Some Recent Photos

Bumper sticker on little red car.

ARGENTINA - WAX 038

FLOR TE AMO...

LSD - Designer Discount Bags

Neverland Ferris Wheel - Abasto Shopping

Pretty amazing is the giant ferris wheel inside of the old train station that is now one of BA's top urban malls, filled with higher-end chain botiques, McD's, BK and a host of other standard mall fair.

Industrial Urban Chic - Puerto Madero

The Warewolf of Buenos Aires

Shining like a star - Veronica

Nat whirling in her own kinetic energy

Shrine by the Puente de la Mujer - Puerto Madero

Home Sweet Home!

My new pad with the wide angle lens to make it look even larger than it already is.

Looking directly out my front door on the upper level of 'Los Patios del Sol', which once at one point a conventio or convent. Now its a good mix of cool people from Argentina, Spain, England and of course some Yanks thrown in for good measure. The Gallegos next door are whooping it up right now, cranking some old-school LIVE Blonde!

My actual front door and a partial view of the small balconcito that comes off of my bedroom, which is in the upper portion of the loft space, along with the bathroom. More pics to come.

El Dia de Boludo!

Boludo doesn't really translate and can mean many, many things here and is heard constantly, mostly as a form of slang amongst the younger crowd. Like 'Che', or amigo, or dude, or bro, but perhaps a little more slangish and perhaps slightly crass. I think I've mentioned this before, but literally it comes from the balls - swollen balls - some kind of infection to the male ball sack that makes it swell - bloated balls. Figuratively, its just one of those common slang terms, like buey or cajones in Mexico, always refering to the male genetalia - part of the whole machismo thing I think. Even women, or younger women I should say, use it, commonly, in the streets, referring to each other as boluda. Just an overused but integral part of BA spanish - symbolizing a part of the local culture that is hard to pinpoint, or describe, but is always there.

Ethan stops over at the new place for a mellow bite to eat and a chat, after a few heavy days of writing, finally. Then he springs on me that yesterdays writing was "the best in his life, so far," and then, the fact that it was his 35th birthday. A day late and a few pesos short. So... a few phone calls were made, a few visitors stop over and a battle of home-style poker ensues - its his day, what to do - celebrate this painful but necessary rite of passage. Tommy couldn't be bothered, Luis is in for the long haul and then comes Natalia, in all her raging glory and neighborly goodness.

The night grows on and the game continues, springing out of nowhere, but gaining momentum each round, chips flying back and forth like snowflakes in a soft, quiet storm. A week night, a work night... but somehow, we transcend all that and put Ethan at ease in his 35th year. Feliz Cumpliaños CHE BOLUDO! And keep on that writing, your saving grace, current calling and something you're fucking good at.

Los Patios del Sol

Tonight is my last night in my current apartment here on the Barracas-La Boca border. Had my last stopping-by-on-the-way-home choripan (a completely filling sausage sandwich - $0.75USD) from my favorite parilla in all of Buenos Aires, El Rincon Salteno, located directly across the street from Parque Lezama on Martin Garcia next to the McDonalds. While finishing packing I ran across the street to get some smokes from the ice cream kiosk and the very kind woman that always has this very coolishly bright red hair, forced me to try her favorite flavor being made by the guy right behind her in the back - Sambayon. Oh My GOD! My new favorite too. Next time I'm getting it granizada - little chocolate shavings mixed in. So good and so fresh, the Argentines are damn good at gelato and ice creams.

With limited time to look for a new place to call home, I had to break down, pay a little more and take a place back up in the heart of tourist central, especially on the weekends - San Telmo - half a block down from Desnivel and right across the street from the Universidad del Cine, only a block up from the University of Enginering on Paseo Colon (which is close to where the Cartoneros I work with on my photo shoots live and hang out when they aren't cruising the city recycling what ever it is they may find), host to my favorite bus line - the one-five-two - stopping less than two blocks from my house.

Other than the fact that it seems to be a bit like Melrose Place, and that the only view I have is out my bedroom window, looking directly across at Ethan's current chica's pad, and that it has its share of foreigners living there, which I've been fairly successful at avoiding up till now, its a beautiful Spanish style building with big palm trees in the patio, lots of foliage, great tile work in the entrance, a sweeping wooden staircase to my loft on the 2nd floor. Kitchen with low ceiling which then opens up into a larger open area with a modern, narrow open-faced wood staircase, leading to my bedroom (which has ceilings just low enough for me to bang my head when standing, we're in Argentina) with a bathroom, again with no windows. But there's lots of plants and plants are good.

Thanks to all who helped in one form or another, making this move a relatively easy success, especially Nat for the heads up in the first place (and also for the three little new plants!) and to Luis for chauffering me and my meager possesions back and forth and up and down the stairs. Should definately be interesting, whether retreating into a focused, work-related hibernation, having collegues and clients come over durning semi-regular business hours, or, just hosting a variety of random late night guests at my whim. I think its gonna work out. Probably will be able to use as a personal photo studio with two large windows letting in plenty of natural light. :-)

Buenos Aires de Nuevo - Observaciones

A couple of abbreviated observations in absence of recent posts.

- Looking for a new apartment is not the easiest thing to do in any major metropolitan area, especially as a foreigner in a third world country. But I think I've finally signed a new six month lease tomorrow and that's a done deal for now.

- I still love empanadas dearly and they have almost taken the place of a California burrito in terms of substance, fast, fun and cheap food.

- This city is still crazy as ever, non-stop, 24 hours a day - still amazes me everytime I leave the apartment, regardless of the time or day of week.

- Went to the store the other day and bought four liters of beer, some coffee, 2 liters of Coke-a-Cola, a bottle of Fernet and... a couple;e of other small things and the bill was like $12USD. That never gets old.

- Went carting last weekend, won the race and suffered NO injuries. Pics to come...

- I wish more friends from California could break from their busy lives to experience even just a week of La Pura Vida del Sur.

- And its SPRING! The weather warmeth, the leaves are turning green and its just beautiful right now...

- Other than the standard daily living observations, like the cartoneros, cuidado con los collectivos, mucho trabajo y mucha hoda tambien... life is pretty grand here, for now.

Gracias a todo for reading my blog...

CHAU!
Goyo

Casino Royale

Finally made it down to the floating Casinos in Puerto Madero just below San Telmo’s Parque Lezama with my buddy Luis. He’d been out driving his taxi and I was working late at home. I’ve religiously resisted this temptation for many months but suddenly the timing just seemed right and I’ve been dying to go. I’d tried to go before with some friends but there was a wait out front on a Saturday night and we turned around and left. But tonight is Wednesday and I’m still slowly swinging back into the fact that I actually live in South America and with apartment hunting and all, this temporary distraction was just what the doctor ordered.

The air turned brisk as we parked the taxi in the lot. Entering I could have been in a smaller casino like Bill’s in Lake Tahoe or some riverboat casino out there on the Mississippi river. Several prefectura cops are hanging out front as we head up the gangway in search of newfound fortune with a ninja-like approach. We walked in, turned to the left and cruise down the entire full length of one side of the ship, stopping to watch two Chinese-looking men playing some sort of casino version of poker. After a few hands there I notice another table off to the left, sort of in the traffic lane of employees, who would come and go in regular herds of ten when switching shifts, and the corner where a Russian-looking porteño was playing solo against the cute but stern dealer porteña croupier.

We sat down and immediately I began to win, even before I really understood what was going on. 5 card stud and the dealer is forced to show a card at the beginning. There is a $10AR minimum ante and then you can look at your cards and decide if you want to bet or not. If you choose to bet, it’s double your ante, otherwise you fold. The dealer can only play if they qualify with and Ace, King or better. If you beat the dealer the payout is as follows:

One Pair = 1-1
Two Pair = 2-1
Three of a Kind = 3-1
Straight = 4-1
Flush = 5-1
Full House = 7-1

And I don’t remember anything above except for the Royal Flush which paid 100-1!

Two hours later and a couple hundred pesos richer, I think I’ve figured out how to break the boat. Stay tuned.

A Spring Whirlwind

So... BA follows a regimented pattern of seasons, as opposed to the lackadaisical and tame seasons of California. This week marks the beginning of SPRING! For an up close and personal look, take a peak at our man Robert's excellent expat blog and his impressions and photos of spring in BA. Coming from the west coast of the USofA, its impressive - the changing of the seasons - falling on that specifically designated date, the 'first day of spring', in this case, September 21, 2006.

And... its actually great to be back here in Buenos Aires even though I'm still digesting the fact that I live here as opposed to 'am visiting again' as I approach my one year mark.

Also, I will be moving at the end of this week and think I have finally found a new place to live, which was no easy feat. My sophomoric year here in BA now begins. When driving a taxi cab back in San Francisco many years ago, I would always tell my passengers that living in SF was a two year minimum commitment and I whole-heartedly believe that that applies to most major cities around the world. After two years of getting to know a place you finally arrive at ground zero, with most systems in check and only then can you truly begin to appreciate the city in which you've chosen to live.

Shesheo Facil

"I like big butts... and I can not lie," said one famous Bay Area rapper (or not... actually I think its M.C. Hammer that's from the Bay Area and maybe someone like Sir Mix-a-Lot with the butt song, which is different than Baby Got Back, I think, which i can't remember exactly at this moment who was responsible for that one). I dunno... Freudian slip, what do I know?

So... back in BA, slowing things down after a whirlwind Cali visit and I can't refuse a lomo steak dinner at Desnivel in San Telmo - no stranger to foreigners, right there on Defensa just down from the ever popular Plaza Dorrego. Ethan and I arrive at the same time and are seated promptly. Ensalada mixta, dos lomos bien jugoso (very bloody*), un orden de papas fritas y un chorrizo... y una botella de San Telmo Malbec. Gracias.

Dinner at 10:15pm turns into a stop over at Fugees just up the street and around the corner. BsAs hip hop at its finest, seven nights a week (except when they are shut down as is accustom). I order a sparkling water for eNano's new girl - fast talking British good-looking gal named Nathalie, from London - and then two drinks called 'Amores Perros' for Ethan and I, not realizing that the last in a long list of ingredients is menta which turns out to make the drink blue. Two heaping and fruity-as-ever tropical Hawaiian-looking drinks show up and they are indeed bluer than the blue toenail polish on my toes, minus the decorative dice.

Eventually we say adios to the hip-hop Thursday night scene and suddenly its 3:30am and I drift my way back home. Doesn't happen in San Francisco, San Jose, La or Chicago. More to come for snizzle...

* Honestly, these steaks were so god damn rare, it was like eating sashimi with a slight singe on the outsides, but oh man... so damn rare but so damn juicy and natuarl and pure range fed real Argentina beef, it almost makes me sick just thinking about it.

Lamo Lo-Fi Technology

So much has happened in such a short time. Back in Argentina, my home away from home, ready to get started working in my apartment, which I must sadly vacate in less than one week, and my Banda Ancha goes down right in the middle of a conference call back to the States. Since this is the first time in several months that my broadband Internet connection has failed and after thirty minutes of restarting and restarting, I contact Fibertel only to be informed that yes, the line has gone down and they are sorry for any inconvenience that this may have caused. Being in the third world does have some technological disadvantages at times but I count myself lucky for the months of steady Internet I’ve successfully received thus far and Buenos Aires is still way ahead of the rest of the third world in terms of Internet conectivity.

Unfortunately my whole life these days seems to be online, so in the absence of the Internet I decide to tidy up the apartment, throw together some laundry and head for the Lavarap to get each huge load washed, pressed and folded to the tune of $7AR/load ($2.30 USD) only to find that somehow I’ve locked myself into my apartment! After ten minutes of trying both keys several times both backwards and forwards, I resign to bloggin’, something that is a bit of a sideline hobby/obsession when I have time (and there are still many notes to type up, process and blog about regarding my recent Cali visit including the third and final installment of our fantastic Sierra escape and something that is still being formulated on American culture, Television and consumerism – pretty much one in the same – titled ‘Shiny Happy People’).

Other than a great trip back home to beautiful California with visits in both the Northern and Southern parts, the flight back to BA through Houston was a bit of a shock. Transporting oneself back and forth between the first and third worlds is not to be taken lightly. Fear struck out as I headed for the San Francisco airport asking myself, ‘what the hell am I doing flying back to Argentina again?!’ But leaving the BA International airport and listening to the taxi driver rag on Argentina it all came back. A small pickup poker game with Barbara and Ethan led to a couple of beers up the street at Gibraltar amongst a hip-enough expat crowd and I feel like I’m home.

Now to wait for the banda ancha, beginning thinking about finding a new apartment and then… no wait, first to figure out how to get out of my apartment and then a new era in BA begins.

* - After several calls to the landlord and then to the building super, the door was successfully opened. For anyone that lives in or has visited BA, you’ll know the funny door lock systems we have and how very UNSAFE they are in case of FIRE!

Sierra Escape – Parte Dos

The Argentine lentil soup with chorizo and bacon really wasn’t a big hit with camp, other than the Fletcher Group from down in Fletcher Village (1). “Come on GR, you know its funny,” Steele quips as he tries to pawn off his lemony chicken to the rest of camp, which is sitting around joking about the color and texture of the soup. They are awaiting fajitas (read Mexican) that are standing by as Steele wrangles his chicken off of the stove, freeing it up for the fajitas, which ended up being a real hit with the entire camp, (2) although the Chilaquiles I had whipped up that morning went down well.

Needless to say there we’re some food issues in camp on this trip. MT is talking to Cal about the Trader Joe’s Beef Stew he has brought up and Cal says that he happened to have a Stroganoff type dish last night. “That’s funny!” exclaims MT in only that surprised, wryly MT way. “I had a little Stroganoff thing going on last night TOO!” he blurts out in all earnest. Fletch and I both look at each other and start cranking up.

“I’m happy for myself,” Cal says at some point that evening while the sun sets to the West, still reveling in his solo home run shot in the Long Baller’s Softball game from the night before (3).

Beautiful weather all three days and at 6,500’ in elevation there was not a cloud in the sky the entire time.

Billy Joel comes onto the iTunes rotation (Fletch comes through again with the portable ninja camping speakers) with ‘Only the Good Die Young’. The next song, “Oh What a Night” is completely up for debate. (4)

Sarah and Marina take turns taking pictures of themselves over the container of soup. Desmond Deker comes on the iPod. Steele takes a shot at Fletch about his first snowboarding trip and a ride down the mountain on a snowmobile holding on to the woman’s midsection in front of him for dear life as the navigate down and off the steep and treacherous slope (ouch). Apparently someone had led him up something other than the beginners’ bunny run and he got stuck.

There’s a debate going on to one side of the fire as to the differences between a skank-style dance move and the chicken, but not funky, just the chicken. Cal brings up the similarities between the hustle and the robot. “What about the shopping cart?” MT asks, while he moves across camping bobbing and weaving his head with both hands in front moving forward and back as if he was pushing a cart to some sort of 70’s disco hit. “That looks the same as the baby stroller,” Cal exclaims in a rage of disgust. Continuing on with what looks like MT pushing an invisible cart around camp, he yells, “not when you’re doing this!” as he now adds in the move of pretending to reach out to an invisible shelf on each side of the imaginary isle of a supermarket, snagging goods left and right to add to his cart, bobbin’ and weaving the entire time, this time moving his head to and fro and side to side. [TBC]

1 - Parker Fletcher made it up to the lake for the first time this year at age ten, equipped with his own tent and sleeping bag combo, expanding the Fletcher Love Palace of last year into a full functioning multi-tent complex self-titled ‘Fletcher Village’ located in a pocket up and over a big rock just to the north of the communal camp fire and kitchen. His dad, The Fletch Monster, having flipped our canoe over just a year ago in October, dumping him and myself into the freezing cold fall lake, had never brought little son to the lake and has himself only been up once or twice before.

Parker thoroughly enjoys his weekend, running around, hiking, climbing, swimming, laughing and eating even though he has to endure rounds and rounds of campers shouting “Earmuffs Parker, EARMUFFS!”

2 – The Guizo de Lentejas actually was pretty good. Unfortunately, word spread that I had used lake water to make the stew, which was true. When you bring lake water to a boil for over five minutes, which I did, the boiling water kills off all bacteria and its not an issue. But the rumorous-truth had spread like wildfire and the stew was later nicknamed GR-dia stew. Steele, although he didn’t have a specific name for his Lemony chicken, did state the contents of his marinade several times which included, among other things like red pepper flakes, salt and shallots? Or was that the flank stake, which was very good the night before. Not sure who exactly was responsible for the fajitas but I know Mei Mei was in on it and I think Super Dave as well.

3 – Long Ballers is an eight-year running softball team managed by MT which is mostly people somehow connected to UCSF. This particular night they were playing was my first night back into town. Sarah Wheeler and I sit and chatted for a bit over beers and then got to the game just in the nick of time to see Cal Santos, in an awesome display of force, belt one to deep left field, high-stepping around the base round third fast enough to pull him almost out of the base running line in a sort of ‘whoop, whoop, whoop’ way like you might imagine the Three Stooges doing if they were playing softball.

4 – This was a long debate and fiercely fought by brave and valiant souls. The song we were actually listening to was performed by Franki Valli and the Four Seasons by not only did the iPod say Billy Joel, some members of the camp swore it had to be Billy Joel. I could go on but… well, do you really care?

Sierra Escape - California Style

August 25, 2006 - 2:15 pm

Breezing along California Highway 4 almost to Angles Camp, approaching Copperopolis – Elevation: 971’, population 2,623. “Get with IT!” says Marina, about what I do not recall. She’s just as excited as I am to be out of the city, a city, any city - heading up to God’s country. We blow through Murphy’s and then pickup the canoe in Arnold and head on up towards Bear Valley to the little clandestine lake that has kept me coming back and back for almost ten years.

I check my watch and the pressure is dropping as we hit 1,578’ in elevation. The first signs of California pine trees. Another rise in the road puts us at 1,700’ and climbing. We roll into Angels Camp and pull over to check on the canoe on Steele’s Range Rover 4.6 HSE. “It’s fine,” Steele says in that authoritative but somewhat doubting and slightly unsure but still confident way. “I think the straps stretched a little back on the freeway,” he confirms loudly over the din of cars cruising by us. Outside air temperature is 93º with the barometric pressure at 28.27 inches of mercury but is unconfirmed as to its accuracy.

We pass the Angles Theater, Orphan Annie’s Thrift Emporium and the Calaveras County jumping frog out in front of the local volunteer fire department. This is Mark Twain country, no wait John Steinbeck… wait, what’s that one authors name that wrote about this part of California, about the jumping frogs of Calaveras County? A home made sign on the side of the road advertises Square Dancing lessons every Tuesday.

Murphys – 2,171’ elv. and its clear that my watch is off compared to the officially marked elevation signs. Maybe it has a hard time calibrating itself from a moving vehicle, not sure. There’s the Highway Café & Deli right next to Murphy’s Village Market. Bret Harte, that’s the authors name, not nearly as well known as those other two. As we roll out of Muryphys the highway sign says Big Trees 14 miles, Bear Valley 36 – almost there. Oaks, pines, manzinita, black berry bushes, grapes and an occasional aspen grace the terrain on both sides of us as we continue to climb.

We cruise through Hathaway Pines at 3,415' with a population of seven hundred and something and enter into the Stanislaus National Forrest. As we continue our ascent into the mountains, the oaks start to dissipate, giving way to more and more pine trees. Arnold is just another 4 miles up the road where we hit SNAC (1) to get our canoe. There are those classic, kitschy and somewhat commonplace for these parts, chain-sawed bears carved out of pine logs, some standing as tall as a tall man, for sale on the side of the road. We’ve got the iTunes hooked into the car stereo. This road trip soundtrack consists of, amongst others – The Kills, Elliot Smith, White Stripes, Gillian Welsh, Simon & Garfunkel, Scissor Sisters, Metric, The Magnetic Fields, and Seu Jorge from the soundtrack to ‘The Life Aquatic’ where he does those simple acoustic David Bowie covers.

Big trees and big, big rocks whiz by on both sides of the highway as we sail through Camp Connell, Doyle and then Dorrington, climbing up through 5,000’. Every once in awhile there are a few young and beautiful redwood trees towering over us on both sides of the highway. Finally we catch a glimpse of a view through the trees and across Bear Valley basin towards the top of the Sierras to the East. A solid blue California summer sky stretches overhead for miles and miles with not even so much as one single cloud to be seen. There’s Big Meadow campground, not a bad option for those not in the know, those that want easier access to the Sierras, the less adventurous – the common folk. But we continue onward, up into the high country, finally turning off of Hwy. 4 (at an undisclosed turnoff - undisclosed for a reason which is to keep this secret and somewhat sacred spot) for another nine miles on a winding mountain road, down to the Stanislaus river and back up again to the lake. This is the most scenic part of the entire trip as we roll up to the canoe launch. [TBC]

1 - SNAC is the Sierra Nevada Adventure Company where Sean and his friendly staff help mountain-goers with all of their Sierra adventure needs.

Goyo Goes Gonzo in El Congreso

“Con la plata, baile el mono” (1)

And suddenly with little preplanning and a simple invite from one of the press liaisons for an ‘official’ Argentine elected official, from Mendoza, there I was - sitting in an old balcony booth draped with aging red curtains and tiny red seats, imagining that this was the same type of booth that perhaps former U.S. President Abraham Lincoln was shot in, or was it John Wilkes Booth who was actually in the booth… or both? (2) Below me looks like some kind of set from a movie, maybe some movie I’ve never even seen before, or maybe I’m thinking of C-SPAN, but its impressive - the Argentine Camera de Diputadas – or the equivalent of the U.S. House of [non] Representatives.

Modern day Argentine politics, despite what most Argentines would rather not admit, was actually modeled after the U.S. political system including the original version of Argentina’s Constitution, first ratified after several draft attempts and a civil war, in 1852. Still in effect today (although its been modified several times, mostly recently in 1994) even after several military juntas or interim military dictatorships (the most recent was the one between 1973-1984 where up to 30,000 dissidents or leftists were systematically tortured, slaughter and disappeared, a verb that doesn’t even exist in English) completely bypassed it and the entire political system altogether (obvio) (3). The constitution created the executive office of the President, the Legislative Congress, consisting of an ‘upper’ Senate (73 seats) voted in to serve four year terms and a ‘lower’ Chamber of Deputies (257 seats) which is proportionally based on population within the given provinces throughout Argentina, and an independent judiciary Supreme Court.

The semi-circular arc below is filled with rows and rows of dark mahogany desks, all with individually built-in copper ashtrays, identical microphones encased in yet more mahogany and that little red light that indicates when, where and who is speaking at any given time. Each desk is also accompanied by dark leather swiveling and reclining chairs and a high-tech fingerprint recognition voting system that lets the deputies digitally sign in at any of the desks and vote yeah or nay on whatever the current issue at hand may be.

Today is Wednesday, which is the one-day per week that both the Senate and the Deputies normally gather to meet, talk and vote. It’s very interesting to watch at least but even though I’ve just recently passed level four Spanish at the UBA and can pick up most of what’s being said, I haven’t the faintest idea on the context or what’s being talked about or voted on. Whatever it is, it passes overwhelmingly as illustrated on the oversized TV monitor bank that is the only thing besides the fingerprint voting system that even resembles anything remotely new in this very old-world Congress building.

But what really amazes me is the behind the scenes scene, upstairs and down the hall from the Deputies and the Senate floors, around the paint-chipped-and-peeling- corner and down another unlit hallway and behind closed doors. This is where the real action takes place and this is where I sit for almost six hours; listening, lurking, leering and learning that what goes on behind the scenes in Argentine politics STAYS behind the scenes. Visions of mafia bosses and money laundering schemes fill my head and it’s like I’m in a Woody Allen film that never got made due to speculative lack of acceptance by the American viewing public when initially pitched to financial backers.

There are two woman sitting at opposing desks; one in her late thirties and almost my height (read: very, very tall), sexy and super skinny that the other refers to as flaca and one that is thirty, cute and bit chubby (especially by Argentine standards) that the flaca does NOT refer to as gordi, which means gorda or ‘fatty’ and is actually a common term of endearment here and not an insult like it would be perceived in the States.

The flaca has her high heels on her desk as she chain smokes Marlboro Reds in her pin-stripped suit, sipping on yerba mate while gordi answers her desk phone and moto-razor cell simultaneously while typing on an ancient computer and reading her emails back to someone on one of the lines she’s holding. The phones keep ringing and flaca keeps screaming, in this passionate Latina-type way sounding and appearing upset even though I was later told that she was happy and just a bit excited.

Trapped but enthralled, without an official escort back to my awaiting and expired California drivers license that I left with security at the side entrance to the Congress, I hammer away on my laptop until the battery dies and gordi finishes her meeting with an unnamed Senator regarding President Kirchner’s upcoming visit to Mendoza this week. They are trying to bring the more extreme leftist factions in Mendoza together to the barely-left-of-center Kirchner point of view (4) along with others in his ever-growing and strong political block. We finally leave at close to 11PM and hit the cold and freshly rained-upon streets. Thanks gordi for everything – Dios Mio!

1 - “With money, the monkey dances” which is a popular saying here that I just learned recently from a local cab driver. Basically, with money… anything’s possible. And not in terms of the American dream crap; rather like you could hire anyone to do anything here, or kill twenty people for example, and not have to go to jail. Or rob the country blind and sell off all the national assets to foreign interests and not go to jail because there is no ‘proof’, like ex-president and current Senator Carlos Menem allegedly did.

2 – Actually, Lincoln was in the booth when Booth came in and shot him in that very same both. Wikipedia gives a detailed explanation of the entire Lincoln assassination at Ford’s Theatre in Washington D.C. on April 14, 1865.

3 – Obvio means ‘obviously’ in Spanish and, as was explained to me in Level Four Spanish by my professor, is slightly more ironic than claro, which means ‘of course’ or ‘clearly’ (lit.).

4 - Kirchner's current leanings are against former President Menem's 'strictly aligned with the U.S.' and is very left-of-center in terms of U.S. politics. Led by Venezualan President Hugo Chavez, the anit-American MercoSur is a group of South American countries that are trying to move away from what they deem as American Imperialist tendencies and to exist largely on their own without the traditional influence of the American government or military... more on MercoSur later, but needless to say, Paraguay is a token member despite of the influx of U.S. monetary aid and military presecence under the guise of 'joint military exercises.'

Argentina Photo Galleries

You've asked - Goyo answers. Some of the photos in these galleries have been viewed by some of you in one form or another; including on Fotoninja's rarely-updated daily photoblog as well as in print and online in various forms. Enjoy.

Random photos from Buenos Aires, Cordoba and beyond and yet more random photos from Buenos Aires, Argentina taken on my second trip to to this vast land in August and September of 2005.

Photo Above is from a shoot called 'Gaucho Carto-traficantes' and is part of my ongoing series about Cartoneros, Fashion and Buenos Aires. Photo taken by Tommy Abad

California or Bust

The infamous 'Hotel California' conjures up many things to many people in its many variations and widely debated interpretations. Probably the most famous or popular reference is from the Eagles 1976 international hit song 'Hotel California' (On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair. Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air...) about some sequestered hotel south of the border, presumably in Baja California, Mexico.

According to Mark Bowden, author of Black Hawk Down and Killing Pablo, 'Hotel California ' (nicknamed by the CIA) is the place where Khalid Sheikh Mohammed, the notorious terrorist and mastermind behind both attacks on the World Trade Center (the failed attack in 1993 and 9/11/01), captured in Pakistan in March 2003, was flown to - 'presumably a facility in another cooperative nation, or perhaps a specially designed prison aboard an aircraft carrier.' (1)

For me, the Hotel California has a few different personal connotations. First, there is a residential hotel near my old flat in West Oakland called the California Hotel on San Pablo Avenue just down the street from The Oaks card room which I could see from my back deck, standing there as an anomoly right next to the 580 Freeway - inhabited by the poor, outcast, drug-addicted, and mentally insane. Second, there is the Hotel California pictured above in Ciudad del Este, Paraguay - near the Gran Casino Paraná situated on the banks of the Rio Paraná, bordering Paraguay and Brazil. And finally, there's the mythological Hotel California that represents some kind of fantastical Shangri La or El Dorado-like reprieve; like R&R after being in the shitstorm of war - a break from the daily ins and outs of life, for example, like living here in sometimes surreal Buenos Aires. This Atlantis or fool-like paradise vision is much different than that of the place where Kahalid Mohammed is currently being detained, I imagine.

On August 23 I am fortuned and thankful to have been granted a slight repreive from my life here in BA and am heading back home to California - land of dreams and gold - for a short but glorious two weeks; not to a specific hotel but rather to my motherland, back to see friends and family, back to experience first hand the wonders of the Sierra Nevada del Norte and back to reignite that internal flame of inspiration from that small slice of heaven that I call my home away from home.

1 - From Jon Ronson's latest novel: The Men Who Stare at Goats

Che Guevara Alive In Lebanon?

Having my brain overloaded with Level 4 'intensive' Spanish for the past three weeks at the University of Buenos Aires, this our fourth and final week, I finally realize that I am not going to make up for all the years and years of not studying language, not since failing Level 2 back in college, twice. The professor actually told me today that my spoken Spanish is fluid, but the writing part ain’t so hot. “You’re going to have to start to read a lot, in Spanish,” she added.

Actually, one of our exercises a week ago was to choose an article in a local newspaper and write our opinions about it, forcing us to use the heinous subjunctive forms of the verbs in their many complicated and rule-bound conjugations. Never short on opinions, this was homework I could handle, so I thought. The first article I saw online in La Nacion was titled “Nasrallah is the Che of the Arab World.” Hmm… that’s interesting; a comparison between the dead Argentine revolutionary icon, reportedly assassinated in Bolivia at the hands of the CIA and the current, living leader of Hezbollah, Hassan Nasrallah in Lebanon. The second was on Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez’s recent visit to Iran where he compared current Israeli military operations in Lebanon with those of Adolph Hitler against the Jews in the Second World War. I stuck with the first one.

The article quotes Michel Awad, a political science professor from the Institute of Social Sciences at the University of Lebanon who says ‘Nasrallah is the new Che Guevara, but in the Arab world. He’s on all the t-shirts, in all the houses and in all the hearts… uniting both Shiites and Sunnis. For Arabs, its now clearly a matter of life and death.'

I hop into bed before midnight and finish reading Jon Ronson’s “The Men Who Stare at Goats” about the U.S. Military’s continued efforts to develop psychic Jedi Warrior-like troops that can, among other things walk through walls and yes, kill goats by actually staring at them. This excellent journalistic trail of cosmic breadcrumbs takes the author on a chilling but true tale of murder, torture and the ongoing ‘war against terror’. Che was a terrorist, among other things.

Still not tired with finals now but two days away, I flip on the TV to relax a bit. Mistake. The Syrian Ambassador to the US in being interviewed on the BBC news program Hard Talk saying, “They [Hezbollah] are a grassroots guerilla movement and are popularly supported by the people of Lebanon… Israel has already invaded Lebanon not once but twice and both times we’re pushed back successfully by Hezbollah. If they want to do this again I think it’s a serious, serious mistake."

Larry King’s guest on CNN is a female reporter from the Washington Post saying that Hezbollah, with two seats in the Lebanese coalition government, shares the support of eighty seven percent of the Lebanese people, which in turn is made of thirty-four different religious groups. That’s more than you can say for Bush’s popularity, that’s for damn sure. Last I heard it was down around thirty percent.

A BBC reporter says, “…while Israel tries to destroy Hezbollah positions…” and I tune out. That’s the point of a guerilla army, as Che professed, can’t beat ‘em.

After the report, they cut to international weather and this wretched-looking weather woman takes us on a meteorological tour throughout Europe, smiling her best TV newscaster smile whenever there’s sunshine but getting more serious, almost frowning when the weather turns south. And south we head into Northern Africa, skip the Middle East and then on over to India where they have already received five meters of rain with severe flooding and says, “more torrential rains to continue.” Her report abrubtly ends and she beams a great big smile. There is a lull as someone in the control room drops the ball before they finally cut back to the studio late, leaving her standing there with that damn smile plastered on her face. But its not sunny in India, why are you smiling?!

They then went to some lighter world news which included a mimicking parrot in Germany that fooled neighbors into calling the police when it loudly screeched over and over “Mama, MAMA!”

Who You Callin' An Expat?

Just even the sound of that word - Expat, gives me the willies; always has, always will.

“That’s not me nor will it ever be. That term is dated. I’m a traveler, an adventurer, a citizen of this planet… a ‘photographer without borders.’”

Or so I thought. Now I’ve lived here in Buenos Aires for nine or so months with a couple of trips here and there in between. Short for expatriate and technically speaking, I guess I fit one if not two of the noun definitions:

-One who has taken up residence in a foreign country.
-One who has renounced one's native land.

Although my father took up residence from his native land of England long ago moving to California in the late 1950's, he has never renounced his own motherland and still maintains his British citizenship. Now I’m thinking about switching sides. Because of his birthright claim to the Isles of Great Britain I also am entitled to British citizenship. Those are the cards I was dealt and I might as well play ‘em. Plus it’d save me on visa fees entering and exiting Paraguay, freely as I please. (British citizens do not have to pay the $50USD one-time entry fee like Americans do).

But back to Buenos Aires and the point of this post. There’s this expat email list that I first subscribed to fresh off the plane. Now I never even read them but then just the other day Ethan forwarded me an excerpt from one of their recent emails and I felt moved to post it here.

“Expats are vulnerable to a number of changes in
their mental and physical health when adjusting to
life in a new country. Psychological problems that
can arise or resurface include depression, anxiety,
issues regarding existing relationships (or lack
there of), anger and frustration, addictive
behvaiour, body image and eating issues, as well as
loss of identity and direction in life.

Psychotherapy provides a space for you to resolve
and manage these issues; enabling you to live
your life in a full and meaningful way.”

That’s funny... and I thought it was just me. The only thing the blurb from this local gringo-targeting-psychotherapist forgot to mention was the part about not sleeping.

Nenas at Friend's Birthday Party

This was taken in the outskirts of BA at a birthday party for a friend of mine's son. In Spanish, the word for puppy is 'Chachorro'! It's a good word.

Young Woman Walking Past Wall

Man Looking Out Door

Man With Cart Sleeping In Parque Lezama

This is part of my ongoing series entitled 'People sleeping outside'.

'Friends Day' is Fashionable Indeed

Friends day was last Thursday here in Buenos Aires and it was a BIG DEAL! Went to a runway show at Mint and snapped a few pictures, most to blurry to post... but fortunately I did make some new friends!

Y... LAS JEFAS DEL SHOW!

The Butterfly Effect - Chaotic Motion

These are things that I have done, learned, or have noticed over the past week.

- Even though there was a fairly recent film made called 'The Butterfly Effect' starring Ashton Kutcher, I had never heard of The Butterfly Effect until playing poker last night with the young British mathematical physicist Edd Denbee. The actually 'effect' according to Wikipedia is truly fascinating and usually used in physics to explain a technical part of Chaos Theory - sensitive dependence on initial conditions- illustrating how small changes to the beginning of a system can bring about major changes in the weather, for example... how the flap of a butterfly's wings in Brazil could cause a Tornado in Texas. "However," according to Denbee, "the movie is not fascinating. It is absolutely dreadful!"

- Today after class I bought a Boca Juniors banner to replace the framed and kitschy sea shell hanging 'thing' in our kitchen; both because we LIVE in La Boca and to shout out to a good friend of ours here who is a HUGE Boca Jrs. fan and who also has had a tough few weeks - suerte amigo!

- I finally learned how to make RISOTTO - even assisted in the cooking AND eating of it. Thanks Edd Denbee and Marina Costaguta for the help and inspiration. The secret ingredient - BACON!

- Last night I had a horrible run of bad luck, playing poker on full tilt until 5am but then made a HUGE comeback on the very last hand - heads up pot limit. My Kings and Jacks beat out Denbee's Kings and Two's. The pot was over $400 pesos and saved my ASS!

- I learned that 19.8% of the U.S. Federal Budget for FY05 was allocated to 'Defense Discretionary' spending and that 19.3% was allocated as 'Non-Defense Discretionary', but I have NO IDEA what 'Non-Defense Discretionary' really means? My guess is that we are paying for the Iraq war with some if not most of the later funds. Funny how I didn't see EDUCATION anywhere on the pie chart or the Congressional PAY RAISE that U.S. Senators allocated for themselves a few months back!

- I safely boarded, rode and lept off the #10 collectivo (bus) today on the way home from school without banging my head on the handrails the entire time.

- For the first time in my life I had a sty in my eye which swelled up almost closing it completely. But then thanks to the local pharmacy that acts-as-doctor on the corner, they sold me some ointment and its getting better. But DAMN! Marina told me its from riding the busses and then wiping your eyes. Won't be doing much of that anymore!

- Speaking of busses, I saw a beautiful woman today out the window of the bus that I thought, for an instance, was Sarah Wheeler.

- I (along with Ethan) had a mild to medium case of dysentery (splatter-ass) which I determined was actually not caused by my lentil stew. I ate the last of it from the fridge day before yesterday... todo bien.

- And, today both in Spanish and English I finally began to grasp the concept of the 'SUBJUNCTIVE' form of the verb. In English, it is "a situation or condition that is untrue, not yet true, or highly unlikely." Ex.--use of "were" instead of "was" in this sentence--If I were you, I would submit another application before the deadline date, this to me via email from my dear Mom. The thing is that in Spanish, they actually change the form of the verb in many tenses to reflect the 'subjunctive condition' not to be confused with the 'conditional' condition. Wait... that vaguely reminds me of a song I can't seem to recall off hand.

- Speaking of songs, Marina and I practiced our version of the duet called ELEPHANT LOVE MEDLEY(?!) from Moulin Rouge over the weekend in preparation for our big BA Karaoke debut. 'Love lifts us up where we belong, where eagles fly on a mountain high'. I also 'agreed' to do a duet with the lovely, super smart and flowery Jennie Burke, another young Brit who studies at Oxford (gasp!) from the movie Grease... what am I thinking?! "You'd think that people would have had enough of silly love songs..." (also from Moulin Rouge)


Note: another funny side bar is that the other 'California' BAD Marina is a HUGE Moulin Rouge fan and agreed to burn down the house with me on my next visit back home with the Elephant Medely Song at Karaoke. That's one song, two Marinas and me, who can't sing worth a damn but is finally ready to face my karaoke fears.

Labratorio Para Idiotas

Speaking better Spanish was one of my three primary goals upon relocating to Argentina. The University of Buenos Aires or UBA, offers a twice yearly one month intensive ‘Spanish for Foreigners’ course, which had been on the clanender for over a month now. I had finally convinced myself (and Ethan) that this intensive course was not only imperative but also critical to both of our future successes here in Latina America. Needless to say we were upset when we both woke up three hours late for the evaluation exam because we were playing poker until five in the morning.

The intensive version of this Spanish course is three hours a day, five days a week for four weeks. It is also very popular with gringos and fills up quickly. Get here early was the only advice I had received when initially investigating the course. We bolt into action and arrive at the Language Laboratory campus disheveled and unshaven, jumping from the cab almost before it stopped. The younger woman at the information booth tells us that we’ve missed the morning round of testing and have to return at 5pm later that same day. We are both handed slips of paper with the numbers ninety and ninety-one on them and leave, dejected and also a bit sick to our stomachs, which may or may not be attributed to my burgeoning cooking skills and my now somewhat infamous lentil stew.

We return well before 5pm and wait around until after 5pm only to realize that the testing has already begun in another room. We each receive our two-sided sheets of paper, which along with an oral evaluation will place us between levels 0-6. At first glance I almost burst out laughing as the exam looks impossible and I realize once again that I can speak much better Spanish than I can read or write. At one point I caught Ethan’s eye and just whispered, “don’t forget to include ‘Paraguay’ in one of your answers!” We both laughed out loud and continued to plug away, writing something, anything on the fairly cryptic exam. When I finally turned in my test, the woman in charge at the front table was trying to slowly communicate to a younger male Japanese student which level that he was going to be in. He politely nodded his head at her and she turned to her collegue and said in Spanish, "he doesn't understand a word I'm saying." She then simply made a zero sign with her hand and said to him once again in Spanish - "ZERO!"

Afterwards we both had a good laugh and Ethan asked me about that one question which was something about ‘How much does your sister cost?’ I only remember the one that was something like ‘If there’s a terrible storm_______________.’ My answer was something like ‘you need to run cause you might get hit by a bolt of lighting’, which I totally misspelled beyond the point of recognition so badly that she actually asked me, ‘and what we’re you meaning by this answer?’ (Ethan put some like '... agua y agua y AGUA!')

As we wait for them to grade our tests I’m thinking she probably won’t even be able to decipher my horrible penmanship, let alone actually score the test. After about an hour of waiting and watching Ethan randomly bump into two different women that he knows from his first visit (more on that strange and slightly surreal experience later – although I can say that he did throw himself on the floor after Stella, his ex-Spanish teacher left the room causing half of the students to turn around and look back, seeing him laying face up on the floor) I get called forward and sit down with one of the all-female instructors to go over my exam and to chat. “All of your answers are fine and there are only a few minor mistakes, but I noticed that you didn’t use the subjunctive at all, either on your test or your verbal answers. Do you know the subjunctive?” she asks? “Umm… I think I’ve heard of it,” I stuttered back trying to fake some kind of answer. “OK – level four, you start on Monday.”

Ethan tested into level two and just like that this painfully hysterical situation is over and now the challenge begins. I’ve taken three college courses since dropping out of college my senior year at San Diego State University and am not that thrilled to be back at it. Spanish was one of my worst classes and I think I failed level three twice back then. And that was almost twenty years ago. At least my class doesn’t begin until 2pm unlike Ethan’s rude awakening for his 9:30am level two course tomorrow morning. [TBC]

Freedom?

The 4th of July - Dia de Independencia de Los Estados Unidos

Today marks the day that the founding fathers of the United States signed the Declaration of Independence in 1776, two hundred and thirty years ago, demanding independence from the King of Great Britain. And what a long way we’ve come, from colonial patriots to hot dogs and hamburgers, parades, BBQ’s, baseball and yes – FIREWORKS - my personal favorite, although in many US cities you aren’t actually able to buy them, just the hot dogs and the charcoal.

In the words of Founding Father John Adams, the holiday would be “the great anniversary festival. It ought to be commemorated as the day of deliverance. It ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of this continent to the other, from this time forward forever more.” (Wikipedia)

Guns?! Hmm… I think some of the only places where you can actually celebrate the Day of Independence with firearms currently in the States are West Oakland, East LA and maybe some parts of Philly and Northeast Washington D.C. Maybe that’s a constitutional right that we can bring back into mainstream America – shooting off firearms instead of fireworks, or why not both?

Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness – that’s what the founding fathers wanted for future generations. Currently Freedom from terrorism is our government’s main preoccupation. "We’re gonna smoke ‘em out!" said President G.W. Bush a few years ago, speaking at the beginning of the war against terrorism which began in Afghanistan in response to 9/11. Unfortunately the terrorists, who used to be our allies helping us fight the Russians in Afghanistan throughout the 1980s, all fled to Pakistan and lands beyond. Sure we nailed some of them along with a bunch of innocent civilians but by all accounts, we’re still in a ridiculous quagmire Afghanistan.

And now we’ve got Iraq, motherland of all civilization and a sacred holy land to millions of Muslims who don’t eat hotdogs or play baseball. We’ve even helped them implement their own coalition government as well as their very own constitution. Now they can pursue life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness as well.

But what actually is liberty? According to the dictionary it’s defined as: “the condition of being free from restriction or control. The right and power to act, believe, or express oneself in a manner of one's own choosing.” Hmmm? Not sure that’s what we’ve got planned for Iraq.

What we really stand for in today’s post-modernist, consumerism First World is a different kind of freedom. A freedom to choose which type of cleaning detergent we’d prefer, how we’re going to afford a bigger house, and which color of the latest fuel-efficient car we’re going to buy (must include stereo with an iPod jack). We want to maintain our abilty to consume—the status quo in our privileged First-Word form of Life, Liberty and Freedom. We fight to continue to maintain our Number One status at the expense of anyone who gets in our way.

Speaking during the darkest days of World War II, President Roosevelt reminded American citizens: “So is it now…. The tough, grim men who fight for freedom in this dark hour take heart in its message -- the assurance of the right to liberty under God -- for all peoples and races and groups and nations, everywhere in the world.”

Too bad that doesn’t ring true today as we continue to spread armed conflict around the world, primarily with the stated goal of fighting terrorists in order to allow others, among other things, to practice religious freedom. But isn't it really more of a question of, “Our God is mightier than your God,” which is what Christians along with many others have been fighting for since the beginning of religion?

Here in Argentina, July 9th marks the day that Argentina declared its independence from Spain. Largely seen as nothing more than a political dog and pony show, it’s not really a celebration so much as a day of remembering that they are still under some kind of foreign control; whether its control from the World Bank and the IMF, foreign financiers or the Yankis – that come for the water! At least in Argentina they eat hot dogs, which are called panchos.

Note: The photo is a posed shot of two Cartoneros with a model named Arceli in a shoot called 'Tomando Sol' or 'Sunbathing' which is part of an ongoing series that I am shooting on the trash recycling aspects of city life here in Buenos Aires. I'm trying to show a fictional contrast between their lives and work and the rest of the city.

Vamos Argentina... Todavia!

Words simply can not express what it feels like after today's tough loss against Ze Germans.

R.I.P. – Bar Britanico – R.I.P.

Sadly we must say chau to the infamous Bar Britanico on the corner of Parque Lezama in San Telmo. Our beloved and gracious bar at the corner of Defensa and Brasil that used to never close, has finally closed its doors – forever.

As I met up with the young British mathematical physicists Edd Denbee today for a match of ‘Paddle’(1) – which ended in a technical draw due to time constraints; 6-2, 4-3 (Denbee) – we realized that we had scheduled our match at the exact time that Spain was to play France in the World Cup (2). We rescheduled for later and headed to San Remo Pizzeria to watch the game. That’s when Edd told me that Bar Britanico actually had shut down. He said he actually came out of the Piso Loco and saw the crowd gathered for the actual closing. In his own words:

“After more than 40 years the shutters finally fell on Bar Britanico. Los ojos de Bar Britanico se cerraron. The moment passed as Britanico had always lived, quietly, peaceful, without making a fuss. As the dirty shutters rolled down, filthy from lack of use over the last 40 years, there was no shouting, no fighting, just silent reflection on all the events that had happened inside those doors.

The TV cameras filmed, half a dozen policeman stood silently, arms folded, a handful of people with cameras tried to capture the historic moment. Inside a lone waiter swept the empty bar for the final time. The end of an era some might say.”

Ironically as we rounded the corner there was Tony (3), ‘Sub-Editor of the Buenos Aires Herald’ and the Bar’s worst but most steadfast gringo patron, sitting alone on a small stool in the tiny annd cold corner Pancheria (hotdog joint) just a few blocks down from Britanico, also on another corner of Parque Lezama... looking forlorn and lost. “His life must be upside-down,” says Denbee, or something to that effect - a sad day indeed.

1 – A strange purely Argentine invention which uses a tennis ball, a tennis net and something just smaller than an actual tennis court but is played with these giant poly-carbonate paddles with holes in them, similar to racquetball paddles but much larger. It’s also similar to squash (I think), which I’ve never actually played.

2 – Which as most of you will know by now ended 3-1, with France scoring TWO goals in the last ten minutes… damn FROGS!

3 – Tony, as I’ve written before is the guy that looks like the lead singer of ‘Simply Red’ and has been called among other things, ‘the laughing stock of the Buenos Aires Herald,’ mostly because he either comes into work drunk or falls asleep at his desk because he is hung over.

Afghanistan, Rambo III & The War(rior) Within

A slight digression, but this is what happens when you can’t sleep late at night and you flip on the tube in Argentina; bad movies on bad television – badly exported American culture/propaganda.

Released on May 25, 1988(1) towards the end of the Cold War between Russia and the USA, RAMBO III finds ex-Green Beret commando John Rambo (Sylvester Stallone) (2) stick fighting in a pit, much like Ultimate Cage fighting of today, somewhere in Asia and winning, giving all his profits from illegal gambling to the Buddhist monks that he lives and works with. Then one day Colonel Trautman (Richard Crenna), his ex-commanding officer from Vietnam tracks him down at the monastery where he is working peacefully with his bare hands, chiseling away at a tall tower with a wooden mallet. Colonel Trautman tells him about a secret mission to assist rebel ‘Freedom Fighting’ forces in Afghanistan to bring down the weakening Soviet Army.

"My war is over Colonel,” says Rambo in that monotone voice that preceded Keanu Reeves. “John, when are you going to stop fighting yourself? You’re a warrior and always will be. We [the U.S. Army] didn’t make you this way, we just chipped away at the rough edges,” replies Colonel Trautman. Rambo declines and the Colonel leaves.

Time passes and the Ambassador to Afghanistan returns to the monastery alone to inform Rambo that his ex-Colonel has been captured by the Russians and is being tortured against his will. In one scene the Russian commander says to the Colonel, “If you’d studied your history you’d realize that those people [Afghans] would rather DIE than be over run by invading forces.” Sound familiar?

If you look at the history of the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan starting in 1979 you’d see the U.S. playing Cold War in Afghanistan. Zbigniew Brzezinski, National Security Advisor to then President Jimmy Carter, had this to say in a 1998 interview with Le Nouvel Observateur: "That secret operation was an excellent idea. It had the effect of drawing the Russians into the Afghan trap..." [...]"The day that the Soviets officially crossed the border, I wrote to President Carter. We now have the opportunity of giving to the USSR its Vietnam War. Indeed, for almost 10 years, Moscow had to carry on a war unsupportable by the government, a conflict that brought about the demoralization and finally the breakup of the Soviet empire."

John Rambo travels secretly to Afghanistan, befriends the Mujahideen rebels who caution him against any attempt to rescue his former Colonel, and learns about Jihad. Declaring that he doesn’t care if he dies trying to save his ex-Colonel, one of the wizened guerilla warriors responds, “Us Mujahideen warriors, holy warriors, consider ourselves already dead, so we fight till the death so our children won’t have to.”
It has been widely reported that indeed the CIA was secretly funding the Mujahideen Freedom Fighters with FIM Stinger ‘man-portable surface-to-air' missiles, which is the premise of this film and also the beginnings of Al-Qaida, a point on which I must further digress.

Robin Cook, former British Secretary of State and Leader of the House of Commons sums it up best: “Bin Laden was, though, a product of a monumental miscalculation by western security agencies. Throughout the 80s he was armed by the CIA and funded by the Saudis to wage jihad against the Russian occupation of Afghanistan. Al-Qaida, literally "the database", was originally the computer file of the thousands of Mujahideen who were recruited and trained with help from the CIA to defeat the Russians. Inexplicably, and with disastrous consequences, it never appears to have occurred to Washington that once Russia was out of the way, Bin Laden's organization would turn its attention to the west.”

Unfortunatley, the US Government doesn't see it this way. For their official explantion, visit the U.S. Government's Department of State's 'Identifying Missinformation' page. And as for the CIA, they issued this official statement in response to the hypothetical question "Has the CIA ever provided funding, training, or other support to Usama Bin Laden?": "No. Numerous comments in the media recently have reiterated a widely circulated but incorrect notion that the CIA once had a relationship with Usama Bin Laden. For the record, you should know that the CIA never employed, paid, or maintained any relationship whatsoever with Bin Laden (emphasis in original)."

The landscape in the film really does looks like Afghanistan, at least from what I’ve seen in TIME Magazine and on CNN. There's the desert, the mountains with cavernous tunnels, skinny men with beards and clothes wrapped around their heads like turbans... even the music for the film conveys the landscape, almost sounding like the great American composer Aaron Copeland’s vivid compositions, portraits themselves of the vast Western American landscape.

Amidst huge explosions and special effects, (3) Rambo almost single-handedly rescues the Colonel, kills off most of the Russians soldiers (4) guarding the fortress, and escapes, which brings more Russian troops after him as he and the Colonel try and reach the border with Pakistan (sound familiar again)? Facing what look like Apache attack helicopters, a few Russian tanks, and about a hundred Russian soldiers, here come the Mujahedeen on horseback to save the day and Rambo’s ass.

As the film fades to black and before the credits begin to roll, Bill Hedley starts his soulful rendition of ‘He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother’. Big bold block white letters appear, simply saying “This film is dedicated to the gallant people of Afghanistan". And then if you actually read the credits, which I don’t think most people do, you learn more interesting facts about the film. Not only was it shot on location in ISRAEL (and Arizona) but the weapons AND helicopters were provided by ISRAEL!

Even more ironic is the special thanks to then U.S. Republican Senator Pete Wilson who would become Governor of California just two years later. WHAT?! And now we’ve got Arnold Schwarzenegger, another Rambo-type in office. Talk about cover-ups and Illuminati conspiracy theories and gross misuse of American tax-payer dollars! (Perhaps a bit of a stretch but for recent news on deteriorating US - Afghani relationships check out the latest blunder as reported in the International Herald Tribune).

1 – Ironically (again) ten days before the first withdrawals of Soviet troops from Afghanistan.

2 – Sly actually co-wrote the film and was nominated for a Razzie award for worst screenplay. He actually WON the Razzie award for worst actor for this film.

3 – According to IMDB, at the time of release this was the most expensive film ever made with a budget weighing in at $63 million. To date the film has grossed $189,015,611 in revenues.

4 – The film was also noted by the Guinness Book of World Records (1990) as the most violent film to date. It was noted with 221 acts of violence and over 108 deaths (IMDB).

Italy vs. the USA

It's a 1-1 tie with 60:00 minutes on the clock and it seems like the US has been dominating the game so far, at least the first half. It also seems like the referees are a bit card-happy dishing out the red cards a bit unecessarily, prematurely. But at least the US is making a stand, 'playing with heart' as Papa put it.

Now Italy is coming on stronger here in the second half. Both teams need to win this one, not tie, especially the US. It's hard not to catch World Cup fever living here in Argentina. I was woken up yesterday to the honking of horns and shouting on the streets after Argentina, super-well poised to move forward beat, actually slaughtered Serbia-Montenegro, 6-0. But here, the word on the street is the fear of Brazil. No one talks about it but everyone in Argentina fears Brazil, probably the whole world.

The US just scored but there was another penalty and it didn't count. Too many penalties. It's funny how they keep showing blonde American chicks with big tits jumping up and down waving US flags. That's what the rest of the world expects, thinks of Americans, especially American girls. And then the fat US fans, shaking their bellies, also jumping up and down.

Here comes another 'tiro libre' or free kick for the US... missed. Actually the US goal keeper is the hero so far with several excellent saves. 74:00 on the clock and its still 1-1 and here comes another tiro libre for the US. The US has had SO many opportunities to shoot on goal and just can't convert... that's the difference. If Italy had half the chances they probably would have scored twice as many goals by now. At least that's what I think the commentator said in Spanish.

Italy is striking hard with one minute to go. Here they go again... nada. I guess a tie is better than a loss for US!

Maybe the Revolution WON'T Be Televised

Maybe... it won't even happen at all. I must bring to your attention this interesting and somewhat provocative article by Tony Long who writes for Wired Magazine based out of San Francisco.

Is it really that we are all just too 'busy;' paying rent, buying lofts, getting drunk, or just watching TV to really care, or act or to revolt? Sure we talk and laugh and get MAD about it all, sometimes. But when it really comes down to IT, nothing happens, no one learns and nothing changes. But as we all (or not) learned way back in college, 'the only thing that is constant IS change' (and I can't even remember or find who said it... starts with a 'P'). Something will change...

Here's a quote I did find which is semi-relevant. "It is necessary to understand that war is common, strife is customary, and all things happen because of strife and necessity." Heraclitus 500 B.C.