Take a look at this live-action shot called “Me Blogging in Buenos Aires.”

Am I:
a) In Starbucks?    b) In a Library?   c) In McDonalds?  d) In a cool secret tea house?

Well, if you guessed “c” (and if you read the title of my post), you’re right! How nice is McDonalds in Buenos Aires? So nice, right? This wood paneling and bookshelves might actually be making me smarter!

I have a blogging job reviewing restaurants n stuff, but the links aren’t up yet, but it’s real I swear. I’ll holler when they’re ready. This blog has been forgotten for some time now, and while it’s true that I’m blogging in McDonalds, I don’t really know where to begin! In the spirit of twitter and the retarded 25 Things lists that have been sweeping the internet, I’ll go ahead and just give ya some current stuff:

1. I have a crazy boss

2. Slumdog Millionaire ruled hardcore

3. Is Fanfan the Frenchie going to take me out to dinner this week?

4. I hope I survive having to move another time… without K & J!!! Frown and death to craigslist.

5. I applied to work at Aspire this summer

6. I spilled mate all over my new white tshirt, which stains?

7. Did Nacho my student who has a GF touch my hand on purpose or by accident yesterday?

8. I’m excited to see Carlos my student who isn’t my type but I love tomorrow

9. It’s going to be a long day today- class til 930!

10. I ate leftover stir-fry for lunch

11. I should get a new white tshirt

12. I might plan a trip to the Bariloche with K & J

13. That pic Jenny posted on FB of us in Central Park is my new desktop background

14. I made a Excel spreadsheet today of my earnings and expenses for my Dad so he can get me a bigger tax refund or something.

15. Mariano the DJ has failed my subtle group-email test by not writing back even though he didn’t have to. DONE!

16. Current temperature: 79 F

17. Today’s upcoming lesson plans: Idiom Bingo with my AGD group; helping Mara apply for a job

18. Things in the future I am excited for on a daily basis: Elena and Jennys visit, Phish, the wedding

19. I painted my nails fuschia yesterday, ostensibly to stop biting them. Medium success so far.

20. McDonalds has waitresses coming up to every table and asking if she can offer us a dessert. How I keep saying “No, gracias” is very beyond me!

21. My shopping list before I leave Argentina: suede or leather boots, green dress, white tshirt, new sandals, ona saez jeans, maybe other cool leather shoes, Fernet

22. McDonalds is also playing some lame poppy girl covering “Knockin on Heavens Door” right now. Who is this girl?

23. I try to read like, two pages of Borges a week becuase after getting halfway through Ficciones, I’m mad sick of labyrinths and historical allusion. Otherwise, I’m reading Jonathan Franzen’s The Corrections, which is nada que ver and more fun to read!

24. My headphones broke again but I don’t want to buy new ones/ IhavenomoneyIhavenomoneyIhavenomoney

25. Did you guys like this blog post?

Besos,

Lauren

It’s been a long, lonely hiatus, kids but the moment you’ve been waiting for is finally– incredibly!– here….

———- Forwarded message ———-
From: <Phishtickets@musictoday.com>
Date: Sat, Jan 24, 2009 at 11:56 PM
Subject: Your Ticket Purchase #4698728
To: sarajbarnett@gmail.com

Receipt #4698728
Congratulations!  You have just purchased the following tickets:

———–
Thu Jun 18 2009 07:30 PM  Phish, Post Gazette Pavilion
Number of tickets: 2,    GA LAWN  GA LAWN
Ticket Delivery: UPS 2nd Day Air (Domestic)

Look out, Wilson! I may have gotten sidetracked in the concrete jungle, listened to some irregular electronic beats, and traded in patchwork jeans for skinnies while you were gone, but it’s high time (!!) we get back to basics, don’t you think? Unfortunately, this time around we may leave the hemp hair wraps and courderoy hats at home…

If you were me, you may have heard that Argentines take summers very seriously and said: “eh, whatever.” You may have cited your previous summer in New York City, where you were sweatin’ it out with the commuters like it was any other day in November. Whatever quantity of people that had supposedly flocked to “the Hamptons” were not only not on your social register, but their absence didn’t even make a dent in your peripheral vision. At best, there were Summer Fridays (for other people, you’d heard) and you felt less guilty about wearing flip-flops to work.

But let me be the first to tell you that down here, when you’re (even semi-) employed in Buenos Aires and summer arrives, do not expect business as usual. I won’t waste your time citing the probable European origins of this (but I’ve heard that Europeans really do know how to take a load of. They can spend an entire afternoon at a café without the slightest twinge of anxiety!). Nor will I flaunt my ex-patriotism and whine about the cultural failings of America, that stressful cesspool of overworked, eternally unrelaxed individuals. It’s just– you gotta respect the fact that in Argentina, “vacation” is spelled with a capital “V”.

People ask each other “when” (not “if”) they will take their vacations, and as though any amount of time would be an acceptable response – which, in fact, it is. Admittedly, the incentive to take time off is probably furthered by the fact that both Christmas and New Years usher in the Argentine summer, but I’m telling you, they really go to town with this stuff! So far, I have noticed the following screeching signs of the Summertime Halt: Stores opening and closing at whatever hours they want (including some who have closed until March!); Peace and quiet on the subways (at least at midday); An excruciating amount of cancelled, postponed, and dropped classes; The impossibility to find another job until March.

Sigh. Officially, my “vacation” has come and gone. As has my family, with whom I spent two very pleasant weeks—first in the capital, and then in Patagonia. What what to family time, glaciers, and me being an extreme mountain babe. Pictures here.

That pretty much leaves me with two months to ponerme las pilas about a new job, while being extremely frugal and patient. I plan to look for more work, and I plan to understand that I’m probably not going to find any—so I am trying to get a little more into the onda of the whole “unemployment” thing (take naps, read, go to parks in the afternoon, etc.). Plus, on the up side, I have joined my neighborhood gym and video store. We’re getting a new roommate in February. And I am going to– I swear– start writing more.

Of course, while I usually reserve winter for my lonely season, summer has its own brand of solitude too. Especially for a free-lancer like myself (ha). I’ve got no office to go to, no classmates to see daily. And I worry about my obsession with the internet. But luckily I have ironic responses for each of these concerns, and it is with that in mind that I leave you tonight with not one, but two internet nuggets.

1) “Me Myself I” by Joan Armitrading

This song was shown to me by my newest amigo, M. M is a DJ and I say that first because it’s a redeemable quality amongst some other more questionable ones, so nobody get too excited. Anyways, he played me this song inadvertently; it was on an album with another song that began with the lyrics: “He was from Ohio…” but it turns out that this song is a little cooler than the other. Plus its subject happens to resonate with me even more than the hometown shout-out. It also has a pretty sensational music video that illustrates, quite aptly, some of the more fantastic aspects of being alone.

2) Brule’s Rules: Living Alone (John C. Reilly, Adult Swim, etc.)

This video I don’t have much to say about because we always knew John C. Reilly was absurdly hilarious. My bro showed it to me. I think there is some really good advice in here, though.

Here’s to a creative and blog-fully fruitful 2009!

When I was a teacher of middle school girls, a clever nugget of information was that “tell me about your hair…” is a great writing prompt to get even the most uninspired of adolescents to churn out a page or two. And, since a middle school girl is more or less who I am, I thought I’d take this conventional teachers’ wisdom and apply it to myself, in order to solicit what will be the first post after a long writing vacation. And so, my hair!

Let me spare you the sob story and just tell you right off the bat that in case you think I have nice hair now, you should know that it cost me dearly– 23 years of terrible, triangular, frizzy embarrassment to be exact. I don’t know if my hair hormones just suddenly shifted in a different way (which can happen, kind of) or if I finally got my head out of my ass and saw the layered light of day, but at some point I realized that as my hair grew longer, I was, at long last, entering an age of many new and coiffured possibilities.

One of these possibilities was to be able to proceed confidently — full speed ahead!– to the salons of Buenos Aires to see if they could do me up good. Some find the typical Argentine haircut ridiculous because it bears a rather striking resemblance to the Mullet. You know, shorty short short up top, long little strings on the bottom. And maybe it was because living in Williamsburg I had been in such close proximity to the hipster mullet that I’d been desensitized, or maybe it was because as a long, wavy haired girl I believe in the power of layers, but in any case, I was not deterred by the critics. And I chose a salon that had a really cool website, obvi.

Anyways, one haircut later, and I have to be honest- the results were middies. The short part on top was shorter than I wanted, and if I looked at myself quickly enough I would see either my mom’s haircut or myself really that cool. But the rulyness factor is still relatively high, so for now, everything’s pretty much copado with it. However, as I got ready to go out Saturday night, I looked in the mirror and was worried that it looked a little bit like the picture of Russell Brand that was in the Entertainment mag that Sara brought me during my writing hiatus.

Do you know who he is? He was in Forgetting Sarah Marshall. Which was an awesome movie, but bless his heart, that haircut of his has portena written all over it!

Didn’t I JUST say that??

1) The lyrics to “One Hand In My Pocket” By Alanis Morisette:

I’m broke but I’m happy
I’m poor but I’m kind
I’m short but I’m healthy, yeah
I’m high but I’m grounded
I’m sane but I’m overwhelmed
I’m lost but I’m hopeful baby

OK, OK. I’m not high (right now), and I’m not that short. And OK, you got me — I only thought of this song after I received a temporarily exciting phone call about a party on Saturday, which sent me off on this mental speed scheme of plotting the perfect weekend. Which then led me to say to myself: “Wow, Lauren. If you can actually pull this weekend off, I will give you a million dollars.” To which I replied to myself, “Well, Lauren, I’m hopeful.” Which triggered my subconscious mental jukebox, and it began to play: “I’m lost but I’m hopeful, baaaaaaby!” You can read the rest of the words here. But, seriously, even though I came upon the lyrics frivolously, don’t be afriad to take two minutes out of your day to give weight to the words of good old Alanis.  

2) “The Heart is A Lonely Hunter” by Carson McCullers.

Or, convenitenly, the book I am currently reading. Double relevance! No, but I’m about to talk about Barack Obama, so Get Real. Look. Some people (who may or may not be related to me) don’t understand why it is important that Obama won the mother!!!! fucking!!!! election!!!! Is it because he’s black? Does that make you racist? Does that make me racist? Am I black? (No, but , hold that thought– I am going to post a picture soon which will show you these weird hairs I find in my head lately which, for lack of a better word, are straight up black people hair! How crazy is that? I am fascinated about how these hairs got here, and why I keep finding them. But I kind of like them– They are very textured, but it’s really weird. OK).

Anyways, with all of these questions wobbling around my head these past few weeks, just imagine my surprise when I found myself transported by Ms. McCullers to the small town world of the Dirty South in the 1930s and encountered some seriously politically poignant shit.

Dr. Benedict Copeland, a black doctor who is well-respected in the (black) community and has staunch idealistic proclivities towards Marxism, holds an annual Christmas party for all the black people in town. During this party, he is so overcome with his thoughts about his race that he launches into an impassioned speech — and everyone listens intently. You would too, if you were there. Check this out:

“Some of you young people here this morning may feel the need to be teachers or nurses or leaders of your race. But most of you will be denied. You will have to sell yourselves for a useless purpose in order to keep alive. You will be thrust back and defeated. The young chemist picks cotton. The young writer is unable to learn to read. The teacher is held in useless slavery at some ironing board. We have no representatives in government. We have no vote. In all of this great country we are the most oppressed of all people. We cannot lift up our voices. Our tongues rot in our mouths from lack of us. Our hearts grow empty and lose strength for our purpose. Teachers,” he said huskily, “are our greatest need. Leaders. Someone to unite us and guide us.”

P.S. If you want mental jukebox music for this novel, I suggest “Tupelo Honey” by Van Morrison.

 But I mean, honestly, how do you not read that and see this image flash before of your eyes??

It’s just– wonderful. Gosh. And not to toot the I-worked-with-black-children-in-Harlem-horn but (toot!), do you know how special it is to be able to look at my kids and the pictures they make that say “I want to be President when I grow up” and to NOT have to be like, “Oh, cute!” But to say: “Damn fucking straight you do!” Well, I wouldn’t swear to a child, but I would say that in my head, for real.

The thing is, I’ve been thinking about instincts a lot. As in, trusting them. As in, if the 27-year-old puppeteer you’re smooching makes you feel weird, it’s probably because you actually don’t like him and not because you are close-minded about poor people with interesting backgrounds. In other words, sometimes you just know things! But what I think about Barack Obama is that he has to have something more than just his race that made his candidacy so sensational and monumental. I like to call it an “inherent specialness.” All it takes is to look at him or to listen to him speak for just a few moments, and you’d be crazy not to want to pull out your ink pad and stamp him right on the forehead with an “S” for Special.

3) The Animal Collective

Let’s bring it all home. The Animal Collective is rounding out my list of relevant things because a) I saw them recently and b) They are a special band. Their sound is like looking at Barack Obama’s face in this way– you just KNOW that what you’re hearing is actually, seriously, original. And there’s a power in that. And maybe that’s the power of unfabricated TALENT! Incidentally, when a band or public figure magically doesn’t inspire snark or resentment in me, that’s kind of another litmus test for specialness, too. I suppose that’s giving me way too much credit, but everyone’s a critic, and sometimes you know! Well, anyhow. The concert was pretty awesome. It was much trippier than the last time I saw them, though, which was OK, but did not provide me with as many rocking-out moments as I had from the time in the apple. There was like a lot of blueish lighting and people swaying back and forth with their eyes closed. Ha! That said, the band is obviously genius. They came up with this idea that was totally new, that sounded really cool, and they just stuck with it! All that shit about the melody cutting out suddenly, the things they do with vocals, the bass lines, all of it. Really matters. And I have an ambiguous relationship to indie music, and listen to me!

I hung out with Agustina and her hipster friends at the show, including one heart-melting-ly cute shortie w/ shaggy hair. He was swell, but having some gf problems so I steered clear. After the show we went to get some food and I met this American kid who was so BFF with me (I think he’s a DJ? Also maybe gay?) but in the aftermath, he’s sort of dropped the ball, so, sigh. Anyways, if I tagged this video it would be= Hipsters + Specialness + Power + Talent + Raves + BA/BK

4) Epilogue: More Music Related to My Emotions

In case you couldn’t tell (which probably you couldn’t), I started this post on Friday and am ending it today, Sunday. This weekend was a bit of a flop. The word for disappointed in Spanish is “decepcionada” or “disilusionada” (deceived! disillusioned!) which sounds so much stronger, right? But given my fondness for hyperbole, maybe it’s kind of fitting. I’ll spare you the details (a kiss rejected… a forsaken phone call… the party invite that never came…) but when I woke up this morning, my mental jukebox was on FIRE! So, I will leave you with an interpretive playlist (read the song titles) to walk you through my weekend’s moods:

1) Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want — The Smiths (Video = good for audio only. Apparently people like this song in the background of their “we can change the world’ videos?? However, I prefer my Morrissey to accompany my angsty feelings about not getting invited to a party, rather than world peace. I’ll leave the montages of police brutality and homeless people to David Crosby and Willie Nelson).  
2) I Wanna Be Adored– The Stone Roses (Video = Awesome!)
3) You Can’t Always Get What You Want– The Rolling Stones (Video = garish OR incredible, depending on your feelings about Mick Jagger.)
4) I Just Don’t Know What To Do With Myself– The White Stripes (Video= Whoa! Was I the only one who didn’t know that the whole official video for this song is just Kate Moss doing a striptease in black and white, directed by Sofia Coppola?? If you’ve been in the dark like me, or if you are a horny frat boy, definitely watch this.)
5) How To Fight Loneliness– Wilco  (Video = You have to look at a picture of Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” while listening to this song. It was the best I could find, ha.)

Hi, remember me?

I went to the gay pride parade today. It was a shit show, of course, and although I’m tempted to say “only in South America will you find a march that doesn’t actually go anywhere”, that’s not entirely true– they did move, but it took them 3 hours! And even that isn’t very nice or fair of me, so, sorry, continent.

The takeaway was this: there were a lot of cute dudes. I tried to make some eyes but no one was biting. I was hungover all day, too, and I decided that the best treatment was to try to make it go away by eating greasy foods throughout the day– egg mcmuffin for breakfast followed by a steady flow of empanadas.

Before the parade, Jeremy, Gabe and I met up with Bobby (gay, from Texas, remember?) and all of his gay pals. They were a slightly strange crew. Bobby said: “Look at you Lauren! Does this make you a fag hag?” and then burst into a fit of giggles. I thought of Karen from Will & Grace and felt pleased with myself (she rules). Also, the following dialogue happened:

(Elias and Spiky Hair Guy were showing us pics of their new dog, named Eddie)
Me: Oh, he’s so cute
Spiky Hair: She’s actually a girl
Bobby: In America, Eddie is a guy’s name
Me: Well.. not unless it’s short for Edw-
Elias: Edwina!
Me: Yes…Edwina! Like, Ab F-
Elias & Spiky: Ab Fab!!!!!!
Me. Yes, Ab Fab!
Elias: You know Ab Fab?
Me: Omg yes, it’s my favorite show! I love Eddie!
Bobby: What’s Ab Fab?
Spiky: It’s this show on BBC that’s very gay-friendly
Lauren: It’s extremely hilarious
Spiky: Well, you’ll have to come over sometime
Bobby: Wow, Lauren!

That was a real bonding moment. And a valuable one, too, since the other theme of the week is men not paying attention to me. Having standards and expectations is a tricky business, to say nothing of actually maintaining them.

Oh, and then the other-other theme of the week is Halloween last night, in which I actually broke a longstanding Lauren Tradition of having haphazard, disastrous costumes by pulling off a seriously fabulous ensemble last night that actually won the proverbial “contest” at this party. I can’t tell you what it is yet only because pictures speak louder than words, and I left my camera at the party so I don’t have pics yet. But it was a good time. Also, the night ended with Jeremy convincing me to steal some food from the party for the ride home, so I found an empty bag of chips and began stuffing it with chips from the party-bowl and then cramming it into my purse and running. And despite my original protests, I of course ate the whole bag before we’d even made it halfway home. Somewhere in Buenos Aires, a Taxi Driver is gonna find a lot of crumbs in the backseat of his car this morning.

Having my own apartment might have something to do with the fact that it’s been relatively easy to retain the semblance of a “normal” life in a foreign country, but still, each time I spend an evening contently couchin’ it, with a belly full of weird/normal food (tonight: avocados, toast, tomatoes, cheese, yogurt, wine), I am amazed by how eerily simple it is to have such familiar domesticity here! And just GUESS what tonight’s movie is? Only the most near and dear production to come out of 1989… MAJOR LEAGUE!!!

This is sort of a bootleg montage, but if nothing else just listen to the song. The movie features a young and rebellious Charlie Sheen and Wesley Snipes as Willy Mays Hayes, the old baseball stadium, and several other relics of Cleveland in the 80s. The whole thing is very hilarious (“What team do you play for?” “Cleveland.” “Here in Clevleand? I didn’t even know we had a team!” “We do, we have uniforms and everything.”) although the shtick about the strong-armed Voodoo-practicing Cuban who can’t hit a breaking ball and has a shrine in his locker is sort of offensive to even the most casual Religion major in me. Nonetheless, it reminds me of my beloved theory about the formative effects of having grown up loving– and empathizing with– a city whose sports teams never win and whose rivers always catch on fire. Anyways, it was hitting my hometown heartstrings in such a good way that I passed up watching a soccer game at a pub tonight just so I could watch fake Cleveland baseball on my couch.

I’ve been busy trying to organize the piecemeal schedule that comes from teaching English for like, 4 different companies, and I woke up at 6:45 this morning to get to my first class, so I suppose that that has something to do with the sloth, too.

Ah, but let me leave you with a final souvenir from my lazy evening! My favorite TV commercial here– and you don’t need Spanish to understand it. I’ve probably seen it at least 10 times tonight. Watch it, though, it’s cute.