Tag: observations

Memory Scrapebook

A few little differences between home and Argentina:

The sidewalks seem to be constantly under repair here. There’s a new construction crew every few feet.

The butter that comes with your bread is almost always flavored with something: thyme, sundried tomatoes, rosemary.

The women do more primping in the public bathrooms. You can be at a coffee shop at 11 a.m. and there’s always someone at the mirror re-applying lipstick and fluffing their hair.

Everyone thinks Hank is a girl. I know this because they’re forced to choose a sex for their adjectives, “Que hermosa! Que bonita!”

The red lights turn yellow before going back to green.

There’s lots of graffitti with messages to girlfriends. “Happy Anniversary! Manuela, I love you!”

Our bathroom has a bidet and two new brushes so we can scrub under our nails when we wash our hands.

In modern buildings, I keep shoving my hands under sinks expecting them to work automatically. They don’t.

Our cab from the airport smelled good, like tea, and they still play Milli Vanilli on the radio here.

People, completely sane strangers, stop to kiss the baby or touch his head.

Morning Coffee

First lines from a sampling of flyers selected from the window ledge to my left:

-“Gibson Pearl’s unique fusion bellydance roots from her extensive background in tribal, as well as the influence of both traditional folkloric and contemporary modern dance.”
-“LE NOIR ET ROUGE, A sexy black and red festivity where scarlet matches the energy and passion of the females and the black color of the night compliments the men of fashionable character.”
-“International CLITORIS DAY CELEBRATION, A celebration of female sexuality that is appealing to all!”

I can’t believe we’re not gonna be home this weekend.

Happy Trails to You

http://www.db798.com/pictobrowser.swf

So, I have a thing about travel plates. I love the hopefulness, the nostalgia, the sweet things they highlight that would be of little or no interest to the modern traveler (University of Mineral Mining! Deer!). When Melissa and I were shopping, we found someone’s old collection of plates, many of them marked with bits of tape indicating the year and the person who gave the plate as a gift. The plates were scattered all over the store, and we’d shout to each other victoriously every time we found a new one.

I like them grouped in with clean-lined modern objects on a shelf. Something about the kitsch factor really pops against more spare objects. They’re also sweet hung in a personalized grouping on the wall.

Anyway, some (but not all) of them made their way to the Mighty Goods Finds shop. See if we have one to mark your hometown, birthplace, favorite vacation, or fantasy trip. My dream is for this woman’s collection to inspire dozens more.

Up Yours, Cracker Jack

Non-choking Cracker Jack toys make my soul sad. What the hell, Cracker Jack? You seriously expect me to convince my kid that a half-inch square of paper with cartoon drawings of centipedes is mind-blowing fun? Do you think my kid is stupid, Cracker Jack?

While American kids are clapping and mewling over paper “pencil toppers,” German kids are ripping into the hearty intellectual challenge that is the Kinder Egg. Their candy toys are so formidable they require assembly. Do you hear that, Corporate America? German kids are learning how to build things. Our kids are scratching their heads over your three-point connect-the-dots, and then apparently stuffing them into their windpipes.

I will not allow you to stunt the fun-center of my child’s brain, jerkwads. More kids choking, fewer crap-ass toys!

Privacy

Logan: I hope you don’t mind, I made you a “friend” on Flickr.
Bryan: I don’t know if we’re close enough yet.
Me: I don’t really use those features. The only person who can see my family-only photos is Bryan.
Melissa: So you upload a lot of personal porn.
Me: Totally. Personal porn for Bryan and the entire team at Flickr, who we have brunch with once a month or so.
Melissa: Heather’s like, “Maggie! Someone hacked your account!”
Me: Uh… No. That’s my bush. It was supposed to be private. But… I guess you can look at it, or whatever.
Melissa: And you’ve tagged it maggiesbush.
Maggie: Oh yeah, all of them are tagged and cross-referenced. Like you have a personal collection of porn so huge it needs to be easily searchable.
Melissa: There’s like 400 tags on each photo.
Me: A lot of them are in Japanese. Korean. Like, “Is that… Hindi? Huh.”

Ten Steps to Blogging Genius Presentation

The reason you should never use a 4G photo memory card is that when it konks out, you lose weeks of your life. I can’t even remember what was on the begining of the damn thing, but all my Detroit photos so far are kaput. I’ll miss you Eastern Market, gorgeous burnt-out ruins, weird face Melissa makes when you tell her you want to cuddle. I’ll miss all of you. In the meantime, here are some presentation photos Bryan took.

http://www.db798.com/pictobrowser.swf

Indianapolis

My presentation is tomorrow, and then we’re headed to Detroit for a few days.

Best thing we’ve seen here so far? A girl in her car using the cigarette lighter to plug in her hair crimper. Not nearly enough hair crimping going on in parking garages these days.

You Need to Listen

A man up the street is screaming into his cell phone. It is early morning, still grey.

NO! SHUT UP! YOU NEED TO LISTEN. YOU NEED TO LISTEN TO ME.

I push the stroller across the street quickly, and try to figure out where the sound is coming from. He is at least two blocks away, dressed in a red sports jersey and matching track pants.

I DO HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH IT! I GOT EVERYTHING TO DO WITH IT. YOU NEED TO SHUT UP RIGHT NOW AND LISTEN TO ME.

He takes a few steps, pauses to scream, takes a few more steps. Hank and I walk to the neighborhood coffee shop and take a seat. A few minutes later, I see the man through the window. The hum of the cafe deadens his words, but he is gesturing in wide sweeps. He holds the phone to his ear for a moment, and then swings it out so he can scowl at it while he yells into the receiver, as though it were a microphone.

His gestures remind me of a hellfire preacher at the pulpit. I can see he isn’t actually angry, not anymore. He’s simply enjoying the gestures that accompany refined rage. He is flawless, infuriated, and somehow harmless. He could be a lovely actor, I think, and then retrieve Hank’s pacifier from the floor.