the baudy-mouthed paul newman

The Great Salad Dressing Balloon Race. An armada of balloons loaded with Light Honey Mustard. The starters gun - Bazoombah! They all rise majestically into the air. Newman's Own Balloon, with fewer calories, more taste, and secretly propelled by charity, flies faster than Kraft® and further than Wishbone®. First across. First on the ground. El Piloto quaffs mucho quaffs of Newman's Own Light Honey Mustard in victory. A medium light Italian starlet, daughter of Butch Cassidini, named Bitch Cassidini, leaps into the balloon basket, kisses, Piloto, her lips smeared with Newman's Own Light, she murmurs, "you taste of Sicily, of Vesuvius, of Naples, baby", [sic] and patting his fanny she whispers, "and no fat."

This, on a bottle of salad dressing! Paul Newman! My virgin eyes! Although it does provide much more entertainment than reading ingredient labels...

here

Well, we made it. Through a little smog (hey, there are 12 million people here, after all), graffitied walls (with lots of English band names, funny enough - Oasis, Rammstein, Ben Folds?), cobbled streets, and a mysterious missing reservation, we´ve finally arrived. First on the list is getting some sleep, followed by figuring out where we are and where we have to go. But we´re here, and that´s the important thing. See you on the other side of a few hours of sleep.

an old show tune

Chris was recently telling friends about another friend´s Christmas show in Taiwan. I had heard the story quite some time ago, but had forgotten it. It is so good, though, you must absolutely hear it. Here, then, according to the lovely Chris, is the story of Basketball Jesus and the Three College Graduates.

So, Josh's school, like most English schools here, put on a huge Christmas show. Kids all dressed up and singing, showing off their English abilities with Jingle Bells and We Wish You a Merry Christmas, the only two carols Taiwanese kids are capable of remembering. But unlike most schools, his included a nativity scene. The religious aspect is usually avoided, as they're all Buddhists and Taoists here, but for whatever reason, they had a little pagent. So, first they introduce the virgin Maria, a little girl dressed in a sequined glamour-girl gown with a basketball down the front. Next, they bring out Jo-see-fu, a little boy wrapped in a black towel toga. Josh looks closer, and there is a pattern of green leaves sewn into the towel. He looks closer still, and sees that, oh yes, they are marajuana leaves. Alright. So, the play starts, they go to Bethlehem, bed down for the night in a cowhouse.

At this point, Jo-see-fu tells Maria that it´s time to have the little baby. So the girl squats down, and starts grunting and pushing!! And to encourage her, naturally, all the relatives in the audience start shouting "jia you! jia you!" ("go! go!") for a full minute, she is pushing and they are chanting, before the basketball is born and exchanged for a baby-doll Jesus. Everyone cheers.

At this point, the narrator introduces the three wisemen. Only the chinese translation is, literally, the three college graduates. And sure enough, the kids come out, also in towel togas, topped with graduation caps. With them come Batman, more glamour girls, and a Santa with wings, presummably also to worship the child.

I am not making this up. Josh did not make this up, either. He's not one prone to exagerration. now, i am, but as i was writing this down, i tried to make it more dramatic somehow, but found that the truth, exactly what he told me, was funny enough.

And funny enough, that´s how it often goes. There are endless stories of semantics (obviously, large and small) lost between societies. I´m sure we as a western society have mangled many, many traditional Chinese ideas. To each their own?

the hand thing

Michigan is a strange land. Full of peach festivals and delicious cherries and people who believe they are some form of male goose (they call themselves MichiGANDERS. I suggested Michigawinians to counter this confusion, but they insist). One the oddest (albeit useful) behaviours of this odd sort is the hand thing.

Everyone from Michigan (sorry, I mean everyone from the Lower Peninsula, or LP - those from the Upper Peninsula are left to fend for themselves, choosing another body part to describe their home), when describing where they´re from or where they´re going in Michigan, uses their right hand, palm towards them. Why? Take a look.

Now, admittedly, it does make sense. It´s just funny to see two people from Michigan greet each other, then both put up their hands to show where they´re from, and use hand geometry to describe locations. "Oh, yeah, I know that lake. It´s close to the second knuckle, isn´t it?"

Pokes and prods aside, there are times that it would be nice to say to someone who knew Saskatchewan and it´s woman´s-skirt shape (or hear, if you didn´t know), "Yeah, I´m from around mid-left-thigh," or even better, "Well, my family´s from the groin area."

OK, maybe not that jealous. Everyone would be from around the ankles, except if you were from La Ronge or Uranium City. That could be a problem. You´d have to start identifying by length down the tibia, or which metatarsal. And that would just be too much. Besides, everyone who´s interested in Saskatchewan already knows where your town is, or at least the semi-largest town near it, anyway.

it's a helluva town

Well, I finally made it to New York. If you only want to see pictures, you can check them out here, but I´ll try and give a little more filler of my first visit to my second of the three world cities (those being New York, Hong Kong, and London).

Now, first off, New Yorkers seem to be the most flexible people in the world, but only in certain areas. Namely, the neck. I've never seen such a line-up as the one that arrested us coming into the city, and it was all because some guy had gotten pulled over for a ticket. I'm not lying an inch, I swear. We proceeded to get lost, then find ourselves (Chris lived there for a summer, staying with her great-aunt, whom we also would be staying with), in the non-incarcerated way. The first thing I heard, pulling into her aunt´s neighbourhood, was the tail end of a woman yelling into a payphone. "...ya shithead!" Welcome to New York!

That being said, I think the recently-published survey was right (the article actually talks about how Mumbai, formerly Bombay, is really pissed at being deemed the rudest, a different tilt on the North American articles). New York has gotta be one of the most polite cities I have ever been to in my life. Thank yous, opened doors, the little things abounded left and right. It was a little shocking, having my ideas of the gruff New Yorker rebuffed, though I've heard since that it´s supposedly the Bridge-and-Tunnel crowd (those coming into Manhatten from outside of it) who are more curt with others. Anyway, a pleasant surprise.

We had two short days and made the most of them. Mostly, they were spent wandering. Battery Park (in which I gave more attention to the flowers opposite the Statue of Liberty than the statue itself and saw a walking, gesturing Statue of Liberty wearing Y2K glasses), the Ground Zero memorial (an interesting timeline, though people were standing there filming it. To read later?), and Chris' old workplace. We visited a church across from Ground Zero which had an interesting story in and of itself. First off, there were graves from the 18th century on stone that had been worn thin by the passage of hard years. Second of all, it was right across the street and hadn't fallen, making it a resting place for volunteers, a temporary hospital for victims, and a makeshift temple to the lost. They´ve cleaned it up now (there wasn't much room with all that stuff going on in the days after 9/11), but there are still a lot of letters, flags, and items from five years ago.

We did manage to catch some New York traditions (well, traditions in my head, anyway) - a pastrami on rye with a pickle at a kosher deli (an incredibly close second only to Montreal Smoked Meat from Schwartz' in Montreal), a hot pretzel, a hot dog by Central Park. An off-Broadway show about dead lesbian nuns, bisexual vampires, and Catholic witches. A trip through Times Square at night (which, seeing old pictures of after, has experienced such a transition in the last fifteen years as to almost render it unrecognizable). Walking up and down Fifth Avenue, spending time lounging in Central Park. Oh, the flag on the New York Stock Exchange is the largest flag I have ever seen in my life (though, of course, now I must see the Superflag.

We visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art, definitely one of the largest museums I've ever been in. The largest collection of Egyptian artifacts outside of Egypt, Indonesian ikat weaving (hey, didn't we already see that?), African carvings, an exhibit on Susan Sontag, and then there was all the regular art. The four hours we spent barely touched on it all. There are dozens and dozens of museums in the city, all of which I would love to see (the Sex Museum would've been especially interesting, IMHO).

Grand Central Station was a personal favourite of mine. We met Chris' uncle for a brief tour and history lesson (the planning of that place was absolutely phenomenal - thinking ahead to routing traffic, people, and trains. I mean, think about it, how many buildings built at the beginning of the last century that could still handle the traffic of millions of people a day with a minimum of change since then? And, of course, the politicians stole the glory from the designer, according to the uncle) after a visit to the AMAZING New York City Apple Store. Next time I buy a laptop, I'm seriously considering Apple. I've just heard too many good things about them. Uncle Don regaled us for a couple of hours more of history and minutia of the downtown area (like the dome of Grand Central having a small spot left after the cleaning for comparison, or the faces of the clocks in Grand Central, in addition to being a universal directional aid, are made of one giant opal each. Great stuff like that).

Those were the highlights. Bridges, streets, people, food, newsstands, and another metro system filled the rest of the time. I could've spent weeks more there, just walking around, exploring, seeing. I'll freely admit, it was different seeing neighbourhoods change from street to street, but walking through New York, it's there - we went from Diamond Alley, populated heavily with Hasidic Jews, to Little Brazil, in the space of a block.

I thoroughly enjoyed my time in New York and dearly wish to return with much more time and money in my pockets. Someday, world, someday.

buenos aires - a beginning

Well, like I said, we made it here. It was a grim-looking day to come in on - the sky looked like its best friend had died, but we eventually found our way, plenty of thanks to Chris' command of the language.

It's been a change, that's for sure. There was a Playboy model who came in at about the same time. I can guess it because all the (male) reporters standing around her and the camera were holding copies of the magazine. Just the beginning of sex here.

Buenos Aires, being a collection of immigrants from Spain and Italy from so far back, is so European it isn't funny. Fun, though. Cafés everywhere (and you always get something more when you order - tang, seltzer water, cookies - rock!), a wide variety of porn magazines available on the street, and everyone is dressed to the nines all the time. It's the Paris of South America. People here have a way of even making sweats look awesome.

We haven't explored a lot - there's been a lot of sitting, relaxing, taking it in. Everyone always says it - visiting home is not a vacation - and it's said for a good reason. This is the first chance that either of us has not felt the incredibly pressing need to get something done - something organized, a shopping trip to make, someone to see. Ironic, seeing as we're in a new place again, but there'll be time for that later. Starting tomorrow, as a matter of fact. Pictures are on their way, don't you worry. It's just been a little dreary and up-in-arms to be taking pictures.

Placement for me was awesome - I just walked in and Chris told them my Spanish was nada. Easy peesy. She tested pretty well, ending up about where she expected. So we're all signed up and ready to go for the coming session of Spanish lessons until October.

In the meantime, we have time to enjoy the food. And man, has it been good. Rent prices may match something back home (at least for foreigners), but the food is dirt cheap and incredible. The pasta has been astounding (for $2-3 a plate), the pizza fantastic ($4-6 for a pie), and the beef astounding ($3 for a stirloin steak?!?). Our first dinner, we decided to try out a parrilla - a grill, the likes of which are found far and wide here. Chris told the owner that it was our first night in town and give us what was good. And so he did. The only things we ate that night that weren't from a cow was a bottle of beer and some bread. We were overwhelmed with the first plate (and this was before we realized it was the first plate) when it was delivered.

(picture by Chris)

I'm not quite sure what anything is on there, except one of the sausages was just 'regular' meat (damn good stuff, too), and the other was not regular meat. Chris thought the round things looked like intestine, and we thought the other presence on the plate (unseen in the picture) were brains, but the owner said they were not. It was a good thing we were used to eating without knowing. And like I said, stuffed. We didn't even finish that plate. As the man with the plan came around to collect the plate and hear our praises for his meat, Chris thought she heard him say, "The meat is coming soon."

Uh oh.

Ten minutes later, three of the most delicious sirloin steaks I've ever eaten appear at our table. We got them down (meals that aren't guttled are wonderful things), if having them melt on your tongue could be referred to in that simple of a manner. I don't think I've ever eaten such a large portion of just meat. Wow. And the whole thing? Eleven dollaridoos. (That's Americano, por favor. Actually, they use pesos down here, but American is still recognized in a lot of places.)

So there're a few first impressions and experiences. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to enjoy my dollar bottle of wine and a good book.

the eyes have it

As some of you may remember, I got the laser surgery a couple of years ago next month. Well, for those who might be interested, things are going awesome with it. I have never experienced the dry eyes or starbursts that sometimes follow the operation that can sometimes happen (though they usually occurred with older surgeries, not so much with the newer ones like the kind that I got. Specifically which kind that is, I can't tell you now, but if you're really interested, drop me a line). My vision remains at least 20/20, possibly even a little better - I know that everyone initially tests better, then regresses a tiny bit as the eyes heal, but I seem to remember consistently testing better than average, which was fabulous.

The only regret which I could possibly have had is not getting the astigmatism extra. However, in retrospect, for the $1000CDN it would have cost, the fact that I still have it has never bothered me. I can notice that the right eye is a bit fuzzier than the left, but it's a matter of microfuzz. All in all, it's been nothing but happiness and clarity, not to mention incredible convenience during traveling. That's been the biggest boom - I thanked my lucky stars every time I saw someone pulling out contacts. As a photographer, too, it's been terrific. No need to take off or put on glasses or play with the dioptric adjustments, just look, see, and shoot.

I also had a friend in Taiwan who received the surgery as a birthday gift. He has been quite limited in sight for a good portion of his life (though part of this was due to his refusal to wear glasses). Regardless, he got the surgery and viewed it as something of a minor miracle. As with so many things in life, it's hard to realize what you're missing if you're not aware of the potential.

In the end, if you find this and are contemplating the surgery, I say go for it. It's come a long way in the last fifteen years (I did a report in high school on eyes that included a chapter on laser eye surgery, and it scared the bejeesus out of me at the time), and though it's true no one knows the really long term effects, things have worked out so far for yours truly. Of course, there are plenty of other, easily and argueably better, things to spend your money on, but that's a whole other entry.

food, glorious food

We went to the big grocery store for the first time today just to look around, and now I've gotta write about the food.

Due to the economic crash, things are cheap here, especially food. You may not be able to get absolutely everything on the planet here (although we haven't visited Chinatown yet), but there is a lot of what they do have. Dozens of cheeses - there was an entire aisle dedicated to them, right beside the counter where you could get fresh cuts from rounds. Speaking of rounds, we saw a half round for under a dollar (I have no idea the quality, but I have never seen so much cheese for so little money.

It is just bewildering at times, simply as an indication at how far the economy crashed here (the peso was devalued 80% in 2002). We went out for veggies the other day and got a big bunch of spinach, a head of broccoli, a huge green pepper, and a dozen mandarin oranges for less than $3US. A kilo of pasta is less than a buck. And of course, the beef. Four sirloin steaks at the supermarket, 16 oz each, for $8US total. A kilo of ground beef for two dollars. Three ribeyes, 12 oz each, for $4.

This evening, we got a fabulous mozzerella and olive pizza and a litre of beer to share for four smackers. I think I mentioned last time, like Europe, you always get free things when ordering at a cafe during the day - free cookies with tea, free water and juice with your submarino (hot milk served with a divine little chocolate bar for melting). Great Argentinian wine for a dollar or two (the really good stuff can be bought for five or six dollars).

What really got me were the vegetables. They seem so cheap compared to what I had been paying in Taiwan and even at home. I've noticed that a lot of things are Argentinian - they don't ship a lot of stuff in, and if it is brought in, it's from South America. I think the only thing I've seen from off the continent is split green peas from Canada.

Personally, I love it. So much good food, so very little time.

returning?

Leaving a place you're used to generally tends to be hard. You know the rules, you've learned the ropes, found the good spots. You are known in your regular joints, and your favourite places are well-visited. You've got a routine. What if that place is not where you grew up? What if it's not even in the same hemisphere? What if this place feels more like home than home?

Teaching English in eastern Asian countries these days can lead to a bit of a fantasy life. You make big bagfuls of money, you're treated different because you look different, and in whatever manner you act, however different it may be, you are tolerated, because you're expected to be different. Due to the high wage, only a minimum of hours need to be completed in order to maintain this comfortable lifestyle. A lot of people aren't planning on staying, so there's no rush for material things (they'll just have to be shipped later), foreigners can't take out loans, so there's no worrying about the car loan or the mortgage, and everyone's young, single, or doesn't want children yet, or at all (or a mixture of any of these). Life is easy.

Leaving this, you are forced to realize that real life is hard. And man, it can be a shock. Getting a job takes work (not just a resume, a demo, and the right accent), places to stay aren't cheap (and if they are, it's not usually just because of location, or rather, it is, but moreso), utilities are high (they're not subsidized by the government), eating out isn't cheap (people don't have their home-based restaurant and home in the same building, and street food can't be found everywhere), and so on, and so on. Life is filled with lots of hard edges, I've found after emerging from a cocoon of asian silk. We just get used to them, or wear them down with time. But if you're not used to them, they can really hurt.

That, I believe, is why people elect to return to the cocoon. I just got an email from a friend who returned home at around the same time I did. He detailed some interviews that he had, things were looking up, but if they didn't work out, he was definitely thinking of flying back to Asia to roost there a little longer. I'd be quite a bit richer if I had a nickel for every time I thought about returning, about how things were different when I wasn't in Asia, harder, more expensive, not the way I had grown used to enjoying. How life seemed more limited in ways, how it seemed we were getting less for more. Issues that had previously been debate fodder in Taiwan were suddenly in my face, and Asia was already fading - it isn't really featured in the western-centred media.

The key, I've found, is to have a plan and to stand by it. Many come back and go to school (that financial commitment can be a helpful anchor). Of course, having a job upon return is a big help. It takes a lot of discipline to submit to the rigors of the rat race again, but a focus really helps out.

It's still difficult, however. I've felt the urge myself numerous times, and we had it laid out. Even people with a job have floundered and come back. The temptation is great, the life is easy, and once you've made the cultural shift, it's much easier to do it again.

I've been writing this from my own experience in Taiwan. East Asia carries its own particular grasp (some can't stand it, that's also a fact), but there's something more that extends far beyond these borders. It's the expansion of experience that comes with being so far away. Many people (and I have this on confirmation from all over the world) feel more like immigrants when they return than citizens. Ex-pats become their own culture, their own race, almost. I know I felt displaced upon returning to North America. It's a weird feeling, a sense of alienation in your home town, surrounded by friends and family. Cultural estrangement certainly made me feel a schism between my 'old' life and my 'new' one. Some people never return because of it. They get used to feeling different, luxuriate in it, even. (It's been interesting, being a part of the visual majority again, after experiencing minority status for so long.)

Fantasy worlds are fine as long as the participants are aware of what they are in, what they are doing, and the consequences. The emergence from those worlds can be quite harsh if one is not prepared for it - like waking from the middle of a dream to a smoke alarm. Some of it is inevitable, and always will be, and sometimes, that far-off goal is the only thing that keeps you going.

Well, for me, that, and even more of the Pacific.

different culture, different values

Christine reads the Spanish papers and stumbled across the touchy issue of publicly-accessible ways to eliminate their means of reproduction the other day. The Senate and Congress just voted to give general access to vasectomies and tubal ligations to anyone who wants one - a big flip from the way things were before. In the past, a person could only get a vasectomy or tubal ligation after a judge approved his/her request. Could you image having to tell a judge why you wanted a vasectomy, and having to live with their decision? Of course, anywhere you go, the issue of what you can do to your body and whether the state has any say in that is a touchy one. There are obviously religious institutions laying into this (the Roman Catholic church made it well known how opposed they were to this), as it deals with reproduction, and since it's a bill to have it done for free under government health care, it becomes even more sticky in a country where 95% of the people are supposed to be Catholic. (Is it free in North America? Does anyone out there know?

The request was launched by a house painter, whom, to quote a quoter (I found it on vivirlatino.com, who quoted from elsewhere) is:

An Argentine who is 44 years old and has 37 children has asked the courts to allow him to have a vasectomy because he doesn't want to keep procreating.

Wow. 37 children? He says he can't control himself when he's in love, and contraceptives are too expensive for him - that he'd have to deny his family food to get them. Wow.

It certainly has been interesting going from culture to culture to culture and seeing how religion inspires, rules, or is removed from them. From Buddhist Thailand to talk of ghosts in Indonesia to Taoist Taiwan to the calls to prayer of Brunei to North America to here, there've been a lot of jumps. This last one just seems, to me, a bit stranger, as it's like the culture we were raised in, only magnified. The Catholic pull here is quite strong. You see it in the fact that there are churches everywhere (and they're HUGE and GORGEOUS and I'll try and have pictures up soon), little shrines to Mary in the subway station and at the park that people cross themselves in front of and leaves flowers at, and the phrase for 'behave yourself' in Harry Potter in Spanish is 'behave as God demands', literally translated. There are some deep roots here.

Of course, you take it as you go, and differences are what make living somewhere else so exciting. I can't wait to see more.

photos from around the world

I'm so self-centered. Here's me, not posting any pictures. I'm getting here. In the meantime, I seriously recommend these go-getters:

1. My brother is jet-setting around Europe this summer, visiting all the people he met in Australia and generally enjoying himself. He did the running of the bulls in Spain and has hit a bunch of other countries in his travels. He's got a great eye. Check out his pictures.

2. Christine has taken the jump on me and set up a photoblog. She's way too modest - she's got some great pics, and they're a terrific peek at what we've been doing down here. Her goal is one a day, and she's got a great mix. Go on and enjoy it.

a visit too brief

Thought it's almost three weeks ago, I have to give a brief about my wonderful time in Ottawa. It's been over two and a half years since I'd left my home there, randomly throwing items into boxes and storing them at friends' places. There they stayed, getting moved around to different houses in my absence, going through floods, break-ups, and eventually being sent back to Saskatchewan (better to have everything in one place). While a good amount of time was spent organizing my stuff, I did have time to visit, to see things (very unfortunately, not the Canadian Mint, my favourite sight in Ottawa), and even to get some exercise.

I stayed at the wonderful home of my friends Jason & Roisin (Jason and I sharpened our teeth together as photographers in Ottawa, you can check out his developing site here, which he'll hopefully be adding to soon), who fed me very well, regaled me with stories of various people and events throughout my stay, and introduced me to new authors and talked books with me (it is my opinion that everyone should read Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke. It's the only book I've ever read that I've immediately wanted to flip over and start again right away. Of course, anyone who has read it has impeccable taste, IMHO). They took me rock climbing, an activity I seriously intend to pursue in the future (days of sore forearms will follow, I'm sure), I went to my first yoga lesson under a certified instructor with Roisin at Rama Lotus Yoga (which was terrific, though exhausting). I chatted photography with Jason, cooking with Roisin, and goings-on with both. They are one of my favourite couples, and I honestly can't wait to see them again.

I also got to (finally!) meet Miss Fish or Andrea, as the real world knows her. This was a real treat (although not without a few butterflies - this was my first meeting of an online friend) - I've been reading her blog for years and sending her lots of wonderful Asian paper, which she transforms into staggering feats of art (or will, someday). I even got to meet her terrifically talented daughters, who bounded up and down the beach, reporting their findings of coloured rocks and shells and other treasures to their mother periodically. We talked of photography, parenting, travel, how she met her husband, and other pleasantries accompanied by a beer or two. The girls enlightened me later on as to the small critters they had seen while camping and the much larger critters they had seen at the zoo in Toronto recently. It stood unchallenged as my favourite afternoon in Ottawa.

I got to see some old friends and meet some new ones in my time there. One was the biggest Saskatchewan Roughrider fan I know, who has been a good friend since forever. I missed out on visiting the Royal Canadian Mint, one of my Ottawa standbys, though I did catch the changing of the guard on Parliament Hill. Go Mounties.

It was really too soon when I left this wonderful town and all its wonderful people. Being away and finding roots in Taiwan had made me forget this town, but being back brought old memories of good times enjoyed here, and how much potential there is for more in this town. Thanks, Ottawa, for yet more good times

tax revolting

While I was in Ottawa, I found out a fact that, while it cheesed me, is to be expected from a conservative government, in my experience. The GST in Canada was lowered July 1st, from 7% to 6% - big headlines, the Conservatives doing what the Liberals never could, blah blah blah. Besides all the problems this causes businesses' cash machines that have already been wired for 7%, there's the problem of making up for that huge gap of revenue. No problem, say those wily Conservatives. We'll just raise other taxes and not mention it.

Yes, as I found out while I was home from a good friend, most people discovered near the middle of July that their income tax had been raised by 0.5% to make up for the 'tax cut'. While that may not sound like much, well, it is. First of all, it's the exchange of a voluntary tax (spending money on taxable objects is, mostly voluntary - the things that we need, like food and rent, aren't taxed) for a forced one. Second the magnitude of the change is staggering when it's thought out (luckily, the thinking was done for me by others:

To offset such generosity they simultaneously impose a .5% increase on the income taxes on the first $36,400 of each of us. That means that each of us will be parting with an additional $182 each year in in the form of income tax on that $36,400.

We would have to spend 50%($18,200)on items that are subject to the GST just to continue to pay the same amount of income tax on that $35,400 as we pay at the present.

This kind of sneaky thing is what really can get my goat with government. It's not just the conservatives, both sides practice their various chicanery, but the right side of the spectrum seems to do it so much more smoothly and without any sense of irony. Really gets my goat sometimes. Anyway, be prepared to live with it, there's no plan to drop it back down. In fact, with Harper's proposal to eventually drop it to 5% (snort), who knows what may go up next time.

(Yes, I know it's late. I'm catching up.)

the taste is...off

Wanna know what doesn't go together? Orange and mint. I know because the toothpaste I'm using is a horrid combination of these flavours. I've tried lemon mint before and can't say I had strong feelings about it, but orange mint is terrible (I say this as I continue to use it day in and day out. Well, it's the only toothpaste I have right now. Well, that and the Black Man toothpaste Chris has. But that's not mine).

Why would I buy this? Well, I didn't, actually - I found it while cleaning my stuff out in Ottawa. It's not like toothpaste goes bad. (Does it? Hold on. Oh. It does.)

Well, I'm off to find some new toothpaste. What have we learned? Orange + Mint = bad. And toothpaste expires. Good night.

argentine spanish - sh to your y

If I want it, I can definitely get exposure to Spanish here. Not that I'll understand a lick of it (yet!), but that doesn't have to place a damper on things at all. Class went as is becoming routine. I can now tell you I'm hungry and find out your name, nationality, and family members. I'm already developing the Argentine accent, a fact which annoys Chris to no end, as it is not spoken anywhere else in the world. They have their own pronoun here! Pronouns benefit all.

We then headed on to South American Explorers clubhouse, a little organization we found that does a great job of consolidating peoples' experiences and using them to help others. They also offer little things for travelers and members in town, one being a biweekly conversation class. The teacher volunteers her time (in the hope of attracting students), and brings a topic each week, sometimes participating herself, sometimes listening and noting errors, which are discussed at the end of the night. The topic that night was horoscopes. Not even knowing how to say 'but' (pero, as I now know), I just sat and absorbed Argentine Spanish. Also, Argentine wine. Everyone knows that a little liquid courage will free a tongue on a dance floor, so why wouldn't it help conversation in a casual classroom? Well, not having conversation to keep my mouth busy, I was treated to an assortment of fine definitely decent wines. Needless to say, I was on my way to using Spanish I didn't have by the time the conversation wrapped up.

That wasn't the end of Spanish for the day, however. We stumbled over to a local tango bar (not dance, just song) and enjoyed an evening's worth of beautiful tango songs in a tiny bar, stuffed with people. Just a guy with a guitar and a girl with a chocolaty voice, old lyrics floating off her tongue and through the silent room. It was awesome - definitely worth the taste of too much beer and wine in my mouth the next day.

So yes, there is a lot of Spanish here, and not that much English. It's very easy, and quite wonderful, to immerse yourself in it, even when comprehension is beyond you. Smiles work in any tongue.

can't put it down

Going through my old mail and sorting it (Gmail is wonderful, but it enourages you to be lazy if you aren't a stickler for organization from the start. So much room!), I came upon an old email from a used-to blogger calling for favourites. I know a lot of English majors, people with great taste, and some good, old-fashioned bookwhores, so I've been blessed to have a few good books grace the curve of my hand. In Taiwan, when one person has a good book, it makes the rounds between friends - they're expensive and uncommon, so what's the point in hoarding? On the road is another experience - you never know what you're going to find. New authors and new great books, pages creased and torn, covers faded. One of the best books I read while traveling around SE Asia was Nights at the Circus by Angela Carter, which we found in a dusty little exchange in VERY backwoods Sumatra. You never know.

Anyway, I can't say exactly what's available down here or how much it is - I know of one good English book store here (as yet unvisited) and I'm sure there're some used ones about (it is a tourist hot-spot, after all) - but I'm still interested in what you have to suggest, all the same. What are your top five favourites? Books that held you, arrested you, wouldn't let you go? Why? I'd love to start. I'm only going to list five, as I'm sure it could go on forever.

5. Great Expectations (Charles Dickens). The classic that I didn't expect. I mean, sure, classic, but as I read it, I found out it wasn't a dusty old read-for-school book. Dickens has such a way with words that by the end, I had had a few tears following Pip. Dickens definitely does the pathos well here.

4. Gould's Book of Fish: A Novel in Twelve Fish (Richard Flanagan). This was another surprise, though once I read the first chapter, I couldn't stop. I'd read a fish at a time, usually, without setting it down. Sometimes two. I've even seen some of the fish since, which, at first, provided a very weird sense of deja vu. I want to read this again now.

3. Oryx and Crake (Margaret Atwood). My first Margaret Atwood book, I only read it a year ago (I'm such a bad Canadian). Since then, I've read every novel she wrote back to the ealy seventies, I think. I loved the idea of this one. She's gotten really, really good with time.

2. The Poisonwood Bible (Barbara Kingsolver). I've since read a fair bit of Kingsolver (this was my first), but this one swept me off my feet. I felt like I was watching these people as they tried to make a go of it in Africa. My last session with the book lasted something like five straight hours, just because I couldn't bear to put the book down.

1. Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norell (Susanna Clarke). As I previously mentioned, this is the only book I've finished and wanted to start over again immediately. I think everyone in the world should read this book. I read somewhere that it took her something like eight years to write this, and I can see why - her storywriting style flows so well, with everything eventually making sense in a very perfect way.

Read anything good lately?

SNAKES on your PHONE

I don't want to alarm you, but I just got a message from SAMUEL L. JACKSON himself. He was just making sure I was going to go and see Snakes on a Plane. I'm supposed to stop babysitting tourists, messing around with my camera, and fiddling with my hairy, scary beard and just see the movie. Man, he knows me well. When I see him, I'll be sure to get an autograph for you. I'm sure you know what will happen if I don't go. SNAKES ON A PLANE, FOLKS. And you'll even be able to see them, as they'll be in big, clear bags.

Thanks to Tyler for sending this fun little toy on to me. If you want to send someone a message by phone (? - yeah, I'm not sure about this one, I'll eave you to check it out) or by email, check out this part of the Snakes on a Plane site.

farvos nisht? (why not?)

In searching for a Jewish museum mentioned in the paper the other day, I came up on an interesting fact: Buenos Aires is one of only four cities in the world that publishes a Yiddish newspaper. A Yiddish newspaper? The writing is vaguely Hebrew (take a look here, where you can also search for your favourite Yiddish saying), but what's even odder is the location of the other three in the world. Tel Aviv (well, duh), Paris (fine, lotsa Jews there, I suppose), and - get this - Birobidjan. That's in Siberia. Why a Yiddish paper in Siberia? I didn't know they published a lot of papers in Siberia, much less Yiddish ones. Weird. If we go exploring, I may pick one up for the novelty of it.

the subte

The Subte is the way to get around Buenos Aires. It's a wonderful subway system that is almost as old as the Subway in NYC (it was completed shortly after theirs was done). It covers a fair amount of the city and is (as all subways seem to be these days) in the midst of constant expansion. The history of the country and its international relations can be followed through the mosaics and paintings on the wall - for example, one line was built during especially friendly relations with Spain, so the tiles lining the tunnel walls are distinctly Spanish, having been developed by a Spanish artist.

That's all really neat, and the plan is to take a day or two, travelling back and forth on the subte, simply photographing tiles and paintings and mosaics. It'll be worth it, I promise you. It definitely won't take 24 hours, as New York apparently can.

What's really nice to see here, though, is the sense of old-tyme manners and chivalry that goes on as a matter of practice. I'm talking about the giving up of seats. It's not a burden here - it's a part of life. Young people giving up their seats for the elderly with smiles on their faces. Men offering their seats to women. I've even see two women insisting that the other one take the empty seat, that they were getting off soon, that they were just stretching their legs. It really is terrific to see. There was an article in the very recent english young-people newspaper about etiquette for giving up your seat as a male in his 20s or 30s - how to not offend others, how to graciously give up your seat without insulting a stately older gentleman, that sort of thing. It's just nice to see people thinking of others, even when they're crammed in like sardines.

a house of cards, and your tube

I've re-awakened my love for an old favourite site, cardhouse.com. They guy who runs it writes such creative (and often off-the-wall) stuff, I find myself cracking up uncontrollably. However, he also often links to really unique and interesting stuff - the things that really make the Internet wonderful and unique and weird. Through him, I found a recent post about a Dateline special on the effect of advertising on small children, causing them to choose rocks with stickers on them over bananas - as something to eat for breakfast. I also found a clip from a Japanese TV show, showing how to undress in seven seconds. (File under useful.) And, as always, Stephen Colbert (Jenny's and my forever boyfriend) is a funny man. Make sure to also check out the clip I Know What You Did Last Summer of the Shark from a few years back. I was holding my sides in case they actually burst. I seriously recommend adding cardhouse to your regular reading for that offbeat laugh each day.

Related, tangentially. Well, in a funny, well-written way. Defective Yeti also still makes me giggle all the time.

news you can use - on your mountie outfits

I received a general email from South American Explorers the other day which contained this interesting tidbit:

The red color in many American foods comes from crushed south american insects. It's true, the famous red dye from the cochineal insect that infests prickly pair cacti, is showing up in strawberry Yoplait yogurt, Hershey's Good and Plenty candies, Tropicana Ruby Red Grapefruit juice and other foods found in American supermarkets. No, the ingredients don't say "crushed bugs". Food companies are not required to be that specific and usually refer to the dye in their prodicts as "cochineal extract" or simply "artificial color".

Cochineal is a powerful dye. Only a miniscule quantity is needed to produce a vibrant stain. In colonial times the demand for cochineal was high. The red in the uniforms worn by the Redcoats during the Revolutionary War came from cochineal. Even today cochineal accounts for the red in the attire of the Canadian Mounted Police (Mounties).

Cochineal exports from Peru are booming. Cochineal, nowadays, brings in more money than silver or raw cotton.

In the meantime, food activists are pressuring the Food and Drug Adminstration to require cochineal and other food additives to be disclosed on the labels of the foods that contain them.

It comes from the female of the species, and is also used in dyeing red Smarties (that's Canadian Smarties - did you know what we call Rockets (you know, chalky tablet-like candy you get at Halloween), they call Smarties in the States? Michigan, at least. Weird). Ladies (and gentlemen, really), it's also used in cosmetics. Them's some pretty bugs!

For more visual fun, check out this set of cochineal pictures from Peru. Very cool.