This stain on the carpet, this drink in my hand.

Are you clear? Do you exist?

2008-05-11T07:05:11Z

Or: Mundane today, interrupted.

Since my everyday obligations keep me out of home for most of the day, I rarely get to take a stroll through the neighborhood during the daytime. Whenever I do, there's always a surprise. It's an interesting exercise because I discover a whole other world. Darkened corners that I have hurried through in the pitch black evening or drunkenly stumbled through in the wee hours of the morning reveal to be entirely different things when it's clear out. Business I never knew existed arise. Mom-and-pop stores that close up at 5 PM. And then, every once in a while, a horrible, brainwashing cult.

Yup. During one of those early morning walks through the neighborhood I discovered that I discovered that I, in fact, live three blocks away from a Scientology center.

This was a little while ago. What followed was a bit of a freakout session. You have to understand. Living in South America, it sometimes feels like we're completely isolated from the things that other people take for granted. The stuff I saw on E! Entertainment Television or read about on Ohnotheydidn't took place on some different plane of reality. I had always seen Scientology as something that happened over "there"-- "there" being the US, TV, The Internet, whatever magical, mythical land where all pop culture maladies and anomalies reside. Where David Hasselhoff and Morrissey have tea and biscuits while Rickrolling each other. Some mythical, mystical land far away from me. "There". Certainly not ... three blocks away from me.

For a few days I mulled over what to do. Right outside there was a huge poster for a free Personality test-- the same I had seen Stan take on that hilarious South Park episode (again, "there")!!! The personality test I had read about from countless sources, which is advertised as showing you your potential for success but really just tells you how depressed you are and how much you need their help to improve yourself. I wanted to see.

That afternoon, I told the people at work about it. Many of them were amused and encouraged me to take the test. Others told me to be careful. "They're known to chase people down the street, stalk them, follow them home". And really, is it so smart to go into an organization that is infamous for its deeply rooted corruption and Machiavellian tactics, as well as being directly responsible for many lives being ruined and even the death of one Lisa McPherson? I had to think about this.

Today, I went for my now-usual Saturday walk. Curiosity go the best of me. I walked in.

Well, not really. I actually hesitated at the door, but one of the staffers got a hold of me before I could get away. I was escorted inside and given the test.

I think the strangest part of the whole experience was the staff's demeanor. The young girl who greeted me at the door was super upbeat and friendly ("Oh, hi there! Do you want to take the test?" "Gee, I dunno..." "Ah, c'mon! Why not? It'll be fun!"), the slightly older girl working the desk inside was super serious and seemed even annoyed by my presence. Once I was done with the test, they had seemed to switch personalities. The first girl was cold and looked exasperated while the other one greeted me like a cheerleader on ecstasy. She escorted me to a dark room where I was shown a 40-minute film about Dianetics that seemed half Infomercial, half episode of "Touched By an Angel". I was told to watch it while they calculated my results.

I don't think it's the same recruiting movie that's become so famous over the Internet. There was no Fat Actress or Jerry McGuire talking about the wonders of Scientology. In fact, I think the fact that Scientology isn't actually recognized as a religion in Argentina (the official name of it was something like "Hubbardian Center of Dianetic Studies") had a lot to do with the toned-down experience. I was the only person in the makeshift screening room, and I watched with contained amusement as the video explained the-- shocking!!!!-- revelation that human beings are essentially shaped by past experiences. No mention of thetans or evil Lord Xenu, obviously.

When the video was done, I walked out and the second chick sat down with me and read me the results. Wherever they pulled this chick out of, she was a lousy saleswoman. She started off with "The results indicate that you need our treatment"-- talk about subtlety-- and then proceeded to tell me how depressed, disconcerted and irresponsible I am. She seemed to have very little understanding of what the chart actually meant. She didn't explain the results, and whenever I inquired on a particular point, she'd go off on some bizarre tangent about the human mind being a reactive machine. She tried selling me 12 hours of auditing time (which I've heard consists in a whole lot of sitting around and staring blankly into space) to heal my horrible deficiencies. I said I was interested and told her I'd be back later, because "I needed to talk to my girlfriend about it".

She let me go with a smile and a firm handshake. Didn't follow me to the streets or anything like that. I was pleasantly surprised, and for a minute-- nay, a second-- nay, a millisecond!!-- I actually considered buying some of that auditing time. Maybe just a starter's course or whatever. After all, she did seem perfectly happy and friendl-- OOHH! I see what you did there. Clever little wench.

You can read me the riot act...

2008-04-27T02:39:49Z

The festival is over.

All in all, I saw 32 movies in the span of twelve days, falling just short of my 35-movie goal. That's alright, though, considering I saw 13 last year when I was aiming for 15. Next year I guess I'll be up in the fifties, if I can make time for it.

As with any festival, it was a mixed bag. You had a lot of very good, creative and imaginative movies, a couple remarkable ones and a few forgettable and/or overindulgent clunkers. What's funny is that, in a festival setting, you don't really have any discrimination. There was only one film that I walked out of due to annoyance and that was mostly because I had company and felt like a dick for putting them through a shitty movie. Other than that, I was quite happy to just sit there and take it all in.

I got to watch most of the movies I wanted to see. Others, because of schedule or availability issues, had to be sacrificed or replaced by other movies. Possibly the best movie I saw in the entire festival was a beautiful little Taiwanese picture called "Help Me Eros". I didn't think much of it after the initial screening, but it stuck with me. As I walked back home that night I couldn't get the picture out of my head, and I had watched 5 movies that day. I had to go back and watch it again, so I caught another screening of it the next day and it cemented my opinion.

This is one of the most beautiful movies I've ever seen. Every single shot was so carefully framed, so gorgeously lit, it was almost like leafing through a picture book. It is desolate and slow-moving, but the images and music are so powerful you don't notice that 5-minute shot of an apartment building. It doesn't feel forced or pretentious in any way. It just feels like whoever made this is the loneliest person in the world.

"Smiley Face" was a surprisingly funny look at a disastrous day in the life of a pothead after she takes one too many bong hits and eats a whole batch of a certain type of muffins, leading to a number of fuckups that culminate in... well, you're better off watching the movie. It's stoner humor for sure, but a real breath of fresh air and a delight to watch in the middle of an indie film festival populated with symbolism-heavy betacam-shot dramas.

"Zoo" was one of my favorite movies in the festival-- a startlingly honest, strikingly gorgeous documentary about a famous case of zoophillia. The movie eliminates any sleaze from the subject matter and just presents the story in the most respectful way possible. It doesn't glorify, it doesn't villify, it doesn't make sweeping generalizations. It deals with one very particular case, and does so with great aesthetic attention. Strongly recommended.

"I'm a Cyborg, But That's OK" was absolutely stunning. Something completely different for Chan-wook Park coming out of his "revenge trilogy", but just as great. This is a psych ward story that borders on romantic comedy. It treats its characters, naive, childlike and insane, with respect and indulgence. We are part of their fantasies. We don't laugh at them, but with them. And the movie pulls it off. Not bad for someone who just a few years ago directed bloody, gorey incestuous revenge flicks.

Also of note, an extremely DIY indie movie called "Wellness" about the crumbling hopes of a sad and aging man who thinks he's tapped into a revolutionary new product that's going to change the world, but ends up being nothing more than a glorified pyramid scheme. "Deficit" was the directing debut of one Gael Garcia Bernal, now a B-list Hollywood actor. I went into the screening expecting to hate it, but it turned out to be a surprisingly decent little movie that kind of falls apart by the third act. "La Chatte a deux Tetes" was an intriguing french... dramedy? About a night at a porn theater. I saw enough cocks and explicit gay acts in this movie to last me a lifetime and left feeling like I desperately needed to take a shower, which I guess means the movie did its job.

Other highlights: a few music documentaries. The most compelling being Julien Temple's brilliant "Joe Strummer: The Future is Unwritten", which told the story of the Clash frontman. I love Joe Strummer. Always have. But apart from the story of The Clash told through the awesome Don Letts documentary "Westway to the World", I knew remarkably little about him. This masterfully put together documentary explores everything about Joe. From his family history to his boarding school days, his time as a squatter playing pubs with The 101ers, the rise and fall of The Clash, his descent into near-insanity and his tragically cut short career with The Mescaleros. Joe was a fascinating individual with a strong and contagious love for music and people. It was great to see this celebration of his life and accomplishments in a theater full of Clash fans that were probably not at all familiar with his work with The Mescaleros.

Also screening were two other Julien Temple documentaries, "Glastonbury" (about the festival) and "The Filth and the Fury" (about the Sex Pistols). They were both enjoyable and admirable examples of Temple's collage style of documentary filmmaking, using everything from cartoon clips to TV adverts to tell the story.

There was also a wonderfully taciturn documentary about Patti Smith called "A Dream of Life". I hesitate to even call it a documentary about Patti Smith. It was more like a documentary with Patti Smith. It was an exploration of love and loss, of mortality and aging. It's about family relationships and the passing of the torch from one generation to the other. Truly powerful stuff.

Thirty-two movies... and I could write so much about each one of them, good and bad. But I'll spare you.

Life has been moving along. My birthday was a couple weeks ago. I am now effectively twenty one and still totally in denial. I feel like I've lived ten thousand lifetimes and yet I feel so completely inexperienced and unprepared to function in adultland. I'm worried I've become more infantile and codependent as the years go by as opposed to mature and independent. I'm more frustrated with myself than I've ever been. I guess I'm in a slump. So here's where 21 finds me. I can only hope it's all upwards from here.

Anyway! Other than that, what else is new? We had an office inauguration party last night where at some point a certain loudspoken American employee grabbed the microphone and decided that it would be a good idea to do an "office trivia contest" that resulted in one of the most awkward and tense moments I've ever been a part of. I had to get the hell out of there, so I went to the patio where I had a forty five minute conversation about Keane and how much they suck, except I didn't participate in the conversation with anything other than random-ass stream-of-consciousness gibberish, to which the other party would go "Right!" before continuing his hateful rant against Keane. If I had been in any other mood, it would've been hilarious.

Other things:
- The new Elvis Costello, "Momofuku", is apparently incredibly awesome and was recorded with the aid of Rilo Kiley's lead singer What's Her Name. I will be picking it up as soon as the CD is released.
- How the hell did I miss this?!
- I recently saw some pictures of Neve Campbell topless from some movie. She has fat-man tits. It's disturbing and shocking. Now every time I see Neve Campbell, I can't help thinking of her oddly shaped fat-man tits.
- Also, what is with this sudden rush of actresses taking their gear off when they're past their prime and nobody cares anymore?
- I wanted to write about how excited I was about the new Batman movie, but that would just be repetitive of me at this point (as if writing about how frustrated I am with myself isn't repetitive enough already!).
- "4 Minutes" effectively combines the three people who most annoy the shit out of me in the music business-- Madonna, Justin Timberlake and Timbaland. Throw Juanes in there and you got yourself the most annoying song in the history of music.
- When will Justin Timberlake start looking older than 19?

That's it, I'm done.
OH WAIT, NO I'M NOT!

Ahh, Mike. What an exquisite pleasure it is to sit next to you every day in the office and hear you say things in your funny German accent. Even the simplest, most mundane things. Like, "I want some coffee", or "I lost one of my socks today", or "I really really really like bananas".

Lauren showing once more the standard of professionalism that the English uphold in the workplace.

More Mike.

And more still!

Early-morning cinephiles waiting to buy tickets to the festival.

Lauren being Lauren.

Me being a total dickwad.

Us together, being cute.

The name of this lingerie store caught my attention. "Sweet Victorian"?

Corrientes avenue, Cine Cosmos, where a drunken homeless man accused me of being a government spy.

This is the office inauguration party. See? Everybody's having fun.

Uber Director extraordinaire, Amilcar Galarza, being his charming self.

And again.

Always the tall guy who's relegated to the back of group pictures, :(.

People reacting to the camera.

People dancing.

Okay, now I'm done!

To kill the time.

2008-04-18T00:49:10Z

I realize I've been neglecting this journal.
There's just been so much going on, and so little to say about it all.

So I am filling one of those survey things, because it's been a while since I did so.
And I'll be back with a real entry sometime this... week.

x. name = Jorge.

x. birthday = 11 April 1987

x. piercings = None.

x. tattoos = No, but I want the Batman logo on my left buttcheek. Maybe.

x. height = 6'4"

x. shoe size = 13

x. hair color = Filthy brown.

x. length = It looks longer than it is.

x. siblings = 4. Cristina (18), Jonathan (soon 16), Nicole (5), David (soon 4).

x. pets = No real pets in Argentina, sadly.

last...

x. movie you rented = uh. I think it might've been "Grizzly Man".

x. movie you bought = "Cinema Paradiso" Collector's Edition.

x. song you listened to = I'm at work, so I have a limited amount of songs to listen to. The Blakes- "Vampire", sent to me by Ms. Christina Hood.

x. song that was stuck in your head = A horrible Enrique Iglesias song. I guess I heard it last night sometime.

x. song you've downloaded = I can't remember.

x. cd you bought = The Essential Leonard Cohen.

x. cd you listened to = The Essential Leonard Cohen.

x. person you've called = Maggie. Just a few minutes ago.

x. person that's called you = A candidate.

x. tv show you've watched = CNN.

x. person you were thinking of = Well, Maggie, since I just thought of her to answer that question above.

x. you have a bf or gf = No.

x. you have a crush on someone = Sort of.

x. you wish you could live somewhere else = Several different places, yeah.

x. you think about suicide = I did for a while, back when I was an over dramatic teenager. I don't have the balls for it though.

x. you believe in online dating = No, I don't think so.

x. others find you attractive = I get whistled at and blown kisses by the trannies down Corrientes avenue.

x. you want more piercings = I don't have any. They annoy me.

x. you want more tattoos = I'd like to get one someday, sure.

x. you drink = Yeah.

x. you do drugs = No except for the occasional spliff. And only when somebody else whips it out.

x. you smoke = No.

x. you like cleaning = Not really. I like the feeling of accomplishment that comes after the cleaning, though.

x. you write in cursive or print = Print. Or some mutated version of it.

x. you carry a donor card = No. Hey, how do I get one?

for or against..

x. long distance relationships = *shrug*

x. using someone = Uh.

x. suicide = Well, it sucks a little bit. What the hell kind of question is this?

x. killing people = Oh, I think it's AWESOME! I do it ALL THE TIME.

x. teenage smoking = I see 13 year old kids smoking all the time. Usually on friday nights with their hair all gelled up and wearing obscenely baggy pants. They look like fucking idiots.

x. doing drugs = I never want to be in a state of mind in which I get to the point where I think The Doors are a good band.

x. premarital sex = Responsibly.

x. driving drunk = haha Who if FOR driving drunk?

x. gay/lesbian relationships = For.

x. soap operas = Let's ban 'em.

favorite...

x. food = Hmmm. Lasagna.

x. song = I don't know at this point. Probably "Barcarolle" by Tom Waits. It gets me every time.

x. thing to do = Talk loudly about my opinions.

x. thing to talk about = My opinions. And Batman.

x. sports = Synchronized swimming.

x. drinks = Vodka.

x. clothes = I like pants.

x. picture =

x. movies = 8 1/2, The 400 Blows, Breathless and The Mirror.

x. band = Not quite sure.

x. holiday = Christmas. Also Halloween.

x. cars = The BATMOBILE.

x. gum = I don't do that.

x. tv show = The Sopranos. And Seinfeld.

x. thing in the world = Ellipses.

x. thing to collect = Grievances.

x. colors of all time = What are colors of all time?

x. thing to do on a rainy day = Argue on message boards.

x. feeling in the world = The last 10 minutes of The 400 Blows.

have you...

x. ever cried over a girl/guy = Yes.

x. ever lied to someone = All the time.

x. ever been in a fist fight = Yeah.

x. ever been arrested = Not exactly.

what...

x. shampoo do you use = Head and Shoulders: Special Something With Extra Something.

x. perfume do you use = I don't even know the name of it.

x. shoes do you wear = Sneakers.

x. are you scared of = Sharks.

number...

x. of times you have been in love?: &

x. of times you have had your heart broken?: >

x. of hearts you have broken?: &*

x. of boys you have kissed?: None.

x. of girls you have kissed?: No idea.

x. of men you've slept with?: Bedoya. But we were drunk, and he was so tender.
(None)

x. of girls you've slept with?: I could probably take the time to count, but I'd probably end up feeling bad about myself.

x. of continents you have lived in?: One and a half.

x. of drugs taken illegally?: Uh, just the spliffs.

x. of people you would classify as true, could trust with your life type friends?: 2 or 3.

x. of people from high school that you stayed in contact with?: 2 or 3.

x. of cd's that you own?: No idea. A lot.

x. of times your name has appeared in the newspaper?: Haha I know there's been a couple, but I don't even remember why.

x. of scars on your body?: I think three.

x. of things in your past that you regret?: 37.

The guy's name is "NIGGA". Album name: "Da Romantic Style in da World...". What.

*fart sound*

My drawing of Lauren.

Lauren's drawing of me.

Cold.

2008-04-14T17:27:13Z

I could get into the series of events that transpired in the past week.

I could go into how I feel right now, and explain this throbbing listlessness. I could tell you how every day feels like a fever dream. Fading from one reality into another. Staying where the two converge.

I could write about the uneventfulness of my birthday, which was Friday. I could write about three AM phone calls, disappointments, missed appointments and panic.

I could.

But I'll just leave you with a song.

BAFICI 2008.

2008-04-06T22:27:07Z

As (some of) you probably know, the Buenos Aires International Independent Film Festival starts next week. As friday marks my 21st birthday, you can probably understand why this is my favorite time of the year.
The tickets are ridiculously cheap and it's one of the few instances where being a student actually works to my advantage since we get a 30% discount.
Combine this with the fact that Marcia gave me a nice raise last week and has been graceful enough to give me four vacation days (thursday, friday, monday and tuesday) to enjoy the festival... well... I'm feeling pretty fucking good about things.

Last year's April was awesome as well and was followed by an awful fucking couple of months.
So I better be careful.

Anyway, about the festival,
just this morning I finished putting my schedule together.
This is what I came up with

Wednesday the 9th
10.30 A.M- Teatro Hoyts 9, "Joy Division"
11.30 P.M- Teatro Hoyts 11, "The Reinactors"

Thursday the 10th
11.00 A.M- Teatro Hoyts 11, "Secrets Behind the Wall"
01.00 P.M- Teatro Hoyts 12, "Glastonbury"
04.00 P.M- Teatro Hoyts 9, "A Song of Good"
08.45 P.M- Teatro Atlas Santa Fe 2, "Déficit"
10.45 P.M- Teatro Atlas Santa Fe 1, "Patti Smith: A Dream of Life"

Friday 11th
01.00 P.M- Teatro 25 de Mayo, "Persépolis" *
07.30 P.M- Alianza Francesa, "The Old, Weird America: Harry Smith's Anthology of American Folk Music" *
09.15 P.M- Alianza Francesa, "Once" *
11.45 P.M- Teatro Atlas Santa Fe 2, "Joe Strummer: The Future is Unwritten"

Saturday 12th
11.15 A.M- Teatro Hoyts 6, "Paria"
03.15 P.M- Teatro Hoyts 12, "One Way Street on a Turntable" *
09.00 P.M- Alianza Francesa, "Too Tough to Die: A Tribute to Johnny Ramone" *
11.45 P.M- Teatro Atlas Santa Fe 2, "Before The Devil Knows You're Dead"

Sunday 13th
04.45 P.M- Centro Cultural Recoleta, "Wellness"
08.45 P.M- Teatro Hoyts 6, "La Chatte a deux Tettes"
11.00 P.M- Teatro Hoyts 10, "Help Me Eros"

Monday 14th
02.45 P.M- Centro Cultural Recoleta, "Io Non Sono Un Moderato"
05.00 P.M- Centro Cultural Recoleta, "Nos Vies Privees"
07.30 P.M- Centro Cultural Recoleta, "The Sun and the Moon"

Tuesday 15th
01.15 P.M- Teatro Atlas Santa Fe 1, "The Deathmaker"
03.45 P.M- Teatro Atlas Santa Fe 1, "Chaucun Son Cinema"
09.00 P.M- Teatro Atlas Santa Fe 1, "CSNY Deja Vu"
11.15 P.M- Teatro Atlas Santa Fe 1, "Smiley Face"

Wednesday 16th
10.45 P.M- Teatro Atlas Santa Fe 1, "S.O.S Ex"

Thursday 17th
10.30 P.M- Teatro Hoyts 7, "Zoo" *

Friday 18th
10.45 P.M- Teatro Atlas Santa Fe 2, "I'm a Cyborg But That's OK"

Saturday 19th
01.00 P.M- Teatro Atlas Santa Fe 1, "Bootleg Film"
06.15 P.M- Teatro 25 de Mayo, "Funny Games" *
08.30 P.M- Teatro Hoyts 9, "Control"
11.45 P.M- Teatro Hoyts 12, "The Filth and the Fury"

Sunday 20th
10.30 A.M- Teatro Hoyts 9, "Full Battle Rattle"
01.15 P.M- Teatro Hoyts 10, "Boarding Gate"
05.00 P.M- Teatro Hoyts 12, "The Mosquito Problem and Other Stories"

* haven't bought the ticket for these yet, either because they haven't gone on sale yet or I haven't had the time.

You're all more than welcome to join me!
I better run now. Gotta buy the tickets for the "Zoo" screening. It's a documentary about people who fuck horses!

a thursday.

2008-04-03T19:04:04Z

Sometimes I want to kick life square in the fucking testicles.

My Wikipedia adventure.

2008-03-28T19:05:21Z

Pinky and the Brain--> Tic--> Coprolalia--> Lesch-Nyhan Syndrome--> Testicular atrophy--> Testes--> Blue balls--> Vasocongestion--> Menstrual cramps--> Myomectomy--> Blood transfusion--> Jehova's witnesses and blood transfusions--> Controversies regarding Jehova's Witnesses--> Hell--> Hell in popular culture--> Richard Nixon--> Drug Enforcement Administration--> Nobel Prize--> University of Oslo--> Dentistry--> Dental surgery--> Root canal--> Infected (disambiguation)--> Infected (song)--> Bad Religion--> Elvis Costello--> The Simpsons--> Animated cartoon--> Rotoscoping--> Warner Brothers--> Batman--> Seduction of the Innocent--> Superdickery--> this picture.

It was so worth it.

Fuckayuyu?

2008-03-23T04:08:44Z

So, apparently Elvis Costello is releasing a new record called "Momofuku". Only on vinyl and digital download, no CD. This a couple months after Costello declared he was never going to record another album again.

As much as I love the EC, I can't help but feel shafted by this move. I don't have a fucking record player. Also, vinyl and digital download? What, is this some sort of commentary on the polarization of the music industry? Is it a bitter nerd sneer and bitch slap towards the compact disc industry? I don't get it.

I checked out a few websites, did a little digging and apparently "Momofuku" is the first name of the guy who invented instant noodles. Instant noodles were first released on August 25th of 1958... exactly 4 years after Costello's birth date. Huh?

Does this make it some sort of concept album revolving around instant noodles?

Somebody on the Elvis Costello message boards suggested that "Momofuku" was also the name of an Asian restaurant that's also, apparently, favorite of Costello's. This gives weight to the theory that "Momofuku" is a second covers album (Costello's first covers album, "Kojak Variety", was named after a grocery store in Barbados, where Costello recorded the album).

So to clear stuff up, I went to the official Elvis Costello homepage at www.elviscostello.com and found that, not only was it "down for reconstruction", but it also announced that on March 31st, Costello and his longtime musical collaborator T-Bone Burnett were going to release some sort of jam session that was "live studio recording of the soundtrack for a stop-frame animation feature adapted from the James Ensor painting, 'Christ's Last Entry Into Brussels'."

Not only that, but the record itself was going to be distributed in an even less traditional manner than Momofuku:
"U.S. edition of record will be released on a state-by-state basis, in alphabetical order. Due to problems with piracy, only one copy will be manufactured for issue in each state or international territory. Individual copies will be encoded with the new, KNARP discriminators and secreted in the racks of selected stockists. Those discovering each unique disc will be free to do with it as their conscience draws it."

I am thoroughly confused. But such is the genius of Elvis Costello.

In other news, the Easter weekend is especially long for Argentines since they celebrate some sort of bizarre Holiday on monday, which gives me a four-day weekend. And, given my precarious economic situation, I will spend most of that four-day weekend loitering and calling people on the phone. Or stealing food. Or just doing absolutely nothing. Whatever.

I spent all day today with the lovely Lauren, this English girl I work with. We hung out in the Bosques de Palermo area and went to the Planetarium to see stars.

We also took pictures.

This is a sort of establishing shot. I establish my big fat head in front of you and behind Plaza Italia, where our adventure started out.

I found a shoe.

Some dead animals. A dead pidgeon and a dead cat, a few feet away from each other. My only guess is they fought each other to the death.

I dare you to find a dorkier smile than this.

Duckies. Or whatever the fuck.

And the day winds down with the taste of morbidly overpriced Palermo ice cream.

Have a happy Easter, everybody.

There's a crack in everything.

2008-03-17T00:12:01Z

I'm sick. My throat hurts and I sound like a 45 year old tranny prostitute. I'm hung over and I have the flu. On top of that, I'm all the way in San Antonio de Padua, lounging in my ex-girlfriend's mother's couch, visiting her for her birthday. "You're so sick, you should've stayed in", she says.

It's been a rough sunday.
FUCKING SNEEZE ATTACKS. STOP THAT SHIT.

Argentina just ended their first Daylight Savings time effort in like 40 years, which means everything goes back to being an hour earlier and thus I will be walking around confused and out of whack for the next two or so weeks. Fuck you, Cristina Kirchner, and your stupid fucking experiment.

I really do wish the weather would make up its mind already.

So, St. Patty's was yesterday. Apparently. I don't know. Somebody told me they moved it up to the 15th because the 17th was the start of Holy Week and, you know, the Catholics can't have two holidays on the same day-- it'd be ABSOLUTE CHAOS! Anyway, if yesterday was indeed Holy week, then it was the single most down-key Saint Patrick's I've ever seen. There were hardly any crazy Irish tourists roaming the streets singing "Rocky Road to Dublin", like crazy drunken pirates. In fact, I don't think I saw a single one. Maybe they're waiting 'til monday for that.

So, Emiliano, Nicolas and a few of his friends showed up last night at Seba's hostel for a few drinks, some chitchat and then, supposedly, hitting the bars with a vengaence. That didn't quite happen. One of us (I won't say who... but it starts with an N, ends with an s and has an icolas in the middle) got super sick, started throwing up everywhere and passed out. It was alright, though. We had a few laughs at his expense. It certainly made for an entertaining end to the Argentinean summer.

The city malfunctioned last night. Buses weren't making their stops (or at least, not the ones I needed) and no single fucking ATM was working. Being absolutely strapped to cash, I had to take the long walk home in a paranoid state and with ripped pants. It was terrifying.

Here, have some

Susan and Sarah, whom I accompannied to the Duke vs. UNC game screening at The Alamo last Saturday. The Alamo is, apparently, the unofficial US embassy in Buenos Aires. I'd never seen so many Americans congregated in one room outside of the US.

This is my face. Thrilling.

A creepy fucking guy joins us. Starts talking to me about the Ramones song "Somebody Put Something in my Drink". We get away from him as soon as we have the chance.

This girl and her bizarre outfit. Also, my nose.

Paula and Christina dread having their picture taken.

This mysterious creature we took a picture of at the zoo. Will someone tell me what the fuck that thing is? It looks like a Satan-monkey of doom.

Nicolas flips you off. He is one bad motherfucker.

Matthew sulks in front of the subway.

With Seba and Sophie.

You might remember the three of us as a super crimefighting trio.

Sophie doing something to her hair.

Moi. The master of looking uncomfortable, everywhere.

Hamming it up.

Mr. Emiliano Arias, drinking beer in a tea cup. Refined decadence.

Nicolas, before the shit hit the fan.

Nico's super awesome friends. Daniela, a Pearl Jam fan (hard to find one these days 'round these parts), and Kel, who doesn't like having her picture taken.

Masterful lounging.

Nico's other friend. I think his name was Juan Pablo but wanted us to call him Sudoku or something. Pfft. Animé fans.

I do some pondering while Nico giggles uncontrollably.

Yeah. You can kind of see where it goes from here.

Nico's insides.

And on that note, I'm out. I have an ugly train ride ahead of me.

Plunky Fatypus.

2008-03-14T23:24:35Z

Alright, this post has been a long time coming.

I've been chubby since I can remember. My childhood was marked by my eternal quest to raid my father's mini-fridge and stealthily consume the treats I could find there. Whenever my dad bought us treats for school-- potato chips, chocolate bars, anything-- he'd have to stash them away in the darkest corners of our kitchen cabinets. I'd eventually find them and do away with them. No scolding, harsh as it may have been, would deflect me from these infantile acts of gluttony. It came to the point where my dad would have to stash the food away in his own personal closet and keep it under lock. It was bad.

That pattern continued on to adolescence where I'd do away with an entire week's allowance in a two-day eating binge. The rest of the week I'd ask to borrow money from friends, which I never paid back. To some extent, that self-destructive behavior has continued-- in relative moderation and hidden under the guise of responsibility and adulthood-- to today. I don't blow an entire month's salary on food anymore, but that same compulsion creeps up on me every now and then. Sometimes, I just can't stop.

The word "fat" has always been a thorn on my side. To file me away and mark me as "the fat kid" was excruciatingly painful and frustrating for somebody who, even at an early age, struggled to break free of the mold. To be tagged the chubster, the kid who'll do anything for a treat. The disdain with which one regards the overweight-- weak, self indulgent, a tub of lard weighing society down. The perceived callowness with which one writes a fat kid off. I didn't want to be associated with that. Factor in the extremely superficial, image-driven Caribbean town of Barranquilla and the social pressures of a relatively well-off kid in a high-end high school, obesity wasn't just a health and image problem. It was a social stigma. Fat, I was a pariah.

There was a turning point for me. When I hit 15, I was graced with a sudden growth spurt combined with about 6 tough months of hard dieting. I was in the midst of puberty and had just started getting interested in girls-- I was growing up. In the course of that year, I lost a huge amount of weight.

Over the course of the next few years, I pigged out again. I have no idea what happened-- the growth spurt came to a screeching halt and I started growing sideways. By the time I came to Argentina, a bit over two and a half years ago, I looked like this:

Ignore the effeminate hairstyle. At that point, looking back, I think I looked pretty good. But at that time, I was certain I had pigged up to extreme levels. Self-image has always been a bit of an issue for me, and every single effort I made to lose some weight fell on its ass. I knew I was gaining weight, and I knew at some point I had to stop it, but school, work, girlfriends and other such distractions kept me from really paying attention to an ever-increasingly-alarming problem.

I think it reached its peak in July of 2007, when I went back to visit Barranquilla for a month. Every single person I met commented on how much I'd grown-- sideways. It was dreadful, but completely overthrown by the immense joy I felt to see my family again after close to two years. When I got back to Buenos Aires, there were a few attempts to start dieting that were botched by the Holidays and the lethal combination of my own laziness and the convenience of fast food. Going to school in the mornings and working in the afternoons and nights for nine hours didn't exactly leave me much choice.

One of the things that has been the toughest for me to overcome or to even make jokes about is my weight. Call me weird, an asshole, a film snob, a big-nosed prick, it's all fair play. But talk about my weight and ooh boy, we're gonna have trouble. Only recently had I started making myself the butt of fat jokes and, when I realized it meant I accepted my condition, I stopped, alarmed. Vowing to lose weight.

I actually did lose some weight in the course of the last few months, and started feeling complacent about the way I looked until...

Nothing could prepare me for this picture. It was taken this Sunday by a friend of mine right outside of the Buenos Aires zoo. It's me and Barney the dinosaur, and I can't tell who's who. Seriously, I am fatter than Barney. Look at those cheeks. I'm a fucking blimp.

So this time, it's for serious. And I say it with a passion and conviction I hadn't had since I took that very same oath when I was about fourteen years old. I've been dieting and jogging for the past week and already I feel results. I am confident than in the course of a few months I'll lose a ton of this excess weight, and hopefully by the time I get to Colombia (December of this year-- mark your calendar), I'll go back to looking not like something you'd see floating over the Thanksgiving Day Parade.

And once the weight is gone, I will keep it off. This self-destructive cycle has gone on for long enough. For once, I feel like it's time to better myself. I have kicked certain bad habits in the past. I've got the strength and character for it. Fuck it, I'm not that guy. I've carried this crutch for enough time already. And yes, I know this all reads like the determined self-defeating lies of a thoroughly deluded fatty, but goddamnit, I mean them more than I've meant anything else in the 20 years I've walked this earth.

Mark my words. This time, I am not picking up that extra pizza slice. Fuck you.

Feel it.

2008-03-02T05:03:08Z

I'm sick and tired of your shit.

If I could make the world as pure and strange as what I see...

2008-02-23T07:09:09Z

The implication is that I'm some sort of emotional nomad who goes from one set of people, from one group of relationships, from one social environment to the other. That emotional relationships don't matter to me because I'm of the mentality that nobody is all that special and I'm bound to find someone else similar (or close enough) to the person I'm disposing of. And that I believe that because of my semi-decent ability to banter well with just about anyone, I can create bonds and friendships out of thin air. And that I then consume whatever I can take from these newly formed friendships and then toss them out like chinese food containers when I've grown bored. The fundamental problem with this reasoning is that it fails to consider my own often tiresome "quirkiness".

Understand that I have dealt with and take direct responsibility for the loss of many friendships over the years. Know that I feel guilt for every single one of them. Those that crumbled away because of my many shortcomings-- my inability to deal with jealousy, my mendacious and possessive nature, my overwhelming and constant need to prove myself superior to everyone else for no particular reason, through disparaging remarks masked under a jokey demeanor. These are people I've turned against, haven't been there for, dismissed and took for granted. But I am not going to take responsibility for every single one of my severed relationships. There have been too many.

I'm a loudmouthed, often one-dimensional, opinionated asshole with a penchant for bad puns and nonsequiturs. My views are often times misinformed, insulated and ignorant. My ways of expressing them hyperbolic and abrasive. Everyone who has to deal with me for a prolonged period of time is bound to find me charming and endearing at first, taxing after a while and ultimately irritating. I can't say I blame them. I recognize these things about myself and make a sincere effort to rid myself of these quirks, but it doesn't happen. It's been an inner struggle for the last five or more years.

I have felt deceived, turned against and dismissed unfairly. As early as two weeks ago. And it hurts-- I put on a face, throw and expletive around and keep going, but it's a real blow to my self-esteem. So yes, over the course of the last five years I've had several different groups of friends. Some have remained so, a lot of them are simply not part of my life anymore. But I'm not going to sit here and accept being called an "emotional nomad" because we fought. I'm not going to let you call me an unfeeling, heartless buffoon because something went wrong here. It's not fair and it's hurtful. And frankly, you don't know me well enough to even begin to make that assertion.

In my entire life there are only about 4 or 5 people I think about with regret. Don't flatter yourself, you're not one of them. Not even close.

---

Hey! Why don't we alleviate the mood with a nice love meme!
Reply to this post, and I will list three things I love about you.
Then repost to your own journal and spread the love.

Really. I really will.

Also, here's a few assorted pics for you to check out!

Happy weekend, everybody!

I can't let you be...

2008-02-17T06:55:05Z

I got in a little bit of trouble at work for leaving this drawing on the lunch room board. I don't get it.

Also, here's a less-successful doodle I made at one of those restaurants that lets you draw on their tablecloth. I'm starting to see a pattern here.

This is Marcos. He looks like Superman.

Oh man. I haven't slept in close to 37 hours. I've been down and drunk and sad and then spilling-over blissful over the course of the last few hours. What a weekend. I'm so buzzed from so many things going on around me that I can barely even feel the fastidious, concurrent poking of life's various nuisances.

To celebrate a wonderful fridaturday, I put together this short playlist.
Listen to it and hail my impeccable music taste and mad sequencing skills.
(I'm having trouble with the code, so just click on "launch standalone player" and enjoy the soothing melodies of awesomeness)

I love you all. But right now, it's passing out time.

Blue valentines

2008-02-14T20:41:15Z

"She sends me blue valentines all the way from Philadelphia
To mark the anniversary of someone that I used to be
And it feels like there's a warrant out for my arrest
Baby, you got me checkin' in my rearview mirror
That's why I'm always on the run, that's why I changed my name
And I didn't think you'd ever find me here

To send me blue valentines, like half forgotten dreams
Like a pebble in my shoe as I walk these streets
And the ghost of your memory, baby, is the thistle in the kiss
It's the burglar that can break a rose's neck
It's the tatooed broken promise I gotta hide beneath my sleeve
And I see you every time I turn my back

She sends me blue valentines though I try to remain at large
They're insisting that our love must have a eulogy
Why do I save all of this madness here in the nightstand drawer
There to haunt upon my shoulders, baby, I know
I'd be luckier to walk around everywhere I go
With a blind and broken heart that sleeps beneath my lapel

She sends me my blue valentines to remind me of my cardinal sin
I can never wash the guilt or get these bloodstains off my hands
And it takes a lot of whiskey to take this nightmares go away
And I cut my bleedin heart out every night
And I die a little more on each Saint Valentine's day
Remember that I promised I would write you...
These blue valentines...
blue valentines...
blue valentines."

HAPPY CHOCOLATE AND SEX DAY, EVERYBODY

How to be annoying...

2008-02-06T03:08:09Z

Or: what my coworkers have to put up with on a daily basis.

I'm sorry.

Chicken sandwiches, unfaithfulness and suicide attempts.

2008-02-03T05:58:24Z

Work has been crazy this week. The company is switching buildings soon, so they had us all move to the downstairs room while they clear out upstairs to prepare for the first round of moving. Also, I've been switched projects. Still don't know exactly how I feel about that.

January wasn't the best month. It was tough, on all levels. So to celebrate the end of it and the start of what promises to be an interesting one, a couple guys from work (Nico and Emiliano) and myself decide to go to a "tenedor libre" on friday. A "tenedor libre" is a staple of Buenos Aires life. A plentiful all-you-can-eat buffet that offers a ridiculous amount and variety of food for a relatively cheap fee. This one is my favorite. "Grant's". I think I went there on my second or third day ever in Argentina. This same one. I've been there a lot of times over the course of the last 2 and a half years. With all kinds of people. With my mom, with a group of hungry Germans, with friends from the old Hostel as well as people from school. We sit there and talk for a couple of hours about pretty much anything that comes to mind.

Nico is one of those people with a bizarre fascination with asian countries, and especially the Japanese culture. Yeah, one of those guys. He watches anime. Harbors crushes on asian chicks. He even studies their language. Combine this with the fact that he likes Star Wars, Lord of the Rings and listens to metal, and you'd think he was a basement-dwelling acne-ridden virgin otaku, precisely the kind of person I usually can't stand. But the guy is surprisingly cool -- not to mention socially adept-- for someone with his questionable interests and bad taste in music.

Emiliano is an all-around cool guy who joined the company about a month after I did. He's a bit like Jorge Bedoya from home in that he's the kind of person who'll show up at your door to help you out if you accidentally murdered a prostitute. He's the level-headed friend who shows you how to wipe your fingerprints off the scene, and he'll even hack the body in little pieces for you. Yeah. I think I've been watching too much Sopranos. Anyway, cool guy with a good sense of humor.

We eat. Oh boy, do we eat. A financial setback at the start of the week left me more of less crippled for the rest of it, surviving on the good will of others (specifically, Mariana... and Nico's credit card), so it's good to just give in to gluttony. We bump into this other Colombian guy who had come with us in our epic trip to Quilmes Beer City. As a sidenote, I am fucking sick and tired of how many Colombians seem to be flooding the streets of Buenos Aires. Everywhere I fucking turn, I hear that jarring Bogota accent. It's like shut the fuck up, go find your own country to pillage, jerks. Anyway.

Anyway, on the way back from our feast we get into an argument about cheating. It stems from a comment I make about one of our coworkers' romantic misadventures-- something like "oh, you Argentines and faithfulness". And boy, they flip out. At this point, it's a completely valid comment. I've been in this country for about two and a half years and in all this time I've struggled with the Argentinean idea that cheating is acceptable. I've come across two, maybe three guys who are genuinely care to be faithful to their significant others. Most everybody else cheats like there's no tomorrow. Not only that, but they don't give a shit. No remorse. No guilt. No fucking decency. And this bugs the shit out of me because I certainly don't think cheating is fine. I think it's one of the lowest fucking things one can do to someone else. If someone puts their trust in you that way, to just go ahead and betray that for a moment's fun? Fuck. I've been in situations where it hasn't been completely black and white, and when it's especially difficult to behave a certain way, but the few times I've had something to come clean with, I have. And we've worked it out.

Am I old fashioned? Jesus fucking Christ. Emiliano goes off in some bizarre tangent about dogs being loyal, and if I'm loyal then I'm behaving like a dog-- some bizarre nonsequitur comparing canine behavior to humans with the intention of justifying unfaithfulness or something to that effect. Even now I still have no fucking clue what he's trying to say. He's a smart guy, but he really lets me down this time. He's all over the place with the dog analogy, and then backs out with a pathetic cop-out question, "do you believe in marriage?". Whatever. That is irrelevant. I believe in respect. I believe in trust. And here this guy is trying to make me feel like some kind of old-fashioned prude because of it? Fuck that. Maybe I would've thought tales of sexual exploits and disregard for feelings and whatnot were cool in high school, but not now. It just makes me want to punch someone in the face.

Anyway. Take a taxi ride back home after that. Again pretend to be of another nationality-- Canadian. Because it's always fun to say "aboot". Come back to an apartment that is pristine and spotless-- the cleaning lady did a great job. Yes, I hired a cleaning lady to come to the apartment and clean it up on a weekly basis because I am a studenty slob and I'm too damn lazy to throw out those empty pizza boxes myself. There's about 18 pesos worth of change sitting inexplicably on top of the TV. I guess it's from coins scattered across the room. She really did do a great job. Decide to pay her extra next time she comes around.

Anyway. Sit home for a while. Change. Then take the bus and head over to Mario's where it's bad-horror-movie night. Mario is one of those guys who gets off on bad movies. It's not like he doesn't know there's better stuff out there, the guy knows his shit, he just likes knowing that he's stuffing his brain with absolute garbage. Mariana is there, as well as Alejo, Matias, Valentina and another girl I'd never met. We shoot the shit for a little while and watch "Jeepers Creepers". Well, they watch it, Mariana and I take the opportunity to have yet another argument about useless, insignificant shit on the kitchen floor. Things get mellower when a joint is passed around and the usual pseudo philosophizing about words and communication starts up. At this point, everybody's drowsy and incoherent, so Mariana and I take off to her apartment. She shows me baby pictures, we discuss the merits of the Sean Kingston song "Beautiful Girl", have sub-par sex and fall asleep to the sound of Mazzy Star.

Wake up at around 9:30 AM because Mariana has to go somewhere. I look out the window, feel the cold breeze and decide I'd like to see what this side of Buenos Aires is like in the morning. Wander about for about half an hour before I get ridiculously bored and take a cab back home. There, I find the people from the bank finally delivered my debit card. Took them long enough. Am happy to finally have it but shocked and appalled that they wouldn't need my signature. Anyway. Watch a couple Simpsons season 9 episodes and fall back to sleep 'til 5 o' clock. Wake up horrified and remembering that I needed to take a bunch of clothes to the laundry store. Put on my "all out of clean clothes" outfit and run to the laundry store. They're closed. Curse lazy laundry store people.

Decide I feel like a chicken sandwich, so walk all the way to the Coto supermarket a few blocks away. Am shocked by the incredible amount of attractive girls in skimpy outfits who seem to pick saturday late afternoons to do their shopping... in skimpy outfits. Buy all the stuff I need and get in the obscenely-sized line to the cashier. Big, black American gentleman in front of me has ridiculous-shaped shoes and head. I know he's American 'cause he paid with dollars, didn't say a word the entire time and bought Pringles. Who the hell still buys Pringles? The mentally-challenged and the homesick American. (note: I'm not saying Americans are mentally-challenged, just that nobody really buys Pringles here)

Come home and make the best chicken sandwich I've ever made. For someone with this limited culinary experience, this is a huge thrill and an enormous accomplishment, so I call Mariana up to tell her all about it. Then she lets me know that a former good friend of ours who had recently slipped out of view (and, for a short while, into the psych ward) had recently attempted suicide. Fuck.

To make matters even weirder, I find this video of my mom and my uncle being interviewed in shoddy Barranquillan TV. This has been a bizarre fucking day.

A bus seat standoff

2008-02-01T22:36:27Z

There are a lot of old women in Buenos Aires. More so than any other place I've ever lived in. Too many of them, slowing the whole city down, curled frames, ridiculously sized eyeglasses, hair dyed in shades that make them look like they're wearing the purple Teletubby's pubic hair. I didn't mind them before but now I can't stand them. They smell like a combination of formaldehyde and some kind of industrial disinfectant product. The number has increased exponentially in the last few months-- rushing down a street is no longer an option. They crowd the buses, too. Just a couple days ago I was sitting near the back of the bus and one old lady with enormous shopping bags walked in, right past the seats near the front that were reserved for the elderly or otherwise challenged, and loomed in front of me for the most part of the bus trip. As if expecting me to get up and give her my spot, and was so shocked and horrified by the fact that I didn't that she just decided to keep standing there, staring at me, out of spite. It was a standoff. After about 15 or 20 minutes, she sighed in exasperation (loud enough for me to hear it) and walked back to the empty seats near the front. I got up and rang for the stop, victorious.

I ended up getting off about 8 or 7 stops after I actually needed to, but it was worth it. The old lady regime must be overthrown. I actually don't know whether there's less old ladies in Colombia or if we just keep them locked up, where they belong.

The small defeats of daily life.

2008-01-30T23:41:28Z

So much to say, and yet all that comes out is...

"Boston Legal" is the worst TV show ever conceived in the history of mankind.

Try this one on for size.

2008-01-27T07:33:11Z

You know those moments when you say something that you think is sharp and clever, and you're proud of yourself and strut off feeling like the baddest, wittiest motherfucker alive?

And then a couple minutes later you step back and go "... whoa. Wait. What?"
And you realize you're so past the point of asshole-ishness, you don't even recognize yourself anymore?

Yeah. That's kind of where I am right now.
Jesus fucking Christ, when did this happen?

Also, to alleviate the general whiney tone of this LJ lately, here's a picture of a dog on a rooftop from my trip to Quilmes. More pictures to come.

Weepy, self-pitying update #938420

2008-01-25T03:46:32Z

The days slow down, office white. Right now it feels like the sound of static before hitting signal, jarring, anticipating release. Fluorescent lightbulbs and daylight are one and the same. My eyes are weary with neon. I communicate through Post-Its and e-mail. I'm eastern, central, mountain and pacific all rolled into this mess of non sequiturs. Coffee and paperwork. Youtube chuckles, facebook nudges. Patterns in meaningless data. I've always been terrified of signing along dotted lines. You've never been one to read through them. It's been this way before. We've walked down these paths, but always stuttering. Nervous. Half-hopes and "what-if"s. Walking bridges before burning them down. But it's never been like this. Like this, whgen I find myself throwing punches at the moon out of frustration. When I talk too much and make too little sense at night. Yelling through cell phones and grasping for any connection whatsoever. When... when? When's the last time I was really honest? To anyone, about anything. About where I'm stuck, about the way I feel, about my interpersonal skills and the way my relationships seem to end up disintegrating, like so much sand falling through clutching fingers.

And so another week drags to a dead standstill.
Another weekend for the (increasingly) heavy drinking.
And another night of half-assed socializing.
Good night, pareidolia. Good night, paper clip.
Good night, indifferent blue eyes. I don't exist.

Why so serious?

2008-01-23T15:48:34Z

The Joker is dead. I feel like a terrible person because my first thought was OH SHIT HOW IS THIS GOING TO AFFECT THE BATMAN MOVIE.
And then my second thought was OH SHIT HOW IS THIS GOING TO AFFECT THE IMAGINARIUM, THE MOVIE HE WAS SHOOTING WITH TERRY GILLIAM AND TOM WAITS PLAYING THE DEVIL??
And then my third thought was, I wonder how Tom Waits feels about this.
And then my fourth thought was, Oh shit he had a kid. Which made me feel like a slightly better person.

But then my fifth thought was, I wonder if he sat there on his hotel room floor or whatever, looking at his jar of sleeping pills, going "I WISH I COULD QUIT YOU".

Again, terrible person.
I'm sorry, Heath. R.I.P.

Ah, late night office jobs.

2008-01-19T00:04:20Z

This is what you'll find me doing when I'm all alone in the office a minute before closing up.

Where the fuck is everybody, anyway?

Same as it ever was.

2008-01-13T02:31:58Z

Just a few small nuggets.

- I've found myself suddenly obsessed with The Talking Heads. I know, I'm like 30 years behind the times, but fuck. I purchased a Greatest Hits CD 'cause of "(Nothing But) Flowers" alone and was floored. I know like, eighty percent of these songs, just not by name. I think I've found a new favorite band. Took me long enough. I even used to find them annoying.

- We organized something of a surprise birthday party for our good friend Paula last night. I think I counted around eight nationalities, so singing Happy Birthday was something of a group effort.

I love it when the German sings.

- Here are a few pictures of my favorite bookstore/cafe/CD store/hangout/hiding place.

Alright, that's all for now, kids.
Have a great weekend, everybody.

I'll bet she's still a virgin, but it's only 25 to nine...

2008-01-06T03:47:27Z

So I finally saw Before the Devil Knows You're Dead yesterday. I've developed a strong crush (re: boner) for Marisa Tomei.

43 years old and the woman is still smoking hot.

The stupid fucking chinese lady who works at the laundry store misplaced one of my favorite shirts. I wanted to pull her eyes out of her skull and stick them up her fat ass. Instead, I very awkwardly stumbled and stuttered through a rant about how unproffessional and irresponsible she is. Trying to be very stern and scolding. I don't think she was intimidated by me. What is it about fat chinese ladies that makes them think they're, like, untouchable? I swear to God. I should've just punched her in the stomach.

My New Year's was good. Here's me interviewing a drunken Brazilian.

If you know Spanish, then you'll find the above video amusing. If not, you won't understand a word we're saying, but you'll still be able to enjoy my sexy voice.

Fuck. I don't really have much to say. I know I was feeling very inspired last night while I was stumbling back home but it was all washed away by morning. I woke up, turned the TV on VH1 and the first music video they were playing was Eddie Murphy's "Party All the Time". Such a bizarre way to start the day.

Anyway. We had an asado last night, on the roof of my German friend Michael's apartment building. It was supposed to be an all-guy's affair, but Shona showed up, but she is a Scottish lesbian with razor-sharp wit and who curses like a lone shoreman, so that's close enough.

Anyway, as always, pictures behind the cut

I've got a feeling this year's for me and you.

2007-12-31T06:02:09Z

It's ridiculously hot in Buenos Aires right now. It's 4 o'clock in the morning and I'm sitting here sweating. How I fucking hate the summer.

As you can probably tell from my previous post, I hit the shots last night. Like I had the night before and like I did tonight. I should probably stop drinking so much. It's become the source of much grief lately, with drunken e-mails being sent and all that. Anyway, yeah, alcohol... need to cut it out. I'd make that a resolution for the next year if I weren't so convinced I wouldn't be able to follow through with it.

Why do I seem to find myself at odds with the opposite sex at the end of every year, in more than one way? Interesting phenomenon, no?
It's a good time of the year to burn bridges.

I went to my friend Carmen's birthday/new-year's party tonight. It was fantastic. Had to exercise a bit of caution in this one since it was more of a fancy, dressed-up affair with her family present. And I was still nursing a pretty bad hangover from the night before anyway. Sadly I didn't take my camera. There was one annoying, sort-of-pretty and extremely flirtatious girl with a camera there who hastily put my e-mail address in her cell phone and said she'd send me the pictures. I can assure you most of them will be from ridiculously high angles, though.

It's been a weird past few days. In between hazy half-recollections from the previous evening, I've been feverishly watching The Sopranos. I purchased every season at a bargain price after I was initially hooked on the first one I bought for my dad on July, when I visited home. What an amazing show. It's been obsessive. At least two episodes a day since I got the DVDs. I'm already on the seventh episode of the fourth season and it's only getting more riveting. Now of course, my prior knowledge of the whole "Don't Stop Believing" (or rather, "don't stop---") finale kinda ruins things a bit for me (I know nobody in the family gets clipped and that, well, we don't get a real finale) but there's so much shit to go that it doesn't really bother me.

It's kind of like the way I used to read my books. I'd go all the way to the last page, read that first, and then read the rest. I don't know why. I think it relieved my anxiety. I remember feeling literally physically ill when I was a kid, watching "Free Willy" on the movie screen and not knowing how it was gonna end.

Well, 2007 is over. Good. I think we can all pretty much agree that this year-- some fantastic little moments aside-- was one tremendous failure. And if it wasn't a failure for you, post a comment here and tell me why. I'm honestly interested.
But for myself... I honestly did let myself down in pretty much every possible way. And although I hesitate to call any amount of time spent a real "waste" ("there's always something gained" and all that shit), I can safely and without any qualms say I wouldn't have any problem waking up tomorrow and finding out that 2007 never happened.

I guess the one thing that I really loved about 2007 was... well, apart from Tom Waits and the entire month of April... going back home and seeing my family. Especially my little siblings. Nicole and David. Now any time I'm feeling down or depressed or whatever I can just think about them and smile, because they really are remarkable children. And it strengthens that desire that I've had since Nicole was born to eventually be a dad someday. And I don't mean like the time I adopted that duck from the zoo, I mean to raise a child. How awesome would that be? Further down the line, of course.

Speaking of David,

one of his Christmas presents was a miniature drum kit. How cute is that?

Anyway. I think 2008 is going to be a good year. I can feel it.
I just hope it doesn't let me down.
So here's a toast, then-- a cyber-toast, if you will-- for a prosperous 2008.
To all of you.

Happy new year.

(*edited 12 hours later to remove a couple unsightly alcohol-induced slips of the tongue. Or keyboard. See? I need to cut this shit out)