Hey girlie... how you be?"
"I'm good," I lied, enthusiastically, to overcompensate.
He said "Well, you look good."
"THANKS!" I said. AH HA! It works! Because, when people tell you that you look good, you actually feel good!
Then he said "Well, that's just the top of the deck. I'll leave what's on the inside to you."
Dang.
How did he know?
Vile, vile, vile.
As a direct result of vile mood, I placed approximately 11x more effort than usual into my appearance this morning. I did things that, gasp, involve hairspray! There's a theory that if you think you look good you may actually start feeling good, so whatever. I figured I'd give that a shot since, well, there are really no other options because I just can't feel good about things right now.
I walked into the lab, and who did I see? A My Mundane Life In Song alunmi who hasn't been representing lately - Jimmy!
I gave Jimmy the air guns and said "Good morning sir!"
He said "Hey girlie... how you be?"
"I'm good," I lied, enthusiastically, to overcompensate.
He said "Well, you look good."
"THANKS!" I said. AH HA! It works! Because, when people tell you that you look good, you actually feel good!
Then he said "Well, that's just the top of the deck. I'll leave what's on the inside to you."
Dang.
How did he know?
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Another Liz Phair Rant
I'm sorry, Anonymous. Songs take a long time. The old songs will be up in the next few weeks. Do not despair.
But, Anonymous, you might be interested in the following rant.
So I was just catching up on the blog reading I missed whilst in Buenos Aires, and I am horrified to learn that Liz Phair is coming out with a new album. She worked with producers who are responsible for such acts as Jason Mraz (cute and harmless but not really good), John Mayer (cute and there is too much of him and his music pains me but he had a funny comment about trapper keepers on "I Love the 80's"), Sheryl Crow (needs to be stopped) and Chris Isaak (who I know nothing about so maybe that producer is acceptable).
I made the mistake of listening to some preview tracks and I want to vomit.
Liz, Liz, why?! WHY!?!?
Bench Buddy said "You should have taken her limo when you had the chance. You'd have shown her!"
I said "Dude, I'd have made a more convincing Liz Phair than she would have."
The thing is that Liz Phair can't sing. The attractiveness of her early music is the songwriting, the gritty production, the honesty. These overproduced tracks are for people who want to hear singing, not content. So anyone who wants singing won't buy this because she can't really sing. And anyone who wants good songs with honesty won't buy it because it has neither.
Devastating. Absolutely devastating.
If only I'd listened to Girly Sounds instead of this nonsense.
OK. I'm done.
Please continue with what you were doing.
But, Anonymous, you might be interested in the following rant.
So I was just catching up on the blog reading I missed whilst in Buenos Aires, and I am horrified to learn that Liz Phair is coming out with a new album. She worked with producers who are responsible for such acts as Jason Mraz (cute and harmless but not really good), John Mayer (cute and there is too much of him and his music pains me but he had a funny comment about trapper keepers on "I Love the 80's"), Sheryl Crow (needs to be stopped) and Chris Isaak (who I know nothing about so maybe that producer is acceptable).
I made the mistake of listening to some preview tracks and I want to vomit.
Liz, Liz, why?! WHY!?!?
Bench Buddy said "You should have taken her limo when you had the chance. You'd have shown her!"
I said "Dude, I'd have made a more convincing Liz Phair than she would have."
The thing is that Liz Phair can't sing. The attractiveness of her early music is the songwriting, the gritty production, the honesty. These overproduced tracks are for people who want to hear singing, not content. So anyone who wants singing won't buy this because she can't really sing. And anyone who wants good songs with honesty won't buy it because it has neither.
Devastating. Absolutely devastating.
If only I'd listened to Girly Sounds instead of this nonsense.
OK. I'm done.
Please continue with what you were doing.
Buenos Aires - Tuesday
Tuesday was date day!
Given that D and I were not at our relationship high when we departed for Buenos Aires, I thought it was very important that we have quality alone time.
Plus, I dig alone time. I am a fan. I am a fan of couples spending time with other people, with other couples, alone with one another, and alone as individuals.
So. I declared, on Monday, that I wanted to have a date day with D on Tuesday. The Married People were like "What?" I explained that D and I have to determine whether we like each other or not, and therefore need to go on dates to do so. They said "But we'll meet for dinner?" and I said "That will depend on how the date goes."
D decided that rather than wandering around aimlessly for food in a city that is famous for its good food, we would, from henceforth onward, have specific food destinations. Armed with the guidebook, D found a lunch destination for us in Palermo Hollywood that supposedly had a cool vibe and "really good meat."
He was very excited. I was excited to see him excited, so I didn't worry about what I would eat.
When we arrived at the restaurant, we were shocked by its decor. It wasn't extravagant or at all impressive like the guidebook had suggested. We decided to stay, though, because there didn't seem to be anywhere else to eat.
Five minutes after sitting down, D said "Oh no. I think we're supposed to be over there." We looked out the window and saw, across the street, another restaurant with the same exact name. "Should we leave?" I asked. "No. No. No, they're probably the same, right? Like the font. It looks the same, right?" It did look the same, but why would there be two identical restaurants across the street from one another?
D ordered what he thought would be three small cuts of meat.
When it arrived, we were horrified that it was, like, two large pieces each of three different cuts of meat:
It was funny, and again, not that much of a travesty given that it only cost something like 18 pesos.
There were three people at the table behind us and they split the same dish that he'd ordered for himself.
This meal was interesting because it was the only restaurant that served butter with the bread. The breads in Buenos Aires were awesome - varied, soft, fresh, yum. And they would always be served with some sort of spread - like a cheese spread with mystery ingredients, or something creamy. I miss the spreads already. Sigh.
I got cheese ravioli with a tomato cream sauce and halfway through the meal got really sick. I don't know if it was something I ate or sharing the table with a pile of meat that made me sick. Either way, I ate about three raviolis and then had to stop.
We then walked to a gallery that we'd passed in the cab. It sucked, so we hopped in another cab and headed to a big park where we'd hoped to check out this planeterium:
Unfortunately we did not, because there were about 10 million little kids running around outside it. These kids, however, were cute because they were fishing and were not being obnoxious:
Instead of going to the planetarium, we decided to go to the MALBA. We walked over but, alas, it was closed for no apparent reason. No explanation. Just closed.
Disappointed, we headed back to the hotel to come up with Plan B.
Throughout our trip, D would stop and buy random candy that he wasn't sure he'd like or not. Here is some candy:
I think on this particular day he bought some disgusting mints. Despite their tasting heinous, however, they did miraculous things for breath.
D decided to go for a run while I decided to figure out how to get to Colonia in Uruguay for our day trip the following day.
Yay alone time!
The website for the company that operates the boat to Uruguay was being difficult. It would not load. At all. I tried to find alternate means to get there, but it was no use. I tried everything. While I was looking for this, M and A appeared in the internet room and declared "Our bags have apparently been delivered to us, but they are not here!"
They'd decided to have their bags shipped to them. A's mother sent them to the hotel.
They were, however, not at the hotel.
While M helped me to figure out the Colonia thing, A tracked down the package and figured out that the clothes were at Customs. At the airport. And it was very confusing what with the not speaking of Spanish.
A decided to go to the airport right then, so as to get the clothes as soon as possible and not have to worry about them for a moment longer.
They left and suddenly the website for the boat company was working. But, it seemed either really expensive or would take forever to get to Colonia. Oh well.
D returned and we decided to go to this collection of galleries in Recoleta that had been closed the day before when we tried to go there.
It was ok.
There were a couple standouts:
Including this artist who I loved but whose name, I, of course, forgot instantly. Does this look familiar to anyone?
While we were there D said "I really have to take an art appreciation class or something. I know nothing."
If only he knew how little the rest of us know.
We walked around Recoleta - mainly the top of the Design Center - after the galleries. There were no people. It was a quiet and clear night. Kind of spooky. It would have been extremely romantic had it not been cold, and had we not been so tired.
We then walked around aimlessly looking for a restaurant, yet again. We encountered a row of theme restaurants, including an Indiana Jones themed restaurant. There was a camel statue outside. I think the restaurant was shaped like a pyramid. They served Indiana Jones Ice Cream and other equally bizarre novelties.
As we headed home, I realized I didn't have any money left, so we went here:
Apparently Bank Boston still exists!!! Who knew? And apparently it rocks in Argentina, because there were Bank Bostons everywhere.
We headed back to the hotel without having found a restaurant, and on the way talked to M and A, who didn't have their clothes. Customs was closed when they got to the airport. They went all that way for no reason. They were most likely irritable, as were we from having not found a restaurant, so we decided to eat at the hotel restaurant.
D, who has an amazing sense of direction, continually said, in all seriousness "Oh! This looks like a nice restaurant... we should eat here some time" every time we passed by the hotel restaurant from the outside.
Clearly he knew where the hotel was, and knew that we were basically outside it, but he couldn't quite comprehend that the fancy restaurant he was looking at was the hotel. Cute.
I ordered a Cosmopolitan again at dinner, only this time the waitress clearly had no idea what I was talking about. I was embarrassed, but couldn't explain to her what I was talking about since, in case you were wondering, I don't speak Spanish! D explained to her that it was a drink.
It was taking forever for the Cosmo to arrive, and M said "I bet they're looking it up."
When the waitress brought wine for the others and said "The Cosmo will take 15 minutes" M said "They're totally looking it up."
When it arrived, M said "They definitely had to look it up!" because it wasn't really a Cosmo. It was more of a Grape Crush (which is actually my favoritest drink that I never order because its sort of an embarassing favorite drink), or liquid jolly rancher. Sweet and deadly.
There was much talk of house-buying at dinner, which stressed me out because I don't want nor do I have any intention of buying a house in the near future. This makes me anxious because D apparently does have the intention of buying a house in the near future, which is going to put much stress on the relationship. I was mostly silent and thinking "Mountains of paperwork and all money gone for 400 square feet... so... very... unappealing..."
We were going to go for ice cream again but I didn't want to. I just wasn't into it. We decided to order desserts off of the menu, and were all hoping that the mystery chocolate dessert was actually a Chocolate Volcano. Molten chocolate. Yes. D and I had attempted to order one at the French restaurant a few days prior but didn't because it was going to take forever for them to make it. We'd been craving it since.
When the waitress explained the mystery chocolate dessert everyone was very excited to hear her say "molten chocolate." YES! We ordered three of them for the table.
When they arrived, there was no molten chocolate to be seen.
It was basically chocolate cake. Still good, but a disappointment since we'd psyched ourselves up en masse for molten chocolate.
It is interesting that we had a group auditory hallucination. I guess we just really wanted molten chocolate.
We decided not to go to Colonia the following day, and all retired to bed. I think Evita was on that night, which made me far too happy for obvious reasons.
Given that D and I were not at our relationship high when we departed for Buenos Aires, I thought it was very important that we have quality alone time.
Plus, I dig alone time. I am a fan. I am a fan of couples spending time with other people, with other couples, alone with one another, and alone as individuals.
So. I declared, on Monday, that I wanted to have a date day with D on Tuesday. The Married People were like "What?" I explained that D and I have to determine whether we like each other or not, and therefore need to go on dates to do so. They said "But we'll meet for dinner?" and I said "That will depend on how the date goes."
D decided that rather than wandering around aimlessly for food in a city that is famous for its good food, we would, from henceforth onward, have specific food destinations. Armed with the guidebook, D found a lunch destination for us in Palermo Hollywood that supposedly had a cool vibe and "really good meat."
He was very excited. I was excited to see him excited, so I didn't worry about what I would eat.
When we arrived at the restaurant, we were shocked by its decor. It wasn't extravagant or at all impressive like the guidebook had suggested. We decided to stay, though, because there didn't seem to be anywhere else to eat.
Five minutes after sitting down, D said "Oh no. I think we're supposed to be over there." We looked out the window and saw, across the street, another restaurant with the same exact name. "Should we leave?" I asked. "No. No. No, they're probably the same, right? Like the font. It looks the same, right?" It did look the same, but why would there be two identical restaurants across the street from one another?
D ordered what he thought would be three small cuts of meat.
When it arrived, we were horrified that it was, like, two large pieces each of three different cuts of meat:
It was funny, and again, not that much of a travesty given that it only cost something like 18 pesos.
There were three people at the table behind us and they split the same dish that he'd ordered for himself.
This meal was interesting because it was the only restaurant that served butter with the bread. The breads in Buenos Aires were awesome - varied, soft, fresh, yum. And they would always be served with some sort of spread - like a cheese spread with mystery ingredients, or something creamy. I miss the spreads already. Sigh.
I got cheese ravioli with a tomato cream sauce and halfway through the meal got really sick. I don't know if it was something I ate or sharing the table with a pile of meat that made me sick. Either way, I ate about three raviolis and then had to stop.
We then walked to a gallery that we'd passed in the cab. It sucked, so we hopped in another cab and headed to a big park where we'd hoped to check out this planeterium:
Unfortunately we did not, because there were about 10 million little kids running around outside it. These kids, however, were cute because they were fishing and were not being obnoxious:
Instead of going to the planetarium, we decided to go to the MALBA. We walked over but, alas, it was closed for no apparent reason. No explanation. Just closed.
Disappointed, we headed back to the hotel to come up with Plan B.
Throughout our trip, D would stop and buy random candy that he wasn't sure he'd like or not. Here is some candy:
I think on this particular day he bought some disgusting mints. Despite their tasting heinous, however, they did miraculous things for breath.
D decided to go for a run while I decided to figure out how to get to Colonia in Uruguay for our day trip the following day.
Yay alone time!
The website for the company that operates the boat to Uruguay was being difficult. It would not load. At all. I tried to find alternate means to get there, but it was no use. I tried everything. While I was looking for this, M and A appeared in the internet room and declared "Our bags have apparently been delivered to us, but they are not here!"
They'd decided to have their bags shipped to them. A's mother sent them to the hotel.
They were, however, not at the hotel.
While M helped me to figure out the Colonia thing, A tracked down the package and figured out that the clothes were at Customs. At the airport. And it was very confusing what with the not speaking of Spanish.
A decided to go to the airport right then, so as to get the clothes as soon as possible and not have to worry about them for a moment longer.
They left and suddenly the website for the boat company was working. But, it seemed either really expensive or would take forever to get to Colonia. Oh well.
D returned and we decided to go to this collection of galleries in Recoleta that had been closed the day before when we tried to go there.
It was ok.
There were a couple standouts:
Including this artist who I loved but whose name, I, of course, forgot instantly. Does this look familiar to anyone?
While we were there D said "I really have to take an art appreciation class or something. I know nothing."
If only he knew how little the rest of us know.
We walked around Recoleta - mainly the top of the Design Center - after the galleries. There were no people. It was a quiet and clear night. Kind of spooky. It would have been extremely romantic had it not been cold, and had we not been so tired.
We then walked around aimlessly looking for a restaurant, yet again. We encountered a row of theme restaurants, including an Indiana Jones themed restaurant. There was a camel statue outside. I think the restaurant was shaped like a pyramid. They served Indiana Jones Ice Cream and other equally bizarre novelties.
As we headed home, I realized I didn't have any money left, so we went here:
Apparently Bank Boston still exists!!! Who knew? And apparently it rocks in Argentina, because there were Bank Bostons everywhere.
We headed back to the hotel without having found a restaurant, and on the way talked to M and A, who didn't have their clothes. Customs was closed when they got to the airport. They went all that way for no reason. They were most likely irritable, as were we from having not found a restaurant, so we decided to eat at the hotel restaurant.
D, who has an amazing sense of direction, continually said, in all seriousness "Oh! This looks like a nice restaurant... we should eat here some time" every time we passed by the hotel restaurant from the outside.
Clearly he knew where the hotel was, and knew that we were basically outside it, but he couldn't quite comprehend that the fancy restaurant he was looking at was the hotel. Cute.
I ordered a Cosmopolitan again at dinner, only this time the waitress clearly had no idea what I was talking about. I was embarrassed, but couldn't explain to her what I was talking about since, in case you were wondering, I don't speak Spanish! D explained to her that it was a drink.
It was taking forever for the Cosmo to arrive, and M said "I bet they're looking it up."
When the waitress brought wine for the others and said "The Cosmo will take 15 minutes" M said "They're totally looking it up."
When it arrived, M said "They definitely had to look it up!" because it wasn't really a Cosmo. It was more of a Grape Crush (which is actually my favoritest drink that I never order because its sort of an embarassing favorite drink), or liquid jolly rancher. Sweet and deadly.
There was much talk of house-buying at dinner, which stressed me out because I don't want nor do I have any intention of buying a house in the near future. This makes me anxious because D apparently does have the intention of buying a house in the near future, which is going to put much stress on the relationship. I was mostly silent and thinking "Mountains of paperwork and all money gone for 400 square feet... so... very... unappealing..."
We were going to go for ice cream again but I didn't want to. I just wasn't into it. We decided to order desserts off of the menu, and were all hoping that the mystery chocolate dessert was actually a Chocolate Volcano. Molten chocolate. Yes. D and I had attempted to order one at the French restaurant a few days prior but didn't because it was going to take forever for them to make it. We'd been craving it since.
When the waitress explained the mystery chocolate dessert everyone was very excited to hear her say "molten chocolate." YES! We ordered three of them for the table.
When they arrived, there was no molten chocolate to be seen.
It was basically chocolate cake. Still good, but a disappointment since we'd psyched ourselves up en masse for molten chocolate.
It is interesting that we had a group auditory hallucination. I guess we just really wanted molten chocolate.
We decided not to go to Colonia the following day, and all retired to bed. I think Evita was on that night, which made me far too happy for obvious reasons.
A Few Observations...
... about the people of Buenos Aires:
1. Good looking.
2. Really good looking.
3. Actually, come to think of it, obscenely good looking.
D and I were discussing this, and D said "Seriously. Look around. Do you really think that there are more good looking people here than there are in NYC?"
There probably aren't more good looking people in Buenos Aires than there are in New York. I think, rather, its a matter of taste. My taste happens to border on darker, European-looking people. Dare I say... Italian looking people. Throw in some Spanish and DAMN. From the moment we got on the plane in NYC I noticed the men. I couldn't stop looking.
And the women! Wow.
I suppose if you like the blonde or tall aesthetic, you're out of luck.
But I was quite satisfied with the eye candy.
P's entire family is really good looking. There was a photo at his parents' house of his sister's wedding that looked like it was out of a magazine. His sister is gorgeous, and her husband is equally gorgeous. Their baby could quite possibly be the cutest baby ever.
P's brother is also adorable. And his girlfriend is, well, gorgeous. At the wedding, M leaned over and said "Imagine what their babies would look like!" and I couldn't even handle the thought.
P himself is adorable as well.
4. Another thing that pleases me about the people of Buenos Aires is the frequency of the moustache! Yes! Moustaches are apparently "in" in Buenos Aires, which gives me great satisfcation on both ironic and actual levels. I think 70% of the cab drivers we had sported fabulous moustaches. But, the most fabulous moustache of all belonged to P's father:
5. Everyone was so very nice. They were friendly and chatty and patient and cute.
6. Affectionate! I love kissing strangers. My pet love is "Hello, my name is Leah Lar, pleased to meet you!" kiss on the cheek.
That is all.
For now.
1. Good looking.
2. Really good looking.
3. Actually, come to think of it, obscenely good looking.
D and I were discussing this, and D said "Seriously. Look around. Do you really think that there are more good looking people here than there are in NYC?"
There probably aren't more good looking people in Buenos Aires than there are in New York. I think, rather, its a matter of taste. My taste happens to border on darker, European-looking people. Dare I say... Italian looking people. Throw in some Spanish and DAMN. From the moment we got on the plane in NYC I noticed the men. I couldn't stop looking.
And the women! Wow.
I suppose if you like the blonde or tall aesthetic, you're out of luck.
But I was quite satisfied with the eye candy.
P's entire family is really good looking. There was a photo at his parents' house of his sister's wedding that looked like it was out of a magazine. His sister is gorgeous, and her husband is equally gorgeous. Their baby could quite possibly be the cutest baby ever.
P's brother is also adorable. And his girlfriend is, well, gorgeous. At the wedding, M leaned over and said "Imagine what their babies would look like!" and I couldn't even handle the thought.
P himself is adorable as well.
4. Another thing that pleases me about the people of Buenos Aires is the frequency of the moustache! Yes! Moustaches are apparently "in" in Buenos Aires, which gives me great satisfcation on both ironic and actual levels. I think 70% of the cab drivers we had sported fabulous moustaches. But, the most fabulous moustache of all belonged to P's father:
5. Everyone was so very nice. They were friendly and chatty and patient and cute.
6. Affectionate! I love kissing strangers. My pet love is "Hello, my name is Leah Lar, pleased to meet you!" kiss on the cheek.
That is all.
For now.
Heat Wave
It's another heat wave in New York City.
I always think of "Do The Right Thing" when it gets this hot in the city. I think of ice cubes and commentary and chaos. Such an amazing film.
When I walked out of my apartment this morning, I walked into the hallway of my building and was like "Dear god its HOT OUT HERE." It was so very hot. Stifling. Like standing in a bowl of warm soup.
I walked down the stairs, sweating just from existing. I walked outside, expecting to feel a bit of relief. No. It was even more hot outside.
Ridiculous.
At one of the subway stops this morning, the conductor announced "This is 14th Street... and for all of you lovely people who are getting off at 14th Street, good luck to you out there! It's hot out, but please do not worry - it is supposed to get cooler. Relief is on the way. Have a great day."
For some reason that makes the weather more tolerable.
This being said, I was sad that the conductor didn't wish me luck or a great day when I got off at Spring Street.
It was nice, though, to hear an announcement that had nothing to do with being aware of suspicious activities. There is now constant discussion about terrorism on subways and bag checks and invasions of privacy. We have become a society of paranoia and negativity.
It's refreshing to hear something light and happy.
Thank you, C line conductor, for keepin' it real.
I always think of "Do The Right Thing" when it gets this hot in the city. I think of ice cubes and commentary and chaos. Such an amazing film.
When I walked out of my apartment this morning, I walked into the hallway of my building and was like "Dear god its HOT OUT HERE." It was so very hot. Stifling. Like standing in a bowl of warm soup.
I walked down the stairs, sweating just from existing. I walked outside, expecting to feel a bit of relief. No. It was even more hot outside.
Ridiculous.
At one of the subway stops this morning, the conductor announced "This is 14th Street... and for all of you lovely people who are getting off at 14th Street, good luck to you out there! It's hot out, but please do not worry - it is supposed to get cooler. Relief is on the way. Have a great day."
For some reason that makes the weather more tolerable.
This being said, I was sad that the conductor didn't wish me luck or a great day when I got off at Spring Street.
It was nice, though, to hear an announcement that had nothing to do with being aware of suspicious activities. There is now constant discussion about terrorism on subways and bag checks and invasions of privacy. We have become a society of paranoia and negativity.
It's refreshing to hear something light and happy.
Thank you, C line conductor, for keepin' it real.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Lord of the Flies
There is a fly in my room.
It is driving me nuts. I know I have no chance against it so I just have to let it fly around and annoy me.
I was happy to find that there were zero cockroaches in my apartment after my return from Buenos Aires. Sweet!
There are, however, fruit flies. Which is weird considering there is zero food here.
And there is also this Big Brother Fly, which keeps flying in front of my face and keeps brushing against my legs.
If it wasn't 80 million degrees I'd hide under my blankets.
Remember how I said I was happy to be back in warm weather? I take it back. 95 degrees is just not cool under any circumstances.
I am irritated right now. D is out with a friend of his from out of town and has been all "I want you to meet him! We must figure out a way for you to meet him!" and then called at 8:00 and said "I don't know what we're doing... we've just been hanging out and can't make a decision... we're going to go to the Knitting Factory Bar and will figure out what to do from there..." and then again at 9:00 and said "We still don't know what we're doing... we're just sitting here talking so we probably won't do anything so you should just do whatever you were going to do."
Right.
Because what I was going to do was wait around and be on call to meet the friend, but apparently I am invited only if the plan involves something other than sitting around and talking and having so much fun that they decide not to do anything else.
I don't get it.
I just don't get it.
I hate that I have to not be invited to things, and then have to be awoken from sleep so he can stay here while his friend stays at his apartment. I hate that the third friend's fiance met up with them. How did she manage to get a concrete invite?
I hate people.
And flies.
But! In exciting news, with my "time to do whatever I was going to do" I revisited some old My Mundane Life in Song songs that I never finished because I moved to New York City. So get ready, readers, for some totally bizarre songs from last summer. I'm pretty pysched, actually, to finish them. Luckily I recorded the music for them and never finished vocals since recording vocals is a challenge with roommates. Since I am now sans keyboard I can't do music like this anymore, so its a treat to get to do something synthy, even if its old.
YEAH!
So yes. Next time I am all pathetic and waiting around for my boyfriend to de-invite me to things without actually informing me I will be able to post some new (old) songs!
Oh. He is here. I suppose I should talk to him. Except that he's drunk. Awshummmmm.
Until tomorrow.....
It is driving me nuts. I know I have no chance against it so I just have to let it fly around and annoy me.
I was happy to find that there were zero cockroaches in my apartment after my return from Buenos Aires. Sweet!
There are, however, fruit flies. Which is weird considering there is zero food here.
And there is also this Big Brother Fly, which keeps flying in front of my face and keeps brushing against my legs.
If it wasn't 80 million degrees I'd hide under my blankets.
Remember how I said I was happy to be back in warm weather? I take it back. 95 degrees is just not cool under any circumstances.
I am irritated right now. D is out with a friend of his from out of town and has been all "I want you to meet him! We must figure out a way for you to meet him!" and then called at 8:00 and said "I don't know what we're doing... we've just been hanging out and can't make a decision... we're going to go to the Knitting Factory Bar and will figure out what to do from there..." and then again at 9:00 and said "We still don't know what we're doing... we're just sitting here talking so we probably won't do anything so you should just do whatever you were going to do."
Right.
Because what I was going to do was wait around and be on call to meet the friend, but apparently I am invited only if the plan involves something other than sitting around and talking and having so much fun that they decide not to do anything else.
I don't get it.
I just don't get it.
I hate that I have to not be invited to things, and then have to be awoken from sleep so he can stay here while his friend stays at his apartment. I hate that the third friend's fiance met up with them. How did she manage to get a concrete invite?
I hate people.
And flies.
But! In exciting news, with my "time to do whatever I was going to do" I revisited some old My Mundane Life in Song songs that I never finished because I moved to New York City. So get ready, readers, for some totally bizarre songs from last summer. I'm pretty pysched, actually, to finish them. Luckily I recorded the music for them and never finished vocals since recording vocals is a challenge with roommates. Since I am now sans keyboard I can't do music like this anymore, so its a treat to get to do something synthy, even if its old.
YEAH!
So yes. Next time I am all pathetic and waiting around for my boyfriend to de-invite me to things without actually informing me I will be able to post some new (old) songs!
Oh. He is here. I suppose I should talk to him. Except that he's drunk. Awshummmmm.
Until tomorrow.....
Buenos Aires - Monday - aka "11 kilos!"
We woke up early on Monday morning in order to guarantee us a spot in the 11am tour of Teatro Colon, one of the premier opera houses in the world. We arrived at 10:30 am, and once we figured out how to actually get into the theater, we were all set.
We were only allowed to take photos in the lobby, which was ornate and gorgeous. They had old instruments and costume pieces on display:
The tour was awesome! We got to walk underneath the theater and look into the costume, wig and shoe shops. We also saw the inside of the theater, as well as some practice spaces. When we left the tour, there was a waitress singing opera in the cafe in the theater. It was lovely.
Afterwards, we walked out and took photos of the theater. Then we realized that we were taking pictures of the back of the theater. It was hard to tell. For something so extravagant on the inside, its rather confusing on the outside.
We walked to the front of the theater and regrouped. We all took photos because the day was so lovely.
Here is everyone trying to figure out where we are and what we should do next:
We decided to see the infamous obelisk up close and personal because it was nearby:
We then went to lunch at a fairly lame place where I didn't get an omelette even though that's what I ordered (readers please note: eggs were difficult in Buenos Aires as you will read more about. As D said "What have we learned? Buenos Aires does not know how to do eggs.").
We then headed to a famous cemetary in Recoleta. I don't know what it's called. All I know is that its extremely lavish and that many famous and rich people from Argentina are buried within it. For example - Eva Peron. Also various dignitaries and political and military figures. I'm not sure who, specifically, as we were not there during a time tours were being given in English.
The graves ranged from extremely lavish:
To rather modest:
There were ones like this (drawers):
Others were very ornate:
Some were modern (I think this one was from the 80's - the style really stood out):
The cemetary was like a maze. It was easy to get lost. It was a gorgeous day and an awesome experience, although it was sort of a deranged thing to be doing. Some of the tombs are not well kept. In one - I can't remember if it had bars or glass - the casket had opened and I could actually see bones inside. In others there were photographs of the dead. Still in others you could see child-sized coffins. It was beautiful yet extremely unsettling.
After the cemetary we walked around Recoleta for a bit:
We then stopped at a cafe in the Design Center, where we received a call from N and P inviting us out to dinner. Dinner would be at a secret location. We were excited, as N and P would not disappoint, and all headed back to the hotel to regroup.
N and P met us at 10:00 and announced that we would be going to a restaurant in Palermo Viejo.
N, P, M and A piled into P's car, while D, E, B and I hopped in a cab.
Most of my time in Buenos Aires was spent thinking "Man. I wish I knew Spanish. I should have learned Spanish. Is it possible for me to suck any more than I do and to have been any less prepared for this trip? I don't know a word of Spanish! I am a typical American tourist! I made no effort! I am a nuisance to D! He must want to kill me! He must want to kill all of us!"
Consequently I also spent a lot of time in the back seats of cabs listening to D talk to cab drivers in Spanish. Sometimes he was good about telling me what they were talking about, but most of the time he just talked for the entirety of the ride without informing me of what was going on. I don't blame him.
If unfortunately gave me time to be paranoid and to invent the conversations they were having.
Cab Driver: So, where are you from?
D: New York City.
Cab Driver: Who's that?
D: My girlfriend.
Cab Driver: She can't understand Spanish?
D: Not a word.
Cab Driver: Heh. Sucks to be you, kid! How annoying that must be!
D: Tell me about it. I have to drag her unprepared ass around with me everywhere I go. She'd be lost without me!
Cab Driver: True that. You are a good American. Not like her. She's like all of the rest of them. She feels entitled.
Yeah. That's what I was thinking everytime I heard "Blah blah blah blah Neuvo York blah blah blah blah amiga blah blah blah blah blah."
This particular cab ride was awesome, though, because D was seated in the front being really chatty with the cab driver.
They talked for about 10 minutes while E, B and I had our own conversation in the back seat.
Out of nowhere, D turned around, enthusiastically, with a look of pure excitement consuming his face and flashed us a Polaroid photo of a bunny and announced
"11 KILOS!"
Ummm.
"Oh..." we all said, unsure of how to respond.
The three of us exchanged confused glances in the backseat as I laughed to myself at D's enthusiasm. I love when he gets like that. The smallest thing can make him so very excited.
We returned to our convesation and were interrupted again by D who showed us another photo and declared "THIS ONE IS 12 KILOS!"
"Uh huh..." we all murmered.
B said "Do they have names?" but D didn't hear him because he was too busy talking to the cab driver about the rabbits.
D then turned around and declared "AND THIS ONE HAS BLACK EARS!" He was smiling ear to ear and could not contain himself.
"Oh... cute..." I said.
I don't know, folks, I just don't know. It was really cute and really bizarre.
We decided later on that the cab driver must sell the rabbits, which is why the weights are important.
But to us, sitting in the back, we just assumed, at first, that the dude carries photos of his pets around and shows them to all of his fares.
This is how it was to travel with D. We only got portions of information and had to infer the rest. I don't blame him. I wouldn't want to have to translate every single word to a bunch of people who didn't bother to learn Spanish. Absolutely not. I commend D for his patience and for tolerating us at all.
This being said, I was left assuming that people in Buenos Aires have pet rabbits the way people in the US have pet dogs and force photos of their pets upon anyone who's willing to look. And upon people who couldn't possibly care less. People in cabs are trapped, and therefore have to look at photos of large bunnies with ears that are different colors from their bodies.
Later on that night D explained to us that the cab driver raises huge rabbits and then apparently sells them to French tourists who will pay top dollar to have them cooked.
Right.
So they do not have names because they are not pets.
Right.
"11 kilos!"
Anyway, we were happy to learn that N and P were taking us to a tapas restaurant. N and P were extremely generous and patient with us during our stay in Buenos Aires. They took us out in high style, and always provided or gave us ideas for things to do.
I had some champagne earlier that night (even though I hate champagne). We ordered a bottle of Malbec but I was really dying for a fruity mixed drink. I think I was really craving fruit since my diet in Buenos Aires was less than optimal, but fruit flavored alcohol would have to suffice. P explained that drinks are called the same things in Buenos Aires as they are in the US, so I ordered a cosmpolitan that was quite potent. M also ordered a mixed drink and was drunk instantly. I had the mixed drink as well as a glass of wine and felt quite tipsy myself.
This is what our tables looked like in Buenos Aires:
Tons of empty glasses. Lots of beverages consumed.
The food was delicious, the company was fantastic, and we headed back to the hotel without having ice cream because we were all satisfied after dinner.
We were only allowed to take photos in the lobby, which was ornate and gorgeous. They had old instruments and costume pieces on display:
The tour was awesome! We got to walk underneath the theater and look into the costume, wig and shoe shops. We also saw the inside of the theater, as well as some practice spaces. When we left the tour, there was a waitress singing opera in the cafe in the theater. It was lovely.
Afterwards, we walked out and took photos of the theater. Then we realized that we were taking pictures of the back of the theater. It was hard to tell. For something so extravagant on the inside, its rather confusing on the outside.
We walked to the front of the theater and regrouped. We all took photos because the day was so lovely.
Here is everyone trying to figure out where we are and what we should do next:
We decided to see the infamous obelisk up close and personal because it was nearby:
We then went to lunch at a fairly lame place where I didn't get an omelette even though that's what I ordered (readers please note: eggs were difficult in Buenos Aires as you will read more about. As D said "What have we learned? Buenos Aires does not know how to do eggs.").
We then headed to a famous cemetary in Recoleta. I don't know what it's called. All I know is that its extremely lavish and that many famous and rich people from Argentina are buried within it. For example - Eva Peron. Also various dignitaries and political and military figures. I'm not sure who, specifically, as we were not there during a time tours were being given in English.
The graves ranged from extremely lavish:
To rather modest:
There were ones like this (drawers):
Others were very ornate:
Some were modern (I think this one was from the 80's - the style really stood out):
The cemetary was like a maze. It was easy to get lost. It was a gorgeous day and an awesome experience, although it was sort of a deranged thing to be doing. Some of the tombs are not well kept. In one - I can't remember if it had bars or glass - the casket had opened and I could actually see bones inside. In others there were photographs of the dead. Still in others you could see child-sized coffins. It was beautiful yet extremely unsettling.
After the cemetary we walked around Recoleta for a bit:
We then stopped at a cafe in the Design Center, where we received a call from N and P inviting us out to dinner. Dinner would be at a secret location. We were excited, as N and P would not disappoint, and all headed back to the hotel to regroup.
N and P met us at 10:00 and announced that we would be going to a restaurant in Palermo Viejo.
N, P, M and A piled into P's car, while D, E, B and I hopped in a cab.
Most of my time in Buenos Aires was spent thinking "Man. I wish I knew Spanish. I should have learned Spanish. Is it possible for me to suck any more than I do and to have been any less prepared for this trip? I don't know a word of Spanish! I am a typical American tourist! I made no effort! I am a nuisance to D! He must want to kill me! He must want to kill all of us!"
Consequently I also spent a lot of time in the back seats of cabs listening to D talk to cab drivers in Spanish. Sometimes he was good about telling me what they were talking about, but most of the time he just talked for the entirety of the ride without informing me of what was going on. I don't blame him.
If unfortunately gave me time to be paranoid and to invent the conversations they were having.
Cab Driver: So, where are you from?
D: New York City.
Cab Driver: Who's that?
D: My girlfriend.
Cab Driver: She can't understand Spanish?
D: Not a word.
Cab Driver: Heh. Sucks to be you, kid! How annoying that must be!
D: Tell me about it. I have to drag her unprepared ass around with me everywhere I go. She'd be lost without me!
Cab Driver: True that. You are a good American. Not like her. She's like all of the rest of them. She feels entitled.
Yeah. That's what I was thinking everytime I heard "Blah blah blah blah Neuvo York blah blah blah blah amiga blah blah blah blah blah."
This particular cab ride was awesome, though, because D was seated in the front being really chatty with the cab driver.
They talked for about 10 minutes while E, B and I had our own conversation in the back seat.
Out of nowhere, D turned around, enthusiastically, with a look of pure excitement consuming his face and flashed us a Polaroid photo of a bunny and announced
"11 KILOS!"
Ummm.
"Oh..." we all said, unsure of how to respond.
The three of us exchanged confused glances in the backseat as I laughed to myself at D's enthusiasm. I love when he gets like that. The smallest thing can make him so very excited.
We returned to our convesation and were interrupted again by D who showed us another photo and declared "THIS ONE IS 12 KILOS!"
"Uh huh..." we all murmered.
B said "Do they have names?" but D didn't hear him because he was too busy talking to the cab driver about the rabbits.
D then turned around and declared "AND THIS ONE HAS BLACK EARS!" He was smiling ear to ear and could not contain himself.
"Oh... cute..." I said.
I don't know, folks, I just don't know. It was really cute and really bizarre.
We decided later on that the cab driver must sell the rabbits, which is why the weights are important.
But to us, sitting in the back, we just assumed, at first, that the dude carries photos of his pets around and shows them to all of his fares.
This is how it was to travel with D. We only got portions of information and had to infer the rest. I don't blame him. I wouldn't want to have to translate every single word to a bunch of people who didn't bother to learn Spanish. Absolutely not. I commend D for his patience and for tolerating us at all.
This being said, I was left assuming that people in Buenos Aires have pet rabbits the way people in the US have pet dogs and force photos of their pets upon anyone who's willing to look. And upon people who couldn't possibly care less. People in cabs are trapped, and therefore have to look at photos of large bunnies with ears that are different colors from their bodies.
Later on that night D explained to us that the cab driver raises huge rabbits and then apparently sells them to French tourists who will pay top dollar to have them cooked.
Right.
So they do not have names because they are not pets.
Right.
"11 kilos!"
Anyway, we were happy to learn that N and P were taking us to a tapas restaurant. N and P were extremely generous and patient with us during our stay in Buenos Aires. They took us out in high style, and always provided or gave us ideas for things to do.
I had some champagne earlier that night (even though I hate champagne). We ordered a bottle of Malbec but I was really dying for a fruity mixed drink. I think I was really craving fruit since my diet in Buenos Aires was less than optimal, but fruit flavored alcohol would have to suffice. P explained that drinks are called the same things in Buenos Aires as they are in the US, so I ordered a cosmpolitan that was quite potent. M also ordered a mixed drink and was drunk instantly. I had the mixed drink as well as a glass of wine and felt quite tipsy myself.
This is what our tables looked like in Buenos Aires:
Tons of empty glasses. Lots of beverages consumed.
The food was delicious, the company was fantastic, and we headed back to the hotel without having ice cream because we were all satisfied after dinner.
Buenos Aires - Sunday
D and I slept lots and slept in on Sunday morning. The others, who apparently did not sleep in (I don't understand!) met up with N and P to walk around La Boca while D and I started walking after we'd prepared ourselves for the day.
We ended up in Plaza de Mayo, which was apparently the original center of Buenos Aires:
We had a nice view of the Ubiquitous Obelisk (I kept orienting myself in the city based on where the obelisk was):
There was another monument that most likely has historical significance but I don't know what the significance is:
I loved this woman and desperately wanted her to start singing "Feed the birds... tuppence a bag...:"
We then headed towards San Telmo to meet the others for lunch. Some windows:
I like the contrast between the classic European architecture and the new and shiny buildings:
There were many art vendors on the streets of Buenos Aires. I really wanted to buy something, but couldn't decide on anything so, of course, ended up with nothing:
We ate lunch at a French restaurant, where I had one of my many Coca Colas in Buenos Aires:
Afterwards, we headed towards San Telmo to do some shopping.
We took a short detour to take a tour of an apartment that had been excavated and is apparently one of the oldest residences in Buenos Aires. It once housed slaves, once served as a tenement, and was apparently inhabited by some really rich family. A company bought it and started digging and now tours are given to illustrate the history of Buenos Aires. Our tour guide sort of sucked, but the building was interesting anyway:
We then walked towards an extremely crowded street/vendor fair in San Telmo where, again, we did not buy anything because there was too much going on: (but I really really really wanted a puppet!)
The roasted nuts in Buenos Aires are far superior to those found in New York City. They are candied and marvelous, and, according to M and A, actually taste as good as they smell:
After the fair we headed to Cafe Tortoni, a famous cafe where political figures from Buenos Aires and the rest of the world once (and still?) frequented:
I ate churros. Mmmm. I also ordered what I thought would be hot chocolate. It was called Chocolate. It was hot chocolate, but seriously - it was CHOCOLATE. It was just hot, melted, delicious, overwhelming chocolate. It is unfortunate that the currency is Argentina is so devalued. But, selfishly, it was nice for me because I got to eat all sorts of desserts I'd usually avoid due to cheapness. I'd never have stopped at a cafe in the middle of the afternoon for churros and hot chocolate in the US.
We then walked down the pedestrian walkway which, again, was sort of chaotic:
We ended up at Fancy Mall where I bought a pair of perfect shoes for the wedding. I have to admit that I was experiencing much distress regarding the sandals I'd brought, so I was relieved to find the exact shoes I'd fantasized about. M and A bought a copy of Harry Potter in English, and D bought a new suit for the wedding. He looked so handsome trying it on. I was very excited. Luckily he did not buy one of these hideous ties (note: teddy bears on the ties:
After Fancy Mall we headed back to the Bel Air Hotel and ended up eating dinner at a restaurant two doors down from our hotel. How we missed this the first night we will never know! M and I ordered crepes that turned out not to be very crepe-like, but we did not care, because we were starving and they were tasty anyway. We drank wine and chatted, and then went to bed early to prepare for our busy day on Monday.
We ended up in Plaza de Mayo, which was apparently the original center of Buenos Aires:
We had a nice view of the Ubiquitous Obelisk (I kept orienting myself in the city based on where the obelisk was):
There was another monument that most likely has historical significance but I don't know what the significance is:
I loved this woman and desperately wanted her to start singing "Feed the birds... tuppence a bag...:"
We then headed towards San Telmo to meet the others for lunch. Some windows:
I like the contrast between the classic European architecture and the new and shiny buildings:
There were many art vendors on the streets of Buenos Aires. I really wanted to buy something, but couldn't decide on anything so, of course, ended up with nothing:
We ate lunch at a French restaurant, where I had one of my many Coca Colas in Buenos Aires:
Afterwards, we headed towards San Telmo to do some shopping.
We took a short detour to take a tour of an apartment that had been excavated and is apparently one of the oldest residences in Buenos Aires. It once housed slaves, once served as a tenement, and was apparently inhabited by some really rich family. A company bought it and started digging and now tours are given to illustrate the history of Buenos Aires. Our tour guide sort of sucked, but the building was interesting anyway:
We then walked towards an extremely crowded street/vendor fair in San Telmo where, again, we did not buy anything because there was too much going on: (but I really really really wanted a puppet!)
The roasted nuts in Buenos Aires are far superior to those found in New York City. They are candied and marvelous, and, according to M and A, actually taste as good as they smell:
After the fair we headed to Cafe Tortoni, a famous cafe where political figures from Buenos Aires and the rest of the world once (and still?) frequented:
I ate churros. Mmmm. I also ordered what I thought would be hot chocolate. It was called Chocolate. It was hot chocolate, but seriously - it was CHOCOLATE. It was just hot, melted, delicious, overwhelming chocolate. It is unfortunate that the currency is Argentina is so devalued. But, selfishly, it was nice for me because I got to eat all sorts of desserts I'd usually avoid due to cheapness. I'd never have stopped at a cafe in the middle of the afternoon for churros and hot chocolate in the US.
We then walked down the pedestrian walkway which, again, was sort of chaotic:
We ended up at Fancy Mall where I bought a pair of perfect shoes for the wedding. I have to admit that I was experiencing much distress regarding the sandals I'd brought, so I was relieved to find the exact shoes I'd fantasized about. M and A bought a copy of Harry Potter in English, and D bought a new suit for the wedding. He looked so handsome trying it on. I was very excited. Luckily he did not buy one of these hideous ties (note: teddy bears on the ties:
After Fancy Mall we headed back to the Bel Air Hotel and ended up eating dinner at a restaurant two doors down from our hotel. How we missed this the first night we will never know! M and I ordered crepes that turned out not to be very crepe-like, but we did not care, because we were starving and they were tasty anyway. We drank wine and chatted, and then went to bed early to prepare for our busy day on Monday.
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