Some Words on Restaurant Culture

I have been a server since I was 18. My dad is a bartender.  I have aunts and cousins that are servers. My sister is a server. My other sister was a server. My life has kind of been surrounded by life in the service industry, which compounds based on my own 7 years in the business, making friends with my fellow servers, bartenders and kitchen staff. So of course, I have some pretty strong opinions about the subject, especially where tipping is involved.

Last night, Brandon and I went wandering around looking for a place to get a beer, preferably with a happy hour price. At our first stop, El Hipopotamo, we waited for about 10 minutes at a table, and no one came to take our order. It wasn’t particularly busy, so maybe we should have been thinking what the eff? but that is typically what a person can expect at restaurants in Buenos Aires. We know. We weren’t too pissed about it, but nothing on the menu looked cheap enough to wait any longer, so we just decided to leave. We went to a nice, green, vegetarian restaurant that we’d been too before (and received great service, for Argentina, anyway).  I thought I remembered them having a 2x1 special on certain drinks, so it seemed like a good plan. When I asked the waiter about the 2x1s, he seemed to have no clue what I was talking about. We sat down anyway, to think, or give up and just stay, not really wanting to wander around anymore. But after another 10 minutes of no one coming to the table (this is a SMALL restaurant, almost no other customers), we left. By this point, we were frustrated (I wanted a damn drink!) but didn’t want to go to the store and buy beers and drink them at home like we always do, thinking that would make us feel defeated.

We wandered a little longer until we found a cute little Middle Eastern restaurant with an appetizer plate of falafel and hummus advertised on a chalkboard for only 30 pesos, plus the beer prices were reasonable. Stopped in front of the restaurant for only a couple seconds, and a young guy came out to coax us into the empty restaurant (it was too early for dinner, that’s why all these places were empty, no reflection of the quality). He seemed nice, we’d probably get prompt service, so what the hell, we went in. We got out beer right away, but we were quickly informed that the appetizer plate advertised on the chalkboard was a lunch special. Really? Then why don’t you put the chalkboard inside??? Now I was starting to get angry. All we wanted was a simple, good time without having to spend too much money. Whatever, Brandon ordered some hummus and we sat there and had a nice conversation until the miniscule portion of hummus and bread was gone, our beers drained. We sat there watching the waiter talk on the phone and laugh with some woman up at the counter for 10-15 minutes before another employee, the cook I think, came over with our bill. A bill that charged us an extra fee, a cubierto (common in nicer restaurants), supposedly for seating and the bread they bring at the beginning of the meal. I’m not a fan of the cubierto, mostly because the bread they bring over isn’t worth it, and more than that, don’t charge me something without asking if I want it! You know what ended up happening? We didn’t leave a tip. Why should we? The service was horrendous, the portions were small, they didn’t even have the kind of beer we ended up receiving listed on the menu, and the cubierto sure didn't help.

FYI, it’s customary to leave a 10% tip for servers in Argentina, or at least in Buenos Aires. Normally, we do. I’m not sure exactly how much servers make, but it isn’t like in Europe where servers make a good wage and their livelihood doesn't depend on their tips. The wage for most regular jobs here (teaching English included) is quite low, so leaving a tip will really help the servers out, I’m sure. Why then the awful service? Why, at the end of the meal, leave your customers sitting there waiting for their bill for a long period of time?  How could that possibly contribute to their desire to leave you a tip? The worst part is that I end up feeling bad, because in the states, I will always leave something, usually 15% for poor to moderate service, and 20% for good service. Then again, the standards for service in the states are different. If I received service like I usually get here, I might not leave anything. How can someone expect a tip here when they aren’t providing tip-worthy service? You’d think if you’re trying to make a decent living, you’d do what you could to make that happen. It’s kind of maddening.

There are plenty of people in the states who make arguments against tipping—thinking that they shouldn’t be EXPECTED to tip, shouldn’t receive dirty looks when they walk out leaving you $5 on a tab of $100. (This guy in particular is one of those up on his soapbox of anti-gratuity, I’m sure all of his uneducated figures help him sleep at night.) I want people like him to come here and see what bad service is like. I bet I’d be hard-pressed to find even one of them that would find this service acceptable, though they don’t want to tip.

Even in states (like on the West coast) where servers earn a regular minimum rage as opposed to a low server wage (like in Wisconsin, $2.33/hr), if you want someone to wait on you, bring you everything you want, when you want it, and then if something is wrong with it, end up taking all of your negative bullshit like it’s no thang, then you better show it. If you’re not tipping, you’re going to end up with servers like here in Argentina, because who would do that job?? You’ll see who, and you won’t like it. The entire restaurant culture in the USA that everyone knows and loves will be ruined.

Life Without Cellphone

Before Brandon and I arrived in Buenos Aires, and even for a few weeks after, we had planned on purchasing cheap cell phones and talk/text via the pay-as-you-go method, which is a pretty common thing to do, even for porteños. That all changed as quickly as the rest of our lofty Buenos Aires plans—we’ve been cellphoneless for over two months now. TWO MONTHS WITHOUT A CELLPHONE! THIS IS UNHEARD OF!

It’s not as difficult a transition as it might seem. True, I’ve had a cell since junior year of high school, but I don’t really have many people to call here. Actually let me rephrase that: I don’t have anyone to call. Brandon and I are almost always in the same place, so I wouldn’t call him. MAYBE once or twice I was walking Luna and thought of texting him, but of course it would have been something gratuitous and silly (like, omg I just saw a 96 yr old woman on a bike with her little yippy dog looking scared for his life on her lap!). Our friends here either live with us or we easily communicate with them over email/facebook. The general pace around Argentina is much slower than in the states, so it’s never an issue. Plus, one of our best friends here, Michael, lives in our neighborhood, so we run into him sometimes and end up hanging out on the spot. I love that kind of spontaneous social event, anyway.

When I lived in Spain for 4 months, I didn’t bring a laptop with me because I didn’t have one. When I needed to use the internet, I went to campus or an internet café or the library. You’ll probably never guess what happened with that—haha—my internet usage dropped by about seventy-five percent. At home with my host family, my options were always to watch soap operas (ok ok occasionally news) with them or to read. I read Moby Dick, Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, Catch 22, several Hemingway titles, and many other classics (checked out from the campus library). It didn’t hurt that the library only really had classics available in English, but that’s not the point.

I guess what I’m saying is what you might have thought I was getting at. Maybe I’m kind of a United States brat, but it’s nice to live without constantly checking my phone, wondering what all my friends are up to all the time, at least for a little while. As a result, I spend more time reading, writing, watching movies with Brandon, and just effing relaxing and soaking up everything around me (which I think ends up benefiting my writing). Luna and I walk through Parque Lezama, a large hilly park with lots of benches and trees, almost every day. And except for when it is raining, there are always people just sitting on the benches, not doing anything really, just watching the world go by. They look so happy. It’s rare to see that in the states. 

just effing relaxing

Before leaving for BA, I started to picture myself with an iphone. I think when I’m back in March, I’ll be perfectly ok with a more regular phone, qwerty keypad will do just fine.

Buenos Aires, What Have You Done?

Today's solutions to Brandon’s gastrointestinal problems:

Watch movies all day.

Make guacamole to eat with flax seed crackers (both good for digestive system).

Stop drinking the tap water.

Drink tonic water.

Talk about future plans to go to La Plata, Tigre, and Colonia, Uruguay.

Read him poetry on the terrace.

Manzanilla tea.

Besos from Luna.

All the lights are coming on now, how I wish that it would snow now…

(but actually, not true about the snow...)

This will be my third consecutive year as a Christmas orphan, my fourth in total. But there’s something different about this one, something totally unfamiliar. It has nothing to do with being out of the country—my first Christmas away from my family was spent in Spain. It’s the season that’s different. As I sit on the terrace in my bikini listening to Christmas music that talks about snow and cold and certain kinds of trees and hot beverages, I feel in many ways estranged. Don’t get me wrong, I love summer. I LOVE summer. Nothing about skipping winter fills my heart with sadness. There is just a part of my brain reacting with alarm, like I’m effing with the senses somehow, celebrating the holiday season on the terrace in a bikini or my favorite white summer dress while drinking hummer’s that look like some kind of paradise drink with their fresh red grapefruit garnish. Where’s the egg nog? Haha, I bet some locals would laugh at you if you told them you wanted egg in your beverage.  (At least the red wine is familiar, though! Argentineans drink red wine year-round.)

For the past two December holiday seasons, I celebrated with my MFA community.  We had little potluck parties and festive events of all kinds to keep us warm and full of cheer. It was cold and one year, overwhelmingly (and gorgeously) snowy. Just like I’m used to. When I was in Spain, my then-boyfriend travelled over the Atlantic to spend the holidays Eurailling across Western Europe with me, a whirlwind of excitement and fun to distract from the lack of normal holiday activities.

This year, Brandon and I are in good spirits, despite some amount of homesickness or a community of good friends/family to celebrate with. This week we’re going to a nearby store to buy a little tree which we will adorn with lights; I’m sure it will make our room look cozy and festive. And we’ve been busily downloading Christmas movies to sprinkle into our usual routine of evening features (mostly new movies or Dexter). We attended a great Chrismakkah party on Saturday, a heavenly feast and enjoyable times had by all. We’ve already made latkes once and plan to make them again, a wonderful Chanukkah dish (potato pancakes). And for Christmas Eve/Christmas Day, Brandon’s family so generously put money into his bank account so that we’ll have presents to open with them over Skype. The rest of those two days will probably be spent making a gourmet Christmas feast for two (or three, yes Luna that means you) and watching our Christmas movies. I love Christmases with Luna. She’s mi hija, mi amor del mundo. It makes me feel all warm-fuzzy inside.  AND I bet I’ll be Skyping with my family when they gather at my parents’ house, my young niece and nephew excitedly opening their gifts. 

Also, a special  Merry Christmas to me—my parents are paying off my Huge Grad School Bill within the next few days. Most twenty-somethings aren’t that lucky; enormous loans will be hanging over their heads well into adulthood as they struggle through the sinking economy looking for any possible way to keep themselves afloat. Maybe my parents don’t know how grateful I feel for their generosity, but I’m forever indebted to them, especially for a wanderlust writer like myself. I don’t want to one day look back on my life with regret, thinking of all the things I didn’t get to do (like live in Buenos Aires and work on my book!) because of monthly student loan payments. I know that happens to people, and I’m sorry for them.

So, the snow’s not coming down. I’m not watching it fall. But it’s still Christmas. This year, I’ll be working on my tan.

que lastima!

Thursday, 6pm: meeting with writing group

8:30pm: walk with group to “art auction” (private, at someone’s home), wine+mingling+Michael  revealing yet another artistic talent—he plays the saxophone.

10pm: leave party with Rachel (from writing group) and her friend Martin and walk to our house to hang out on the roof for awhile. Very enjoyable to be hanging out with friends in a nonparty environment.

11pm: talk to roommates Tomik (Polish) and Robi (Hungarian) in the kitchen while they are making dinner. They’re a little drunk and so are we, so we’re all being a bit loud and silly. They invite us to eat with them, so we all eat outside and talk and drink some more. A nice way to end the evening.

1pm (I think): go to bed.

Friday, 2:30pm: Brandon and I venture to the locutorio (for printing and scanning needs) and it’s very disorganized and overwhelming. It is not obvious how to get anything done. We finally get on a computer and after awkwardness and some broken conversation with an employee, our things print. Overall, I’m frustrated in dealing with such a menial task being so difficult. Then we sit at the computer for awhile. I thought all our things were finished printing, so I began to get impatient, wondering why we were just sitting there. There must be some weird phenomenon where because of the language/culture barrier causing difficulties, people who normally communicate well are temporarily stripped of that skill, because Brandon and I were on different planets while we were in that locutorio. I didn’t understand why we would just sit there with our internet charges increasing, but really Brandon was waiting for his last document to print. My frustration translated into me taking on a very negative tone in my speech, asking questions, trying to figure out what the hell we were doing. And then we left before Brandon’s last document printed, and I had no idea this was the case until it was too late. I’m not sure why Brandon didn’t just tell me he was still waiting for something to print. I probably should have been nicer when I said “Why the hell are we sitting in this awful place? What are we still doing here?” so that maybe he would have felt more comfortable explaining to me that he was waiting for the printer. No such luck.

Now I’m so annoyed that instead of sitting on the terrace with Brandon drinking rum and cokes, I’m letting you all know how fucking awful it is to live in a developing country sometimes.  

 It’s a shame, because yesterday was so great.

my refined interpretation of the word busy.

For the first time since arriving in Buenos Aires, I am finally busy. Kind of busy, anyway. No, I don’t have an alarm that wakes me up early in the morning to get a head-start on my days. I may even admit that I wake up between 9am-11am most days (generally closer to 9). If you’re getting ready to judge, just hang on a second while I spill my main excuse. The humidity has driven the mosquitoes out from their winter hibernation or wherever they go, and at night, they go in for blood, my blood, when my defenses are down. So, I wake up many nights frantically scratching and then can’t fall back asleep because the itching is unbearable. Eventually, I always decide to pull the covers up over my head and sleep inside of a little hot box, despite the high temperatures. Thermal discomfort, I guess, is more manageable than the prospect of more itching. For genetic reasons, I am a mosquito magnet. If vampires were real, I would probably be in real danger. Genetic reasons, really? Yes. I’ve seen the welts on my mom and both my sisters from mosquitoes in Wisconsin. Why just us, when there are plenty of people around virtually bite-free? An excellent example is Brandon. He has maybe been bitten 5 times since we’ve been here. Wtf. (Although, his allergies have been so awful that he takes some Argentine form of Benadryl many days, and ends up sleeping or miserable, so I don’t really want to harp on his mosquito “luck” . Btw, I know Benadryl is going to make a person drowsy, but I’ve taken this stuff, and I’m convinced there is something in there that are causing more intensity to these side effects. It’s quite an odd sensation). Anyway, because of this unbalance of bites from one person to the next, knowing my own family’s propensity for bites, I looked it up. Some people just have blood that is attractive to mosquitoes. I’m one of them. Where was I going with this again? Oh yeah, I wake up later than I should. Yet, I’m still claiming to be busy.

But this is exciting! I get up most days and write an article for my freelance writing job while eating  toast and having a couple mugs of hot tea. By then it’s noon or so, and I walk Luna for an hour. Sometimes we walk up Puerto Madero. At one spot along that walk, there is a fountain that Luna likes to jump into. Sometimes we walk laps around Parque Lezerma, just a block away. It’s a big, hilly park that is gorgeous, especially now with all the purple and pink blossoms on the trees, and tall palms scattered here and there. Ugh, this is not contributing to my case of: busy. I keep getting sidetracked.

Anyway, six out of seven days, I work on poetry. Whether it’s freewriting, revising, putting a solid poem together from various freewrites or from scratch, I’m working, and this is probably the most important thing to me right now. In addition to that, I’m also reading a lot of poetry, and prose, which is an essential part of my life as well as my writing. Included in the “reading” category is all the workshopping for the writing group and everything that Brandon sends me outside of that (hooray, Brandon is writing a lot too!). This helps keep my brain sharp as far as craft goes. By looking critically at other writers’ work, I’m able to hone my own craft much more effectively—that is, I can see my own work more clearly, and then my early drafts aren’t quite so rough. Plus, it makes me feel smart. Heheh.

So all that counts as busy, sure. But now I’m beginning to have something resembling a social life. Tomorrow night we’re going out with Guy and Paola (our roommates) to a restaurant/bar they love. Then Thursday night is the weekly meeting for the writing group. This week we’re meeting at 7pm instead of 8pm because afterward we’re all going to an art exhibit/party where Michael (one member of the group, a FANTASTIC artist) has a painting on display. Then Saturday night, Steve and Katie (Steve is my aunt’s friend’s nephew who works at the embassy here) invited us to a Chrismakkah potluck at their place. All these plans!

And I recently discovered that the art museum is free, every day! That, with the many, many other touristy things that are available for taking up whole days here, and I’m set for a few months at least.

This is what busy means. A more Argentinean than American definition.

I write for money

Back to the life of employment—although I must say, this work-from-home, telecommute business takes the cake as far as jobs go. For the first week, I was simply referring to myself as a freelance writer/blogger for an unnamed company, but the specificities of the job are what make it interesting. Plus, I already told my mom, who of course was wondering if she could read my articles. I told her she probably would rather not.

The most accurate way to describe what I do would be: I am a sex-blogger. I write blogs/articles/FAQs for an online company that sells sex toys and lingerie, and you know, that kind of stuff.  The purpose of it all is to sell sell sell, of course, so I have to promote their products within the articles. Recently, they also asked me what I would charge to also write product descriptions. Ha! Hot commodity, right here. Or something like that.

How the hell did I acquire this job? I scoured Craigslist’s telecommute writing jobs out of every big (ish) city in the United States. I applied to as many as I could, considering my skill set, and this is the first and only one that got back to me. I sent a sample article after snooping around their website, and after some vague responses from a company manager, it seemed iffy whether or not I would actually get paid, so I was reluctant to write more articles. But I did, because it doesn’t take that much time, and it’s not like I was overloaded with other opportunities. Once I sent that to the manager, payment options were discussed, (PayPal or issuing checks) and things were more solidified. Now I’ve begun to receive lists of assignments, and at twenty bucks a pop, I’m in business. If they’ll let me, I’ll write at least 5 of these a week (I doubt they want/need much more than that), and I’ll make enough money to keep the rest of my savings intact. Buenos Aires is kind of expensive for South America, but it’s still South America. One dollar equals four pesos. Maybe I’ll be able to go out to lunch once in awhile and not have to worry about spending the next week eating only bread and drinking water. Haha, just kidding. I will always drink wine with my bread.

The best part is, I get to do all of this from my laptop, at home. I wrote an article sitting out on the terrace the other day! Just a little FAQ on lubricants, in case you’re interested, all the while working on my tan. Lubes are one of the tamer topics I’ve covered, though. You don’t even want to know what an anal hook is. For that matter, neither do I, but I’m getting paid. And I get to throw the ball with Luna between paragraphs.

I haven’t used much, if any of this stuff, so I have to do a bunch of research. But it’s research—research is interesting. Understanding the psychology behind bondage toys and role-playing games is necessary when writing an article titled: The Finer Points of Spanking. I almost forgot to mention an essential component of my job. I have to write from the perspective of a pre-constructed character they’ve developed. At first I found this a bit stifling to my creativity, but as it turns out, this is much easier than coming up with my own fake persona. Easier equals faster equals more money. The style of writing is also really casual and colloquial. No sounding “too smart” or it will turn off readers/shoppers.

A grad school professor of mine said she’s glad to know my MFA in poetry is paying off.

I suppose it is.  Heheh.

**p.s.  Don’t you love my slightly tweaked blog deisgn? All credit goes to my resident digital design and layout expert, Brandon. He is the best.

Don't Worry, Just Work

Some words on Post-MFA-Life:

I spent a significant portion of the morning trying to figure out how to be a successful writer, long term. I mean, I want my poems, I want my books of poems to be published and liked by a lot of people. I love writing, and I don’t really know a better way to contribute myself to humanity. Ideally, and like almost every other person in my position, I would like to teach creative writing (or teach English, or whatever) at a college or university to support myself as a writer. I would probably also like being an editor of some kind, for a journal or even a company. The problem is, I don’t have much experience in anything besides writing (and a little editing), so where do I start?

In order to make the process less painless and time-consuming for myself (and others) in the future, I've compiled lots of information on searching for fellowships, teaching fellowships, paid residencies for young writers, contests that publish first books, contests that pay a lot for publishing a single poem, artists’ colonies with stipends, PhD programs in creative writing (I already have an MFA in Poetry), as well as a couple other options, so that when I'm actually doing the work and not just browsing, it'll be a one-stop shop.

Please note immediately: if you are unwilling to relocate, perhaps numerous times, this may not be the right path for you.

  

First, here is the link to the Poets & Writers page of Grants and Awards . This is where you will find a list of opportunities for paid fellowships, residencies with stipends, and contests that award anywhere from $500 to $5000 for publication of either a piece of work (like a poem, or a story, in a journal), or a whole book (including a first or second book). Many of these prizes are geared toward up-and-coming and/or young writers who have recently earned an MFA or PhD in creative writing. Certainly all of them carry some weight for winning the award, without considering the monetary value. This list includes what I consider to be one of the greatest honors for a writer to receive, the Wallace Stegner Fellowship from Stanford University. This one might be the most difficult to get, but don’t be discouraged. The list also includes things like the New Issues Poetry & Prose Contest  , and the seven month residency at the Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown .  Poets & Writers also has another database of Conferences and Residencies. The list includes many opportunities that require you to pay tuition, but it is easy to narrow the list down to what you would like to search for. Here is a link to their database of Free Residencies . Also worth noting: many of the residencies require tuition, but fellowships/scholarships are usually available that can cover up to the full cost.

The Poetry Society of America also offers a list of Colonies, Conferences, & Festivals for writers. Much of this list is just for people who want to attend writerly events. If you are truly curious, though, there are some gems, like the Creative Writing Fellowship at Emory University.  This fellowship states the following requirements: MFA or PhD in the last five years, Creative Writing Teaching experience.  (I don’t have much experience teaching creative writing, but I have some. Once a week, I taught creative writing to high-schoolers for about a year and half). This states nothing explicitly about college-level experience. Here is another gem from the list, the George Bennett  Fellowship at the Phillps Exeter Academy, a boarding school. In fellowship qualifications, it states a preference for fiction writers, but they also accept poetry and nonfiction writers, based on quality of manuscript. Aside from that possible deterrent  (I am a poet), their one-year $13,000 stipend, not including room and board, is incentive enough to apply. All they ask is that you are a serious writer in the process of completing a manuscript for publication, and that you provide your “self and talents in an informal and unofficial way to students interested in writing” at this boarding school.  Another good one is Colgate University’s Olive B O’Conner Fellowship in Creative Writing . “Writers of poetry, fiction or nonfiction who have recently completed an MFA, MA, or PhD in creative writing, and who need a year to complete their first book, are encouraged to apply. The selected writer will spend the academic year at Colgate University in Hamilton, New York. The fellow will teach one creative writing course each semester and will give one public reading from a work in progress. The fellowship carries a stipend of $35,500 plus travel expenses, health and life insurance provided.”  WOW. I’m sure that one, as well as the others, are extremely difficult to get, but if you can afford the application fees and you think you are a great writer, then it makes sense to go for it. What can you lose?

The best way to find residencies from this list similar to the ones I’ve mentioned above is to look for the word residency or fellowship, ie (Stadler Fellowship). Many of the other opportunities listed here for writing programs require tuition.

With that said, there are a number of exceptions. For instance, the MacDowell Colony is an artists’ residency of up to eight weeks (in New Hampshire). There is no award or stipend, but they provide free room and board and offer financial assistance based on need, including assistance for travel expenses. Similarly, the Millay Colony for the Arts , located on the former property of poet Edna St. Vincent Millay in Austerlitz, New York, is free and provides room and board for one month between April and November.  Hedgebrook is another good one, located just outside of Seattle, although it’s only available to women. Keep in mind, of course, that free artists' colonies are quite competitive.

One other possible venue for writing opportunities is to search by state. Look for something like artist/writer opportunities in (name your state) and you should find something. Libraries often have writing and tutoring programs. Even the National Park Service has an Artists-In-Residence program that might be worth checking out (though it is listed under the volunteer category). Especially if you’re one of those people lacking in real-life experience in writing/teaching fields, consider this option.

As a recent graduate of Eastern Washington University’s MFA (poetry) program , my main focus is to succeed as a writer. I spent the summer living with my parents—I moved from Spokane, Washington after two wonderful years of masturbatory writer-dom, to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where I slept in my old bedroom, worked at my old job, and felt bad about it, for three months. I did this in order to save for my move to Buenos Aires, where I am currently living. Before I say anything else, let me take some of that back. I loved spending the summer with my family, getting to know my siblings as adults, spending true, quality time with my parents (and watching them bond with my dog, treating her as no less a family member than myself, despite their previous, skeptical sentiments about dogs in general). I was actively involved in the writing community in Milwaukee, despite the short time I lived there. I was a regular at Milwaukee’s most famous weekly poetry open mic, where they even paid me with art and money to be their feature for one night. Imagine that, getting paid for reading original poetry for an hour! I also contributed to the website Poetic Milwaukee .  Besides all that, I just wrote a ton— some of the best poetry I’ve written so far.

It has increasingly become an option for recent graduates of MFA programs to teach overseas, especially for those of us who were not awarded assistantships, teaching English 101 to college freshmen,  including  free tuition and stipends. I was lucky that my particular MFA program offered other opportunities for teaching experience (Writers in the Community was not only good experience, but a fulfilling way to spend time).  But nothing is as good as real college teaching experience, especially with the job market like it is. Even my peers with the right experience have had  trouble finding jobs. If you’re up for it, look into teaching overseas, particularly in South Korea. I know several people (MFA graduates and others) who have done this. They make a lot of money and the teaching experience is invaluable. Most companies will pay for your travel costs with a signed one-year contract.

For my own reasons, including my dog (you know they eat dog in Korea), I moved to Argentina, which is not quite as lucrative as far as teaching goes. The jobs don’t pay well, if you can find one. And if you do find one, make sure you have TEFL certification, or are willing to forge it, or lie (these are valid possibilities). Unlike teaching in Korea, you probably won’t save money teaching anywhere in Latin America, because the pay is never very good. Arriving at the beginning of the Southern Hemisphere’s summer (like me) should also be avoided if you plan on teaching. I probably could find a low-paying teaching job if I wanted to, if I tried really hard, so don’t be completely discouraged by all that I’m saying.  For me, it just isn’t worth it. My main focus has to be writing (or else, wtf am I even doing), and working too much for too little money in South America just can’t be the way, not for me. Initially, I planned on staying in Buenos Aires to teach for at least a year. Now, I’m not going to teach, and I’m not going to stay for a year. Instead, I’m staying for the summer, and I’ll be heading back stateside in March (where I can make a substantial-enough living as an experienced server and apply for all those fellowships etc that I was talking about above). Instead, I’m primarily in Buenos Aires to work on my poetry, to work on my manuscript, seriously writing every day. This is certainly not a bad place to land as a writer. Every day, I find myself with lots of new material, written into prose blocks, waiting to be shaped/developed/whatever into poems. It’s incredible, really, what throwing yourself into truly unfamiliar territory will do to your brain.  I’ve even found a group of American writers who meet each Thursday to for workshops. To supplement my savings (I do have to pay rent and eat and live occasionally), telecommute freelance writing jobs will do. There are some online opportunities for tutoring that I’ve looked into, as well. At least online jobs pay in US dollars. Argentinean pesos don’t go very far, except if you want to live off of bread and wine (well, it wouldn’t be that bad…).

It might also be worthwhile for graduates of MFA programs to consider PhD programs, in Creative Writing, or anything else for that matter (Literature, Comparative Literature, etc.).  Here is a pretty good list of PhD programs in Creative Writing (thanks again, Seth Abramson, whose blogging also assisted in my research of MFA programs, back in the day).  An MFA is a terminal degree, so going for the PhD isn’t necessary to teach at the college level. That said, if you have the desire and commitment to expand your knowledge base in a massive way, which is what a PhD requires, then this might be a good option. This often includes things like proficiency in two foreign languages, or mastery of one, like at the University of Utah in Salt Lake City. From my limited research, it looks like many of the programs offer full funding, with teaching requirements (which I file under: Opportunity, or Experience).

Hope all this information helps. If you’re feeling discouraged, read Truth & Beauty by Ann Patchett.

At the very least, keep writing. A wise grad school professor of mine always used to say, Don’t worry, just work. I think he’s right.

**post-script: I also found this wonderful list of opportunities for writers.

this chill little country that i live in

I think I let myself feel defeated too quickly, too easily, for the first month in Buenos Aires. Psychologically speaking, this is normal, I know. Stress compounds other difficulties. Being unemployed and without a permanent place to live turned discovering missing items from the grocery store into an insurmountable crisis when it should have been a minor nuisance. While, I’ve always considered myself to be an open-minded, creative individual, I’ll admit I haven’t felt like one since I moved here. It’s not easy to realize that you’re not who you thought you were. Yes, I’m still open-minded and creative, but it takes so much more than that to live abroad in a developing country. So far, I haven’t been very accommodating to inconvenience, and in many ways that has put a damper on enjoying (noticing, even) the wonderful aspects of this country where I ‘m living, this gigantic, sprawling megacity.

Ever since I was fourteen, I’ve been employed. My first job as a dishwasher/busser at the restaurant where my dad was bartender/bar manager lasted for about a year and half. After that, I clerked at a local pharmacy near my house. And then I took a pay-cut and worked in the kitchen at a local natural food co-op, because I thought I was a hippie and that job was way cooler. Throughout high school, I also worked for my uncle at a coffee shop at the summer festivals, in addition to whichever other job I had at the time. When I turned 18, I began serving at the country club where my dad and sister were working. Throughout college, I kept that job, returning home for holidays and summers from the University of Minnesota. Of course, I also had a few jobs in Minneapolis, as well. Then transferring to Milwaukee for my last two years of school, I, once again, worked at the country club. I worked there until I moved to Spokane for Grad School. In Spokane, I found another serving job that lasted for the whole two years I lived there. And then I moved back to Milwaukee where I once again worked at the country club to save money before moving to Buenos Aires.

Now I’m in Buenos Aires, and I’m relatively unemployed.  Before the tangent about my work history, I mentioned that I was neglecting to enjoy Buenos Aires to the extent that it deserves to be enjoyed.  Well, let’s begin. No one here seems to look down on me for not working all the time, let alone being completely unemployed. When Brandon and I first came to look at this house where we’re now living, Sandra, one of the sisters who owns the house, didn’t seem to care whether or not we were working. Because of Luna, it seemed to me that Sandra would probably feel more comfortable if we were around the house, to look after her. Imagine a landlord who doesn’t care if you have job. Granted, Americans don’t usually move out of the country without some savings, but in the states, anyone would be hard-pressed to find a landlord who couldn’t care less about their employment status.

I’m thinking about this today, because last night I got into an uncomfortable Skype discussion with my dad about my job situation. Because of some wealthy, country-clubber he works for, he has the idea in his head that I can just walk into some company that has a location in Buenos Aires, and tell them “I know so-and-so” and they will give me a job. He says, I might as well try it, what have I got to lose? I know he is just trying to help, but I don’t want help, not from him, not from anyone. I don’t want anyone pressuring me to do things I don’t want to do. Last night was the second time he brought it up, and I know my father—he won’t quit until I do what he wants me to do. Ugh. Thank you, Argentinean culture for making me feel comfortable here, regardless of my employment status. Thank you, Argentina for finally relieving me from the workaholic atmosphere I’ve been surrounded by my entire life. It’s nice to have a break from that wrinkle-inducing, blood-pressure-raising lifestyle that is the standard in the United States.

With that said, I did find possibly unreliable employment, writing freelance blogs for a website to promote their products. They pay $20USD per blog, and would like me to write at least 10 blogs per month. It’s easy, and I can work from home. Of course, I’m still looking for other work, but for now, I’m happy to have found something. Now, hopefully, my dad will get off my case, and I can start enjoying the judgment-free living that I was too busy to notice before.

And now that I (kind of, maybe) have a job, as well as a secure residence, those insurmountable food crises I’d been experiencing truly have become the minor nuisances that they actually are. (This subject of missing food has even been incorporated into my recent poetry). Yes, I want a burrito, or some decent nachos that don’t have liquid cheese slathered across them. Yes, it is impossible to find tortillas or tortilla chips in the markets or grocery stores around here. True, I can’t have a real burrito like I remember it (so vividly…). But with a little patience and some (not much, in this case) creativity, it is possible to improvise some American-style Mexican food in the comfort of my own Buenos Aires home.

While there are no big, delicious tortillas, there is something similar: a product called Rapiditas. They’re small, round flour makeshift tortillas— albeit low-quality(they tend to fall apart), but I’m not complaining. Aside from sour cream, which I don't think can be found here, the rest of the ingredients that are used to make that burrito that exists so lavishly in my memory, I have finally located. I was in a state of hopelessness regarding my burrito fantasy when I thought black/pinto beans were only a product of the Northern hemisphere, but it turns out I was just looking for them in the wrong place. Black beans aren’t a canned-good here—they can only be found in the bulk area of the grocery store, or somewhere near the rice in a small market. I bet these are healthier than the canned ones anyway. Rapiditas+black beans+rice+corn+lettuce+tomato+guacamole+(ground beef, if I feel like it)=tacos!

Speaking of food, I want to talk about the delicious burgers Brandon and I made last night. Next time.

in case you wanted some info on air pollution and natural remedies.

After nearly a month in Buenos Aires, I can probably count the days on one hand that I haven’t been sick. Allergies, cold, allergies, cold, stomach cramps from unknown sources, allergies, cold. This is not normal. During an average year, I would guess that I am never sick for more than seven (nonconsecutive) days. In this estimate, I am not including allergic symptoms, but it’s hard to include those when my allergies have dwindled down so much in recent years. Even when they would appear, I always had a prescription medication nearby in my cabinet.

Why am I so sick here? Different allergens in the air that I’m not used to? Pollution? Poor, vitamin-deficient diet? Not enough REM sleep? These are all possibilities I’ve considered. This morning, I decided to peruse the world wide web in search of some answers. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that Buenos Aires is considered to be among the least polluted megacities. The list also includes other surprises like Los Angeles and Sao Paulo. (If you’re interested, here is the link. Look in “Air Pollution in Megacities”). As for Buenos Aires, the relatively flat terrain of the city coupled with its proximity to the Rio De La Plata produces moderate to vast air flow (hence the city's name), greatly reducing air pollution. Lucky for me, the summer experiences the majority of that wind.  While this is good news, it remains relative. Milwaukee, Minneapolis, Spokane, Alicante, all cities I’ve lived in for a period of time, don’t have nearly the air pollution of this city because they pale in comparison to BA’s size. Nothing I can do about this. It’s interesting to note,  but I’m looking for ways to be healthy again.

As far as my other hypotheses, of course the allergens are different. Only time can offer remedy to this situation.

My REM sleep is likely reduced as a result of frantic middle-of-the-night scratching episodes (the mosquitoes are taking over my body). This might be the most annoying of all the problems, but at least there are possible solutions. After a lot of research, it seems that many people think eating massive amount s of garlic is a natural mosquito repellent. As a supporter of home remedies and a lover of garlic, there is no harm in adding more of it to my diet. A number of others claim that vitamin b1 (found in asparagus, whole grain, pork, eggs, etc.) is also a natural mosquito repellent. Neither of these claims have any actual proof. Really, the only way to repel mosquitoes is to wear DEET and cover your skin (preferably with loose, light-colored clothing). Tell me something I didn’t already know. I guess I’m heading over to the chino to restock on citronella incense and buy some DEET.

What about my new Buenos Aires diet? I eat a lot of pasta with healthy tomato or olive oil sauces. I eat a lot of fried rice with veggies and eggs. I, of course, eat plenty of salad. More recently I’ve been drinking tea in the mornings.

*Just a quick aside: as a tea person, I can’t believe I’ve never owned a stove-top teapot in my life. Now that I’m living with a few of them, I’m awed with my previous ignorance on this subject.

So what can I do to be healthier? In response to learning about the possibility that b1 can repel mosquitoes, I asked Paola where I could purchase some vitamins. She looked puzzled. It turns out, many people in the world get their vitamins from a well-balanced diet. But then she remembered the gigantic bottle of US-bought multivitamins that someone left behind in the bathroom cabinet. What a relief. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to find some weird apothecary shop to sell me some vitamins that may or may not contain anything I need in them. In response to my recent lack of overall physical health, I’m opting for a balanced diet PLUS the vitamins. Aside from that, I’m going to the pharmacy today to find some Benadryl equivalent and standard allergy pills to help with my respiratory issues and mosquito bites (which cause an allergic reaction, after all). Hopefully, this will help.

1 cup = 240ml

i didn't move to buenos aires on a whim. i thought i had a plan, which only now do i realize was the rough draft of a plan. had i looked into it more, i would have discovered that the jobs for english teachers in buenos aires are plentiful (ish) from march to december, and then summer hits. the weather is hot and muggy and this is not the united states with its abundant air conditioning and overly ambitious attitude. the culture here is much more relaxed than the U.S., so when it is too hot to do anything, many people opt in the direction of not doing anything. i'm not saying this to place judgment on argentineans, despite the fact that it's caused my "plan" to unravel. if anything, i'm jealous. i want it all---the air conditioning AND the lax culture. but seriously, why am i saying it? i think it's because i'm starting to realize what a relief it is that the teaching jobs didn't fall into my lap.

i like buenos aires. i like experiencing the cultural differences and the language barrier and the architecture. i even like to see myself in the face of hardship. for so long i'd dreamed of living abroad, and now here i am, living abroad. the reality is that i already miss the united states, my home. i could list all the little and big aspects that i miss, but that feels tedious. instead, i will say that moving here was a great idea because i had to do it. if i didn't, then for the rest of my life, there would be an emptiness, a sense of regret about it. i like buenos aires, but i don't want to stay here forever. i don't even want to stay here for a year. in march, i have (mostly) decided that i will go back to the states, live in portland.
why this seems like a good idea: if i can't find a job, then i will be depleting my savings, and march is the cutoff before my savings aren't so low that i can't buy a plane ticket home and start a life somewhere (ie portland). even if i find a job, it will most likely be freelance writing on the internet. the pay is just ok and not reliable. (maybe i'd have money to travel!)i will likely have a workable manuscript ready to send out in applications for fellowships or maybe even for publication. i am confident in my ability to write a lot of quality work between now and march. the bonus is that i'll have missed winter, back in time for yet another summer.

of course moving back to the states with little money means that i will have to work as a server again. i've always made plenty of money as a server, and unless i stay at the same restaurant for too long, i don't hate it as much as i sometimes say i do. i will only be temporary, i hope. maybe by that time i'll be an expert at landing freelance writing gigs and i can supplement my income/resume with that work. aside from some casual thoughts of fellowships and PhD programs, that's as far as the new plan has gone.

471 uspallata

today's blog heading is my new address. cuatro siete uno oos-pa-ja-ta.

this morning i finished reading Year of the Flood on the lower terrace, in the sun.

i wrote a poem today that deserves attention, FINALLY. today marks the first day of my writing regimen. every day there will be time set aside for writing.

and this sunny afternoon, brandon and i walked to plaza dorrego---about 10 blocks from home, the main plaza of san telmo---where a small feria was happening, as it happens every saturday. the feria is market style, people bring their things to sell at stands, like jewelry, clothes, art, crafts, etc.. i bought two pairs of earrings, one cost 20 pesos, the other 15 (but she only actually charged me 10). i'm not sure why, but acquiring earrings, or perhaps all jewelry, makes me very happy.


i just looked up recipes for white wine pasta sauce, since i bought a liter of white wine (5 pesos) for cooking the other day. i'm very pleased with the recipe results i found.


and the best news of all: luna loves her new home.

trainwrecks/aftermath

yesterday, we moved to our new house in san telmo. it was fairly simple with our old landlady's help. she picked up the keys and called a flete to move us to our new location. I thought I would have to walk with luna while brandon went with the bags, but the driver was nice and let the three of us pile into the front with him. he didn't even mind luna drooling on his leg a bit (summer has kicked in full swing now, so it was quite warm). then we arrived at the house and saw our temporary room--our room is still occupied until sunday. no one was really around, and sandra handed us a contract and rules etc. this all felt a bit overwhelming, especially in our condition of dirty and hungry.
fastforward to our attempt at retrieving the money we owe for the room (first month's rent plus half for deposit). seems like it shouldn't be hard. go to atm, get money, bring it back. well first we tried to get it in dollars, since that was how the room was advertised. that was not working. you can't even get dollars downtown (and why should you be able to?). so then we started with pesos. after 8 atms at 8 banks, then talking to a couple bank employees, we were more than a little frustrated. i wanted to scream. i saw a beautiful map of buenos aires as we were walking and i said to brandon: i don't want one of those because i hate this city. i'm such a drama queen sometimes. i <3 maps. so, we finally went to a casa de cambios where a man in a suit behind a counter explained to us that in argentina, you can't withdraw more than 1000 pesos per day from the atm. that is roughly 250 USD and would not be sufficient, since we had to pay for our first month's rent and half that for the deposit. sunken, defeated, we began walking through the sunless buenos aires streets back to our new home. we didn't consult our little guia map of the city because we had walked around this area many times before. after around half an hour of walking, we noticed in our fallow states how unfamiliar things were looking. turns out, we'd been walking in the wrong direction. of course. forget about the beautiful, big new house were were now living in, the gorgeous neighborhood , the ease with which we transported our many things from one side of the city to another. we were stressed and melancholy as hell. we had to go tell sandra that we didn't have enough money to pay her, and on top of that, we had decided that we wanted to take the smaller room at this house because it is a bit cheaper, but changed our minds and now preferred the room which we were staying in until sunday and we were not sure how this info would be received.
lucky for us, sandra is wonderful. she said no problem, we can pay the rest tomorrow. also, no problem about the room, we can have it. no pasa nada. like that. then we made a beeline for the grocery store, bought some things for dinner and stocked up on beer and wine and came home to drink and unpack. still, we felt a little uncomfortable in the house. and what an awful day it had been. once we polished off a liter of stella and began unpacking, things didn't seem so terrible. but where were all the people in the house? where was there space for our things in the kitchen? we had met a few people briefly, but other than that, everyone seemed to be minding their own business.
then suddenly, there was a shift. this is the scene: brandon and i are in the kitchen chatting with paola (from peru) and guy (from effing madison, wisconsin). we're speaking spanglish, chatting it up while they explain the kitchen to us and chop veggies for a stir fry. not to mention, paola especially, but guy as well LOVE luna. they LOOOVE her. and they have forgotten to buy garlic, so we offer ours. and they say, well, why don't we just make enough for you guys too, and we'll invite matthew (from france, but i'm sure this is not how he spells it). and we bring in some bottles of wine, and now we're having a grand old time. the dinner was delicious and the company as well. and tonight, brandon and i will be making dinner. (then afterward going to a bday party--it's margaux's bday, a girl i'd been emailing with from the states because she lived in milwaukee to study awhile back). kind of a full evening. today, i will be getting my hair cut (FINALLY) because paola recommended a place around the corner to me, and said to ask for charlie.

the buenos aires apartment

after a strenuous, stressful apartment search that lasted for almost three weeks (as we verged on homelessness), brandon and i have found a place to live that looks and feels like it is going to be superb. contrary to my previous statements, we are not going to be living with an old woman and a shy middle-aged woman in a mediocre porteño neigborhood. instead, we will be living in san telmo, an area of buenos aires known for its narrow, cobblestone streets and beautiful, old architecture. san telmo is the oldest neighborhood of buenos aires and while for awhile it was a bit shady, in recent years, it has turned into a happening, flourishing place. there are lots of bohemian shops and little bars. the largest outdoor market happens every sunday in san telmo. it's cheaper than palermo, but not any less hip, if you ask me. and as for the house itself (yes HOUSE) it is owned by three sisters who rent out the five rooms to internationals looking for temporary residence. currently living there: american, french, and peruvian occupants. someone else was looking at a room today. and then brandon and myself will be taking one room. the house has a large, fully-stocked kitchen, two sunny and gorgeous terraces, one with a giant grill, a nice little patio that overlooks the tree-lined little street that extends from the living room. if you can't tell, i'm truly excited about this. i can't wait to live there (we move on thursday). not the best part of it all, but a nice perk, is that this room is the cheapest of everything we have looked at. how is it possible that our favorite place costs the least? well, sometimes everything happens to work out.

today was a perfect day. afterward we expertly grabbed the nearby subte (our new line, linea c) to a barrio called retiro where we ordered some disappointing nachos (liquid cheese, never again) and awesome beer. this place, buller pub, is one of the few brewpubs in town. we paid a little more than we usually would for an afternoon snack/beer, but we had reason to celebrate. what's more, our friend lukas, from germany, met us there and we had a nice time with him.
now, after an evening rendezvous at the dog park in palermo, luna is happy and calm, and soon we'll be making some dinner. i wish i could share with her my excitement about her soon-to-be living quarters. she will have a whole house to roam around in, including the terraces. she will love it.

brandon getz, your other BA tourguide

read brandon's blog, too. he uses proper punctuation. :)

http://planlessbsas.blogspot.com/

on halloween, food, and other necessities for contemporary living

i don't pick favorite holidays. i generally don't pick favorites of anything--it seems like a waste of time to devote energy to something that is always subject to change. well, unless there is a certain amount of specificity involved. it's easy for me to think: my favorite holiday in 2009, 4th of july. my favorite holiday in 2008, halloween. 2010 isn't over yet, but i can probably say that halloween isn't going to be it this year. there were festivities happening around buenos aires last night, but the necessity to save money is crucial. also, last night, i didn't feel like getting belligerent with a bunch of strangers. last time we did that (BA pubcrawl) i wasn't thoroughly impressed with the night. instead brandon and i made up some costumes from our own wardrobes and walked 2 blocks to the irish (ish) pub. they have really cheap drinks every night until midnight. we each had 2 and then started to feel tired and walked home, went to bed. i wasn't wholly disappointed, not like brandon. halloween is his favorite holiday, and not being able to celebrate like he wants is weighing on him. of course i would have preferred to celebrate and have a ton of fun and dress up fancily, but we can't do that, so i'll just look forward to the next holiday. although, i don't see myself waiting around to have an epic, grand time. it happens when it happens, and like most things, it'll be much better unexpected. besides---tonight we are having a scary movie marathon! how halloween of us. we'll drink red wine and call it blood, we'll close all the curtains so it will be pitch black, and we'll curl up scared under the covers, watching horror after horror from brandon's laptop. and tomorrow, we're going to visit the renowned recoletta cemetery, famous for it's many decadent crypts. we probably even have enough scary movies to continue the marathon tomorrow night.

speaking of our collection of scary movies, this is another point of interest. recently, after the columbians staying downstairs left, our internet bandwidth suddenly exploded. we now have the ability to download (very quickly) movies and music and whatever else we want. this has been a huge part of my life for a long time, the availability of media. it was hard to think that the new kings of leon album had come out and i wouldn't be able to acquire it for my listening pleasure until i returned to the US. now, i am listening to the new kings of leon album. and i have a couple of almodovar films on my computer. and soon i will have shutter island and date night as well. living in argentina does not mean i have to be completely cut off from all things american. yes, i want to immerse myself in the culture here, but i also have an identity, already established. i enjoy music and film, and that will always be a huge part of my life if i have anything to do with it. i'm just glad buenos aires has high-speed internet available to me. that much wasn't clear until yesterday. phew.

i have been craving burritos lately, probably because i found out they don't sell tortillas at the stores here. black or pinto beans can't be found anywhere. what about cheddar cheese? no. pepperjack, that's a joke. woe is me, woe is me. then, (after a little advice from a girl we met at a birthday dinner the other night) i was perusing the aisles of a chino, and i came across a little package of tortilla-looking items called rapiditos. indeed, they were flour tortillas. after that, i made my way over to the sauce section of the store, and found a hot sauce-looking bottle. turns out, a few hours later, brandon and i were enjoying some mozzarella&avocado quesedillas with a homemade corn and tomato salsa, spiced with that delicious little bottle of hot sauce.
we had also purchased 1 kilo of strawberries for 5 pesos. (file under: things i love about buenos aires). we quickly devoured them, all of them, while drinking cheap argentinean wine, of course.
it was a lovely afternoon, despite the halloween-induced homesickness.

btw: we found a place to live starting on nov 4th. we are officially not homeless! it may not be the most ideal place, (living with an old woman whose length of stay is uncertain, and a nice lady who is probably in her 30's, but shy, it seems, and starting at the end of november, the owner of the apartment, who i think is in his 30's or 40's, but who knows what he is like...i've only spoken with him over the phone and emailed him) but the house itself is great. the bedroom brandon and i will be sharing is big, with a lot of space for our things and a huge table--ample workspace for two writers. there is a nice, stocked kitchen, a real bathroom with a real shower, and a communal garden which we share with the other tenants of the building (we have a window that opens up to the garden). the apartment is big overall, with plenty of space for brandon, luna and me--- amplified in my memory by the seriously high ceilings. more details after we move in.

small triumphs, small defeats

On Census Day (Wednesday), the previous president of Argentina, Nestor Kirchner, had a heart attack and died. The current president is his wife. Brandon mentioned it in the morning when he was reading news, but it didn't hit me until we were walking through San Telmo in the evening and went into a cute little hole in the wall where we ordered a cheap liter of beer and sat down. The tv was on, showing footage of the activities happening at that moment in downtown Buenos Aires, perhaps a ten minute walk from where we were sitting. Inside la Casa Rosada, the speeches praised the former president and offered condolences to the family. Or at least this is what I imagine was being said, watching Cristina (the current president) hold herself together in the spotlight.
If Brandon and I had not been on our way to meet with a group of American writers for the weekly Thursday night discussion of the work submitted that Tuesday, we would have gone over to Plaza de Mayo to witness the event firsthand. By the time the meeting was over (the meeting began with some political talk that was jump-started by the death of Nestor Kirchner, followed some gossip regarding another English-speaking writing group in Buenos Aires, and finally we talked about my poem and chapter two of another guy's travel narrative), we were too tired to make the trek downtown. It was late. We had been drinking wine throughout the meeting.

A few hours before the meeting, I had a little situation at the supermarket. It made me want to only go to the little markets (called chinos) from then on. Here goes: Brandon and I had recently discovered that if you bring your beer bottles in to the supermarket, there is a machine that takes them and you get a voucher to bring to the cashier for money. This is only fair, because every beer you buy, you are charged a "deposit" of 1.25 for the bottle. Well, for once, we remembered to bring some of our bottles. I can just see us, proudly walking the three blocks from our apartment to the store, ready and excited to use this machine, finally doing things the Argentinean way. But when we arrived, we found the machine uttering loudly some mechanical words we didn't understand and covered with a sign that obviously indicated that the machine was out of order! At the time, I was infuriated, my excitement deflated just as quickly as it came. Now I have to laugh. That truly is the Argentinean way, broken machine and all. This was only a small defeat, though. We left the bottles next to the machine, unwilling to carry them back, especially when we had planned to buy more beer. Beer that was on sale! Hooray for us! We picked out a few different kinds then a couple other items, then we went to pay. I watched the cashier ring up the beer, noticing the sale price not being rung in. So I asked her in my broken Spanish what the problem was. She called over someone to investigate. Between the time it took for someone to actually come over, then to go check out the situation on the other end of the store where the beer is located, I was thoroughly embarrassed and upset, watching other locals leave our line to move to a quicker one, giving me the stink-eye. At least, I thought, she'll come back and fix the cashier's mistake. This was my consolation for the embarrassment. No. Instead, the woman returns to inform me that in order to get the sale, you have to only buy the same kind of beer. Well, it was the same brand, just different varieties that I had picked out. What kind of popsicle stand was this place??? The cashier just looked at me, terribly annoyed, and I paid and stormed out, leaving Brandon behind to pay for his things.
This is the point where I decided I never wanted to go to that supermarket again. It's only cheaper than the market sometimes, and if the sale items couldn't even be purchased for the sale price, well then fuck them and I'll go elsewhere. Heheh.
Today, estoy tranquila. I just didn't know, and now I know. Next time, I'll get it right. Next time, maybe the machine won't be broken and I can have fun using it to get my bottle deposit back.

day 14: primavera

i should have started this before.

i want to mention the most hilarious thing i have done here, as a sort of preface. brandon and i got very lost one day while walking luna. it was especially stressful because we had only just arrived a couple days previous and we were supposed to meet a girl that is a friend of a friend of a friend who was willing to help us adjust, meet with us even though it was completely out of the way and she was probably too busy to bother. in any case, as we wandered the dusk streets of buenos aires, recognizing no street names, crossing diagonal after diagonal street, i felt worse and worse. we were walking my dog, thus it was my fault we were lost. so i asked someone if he knew how to get to (insert the street name of our temporary apartment). he gave me the most puzzled look i had seen since i arrived here. hmm. i thought, is my spanish that bad? is it my accent? what the hell?! nonetheless, quite frustrating. and still lost. so i asked someone else, and they gave me the exact same puzzled, perhaps offended look. i looked at brandon, slightly scared that no one would be able to help us. we eventually found someone who gave us vague directions back to a place we recognized and could navigate our way back to the apartment.
here is what happened. our apartment is on a street called Estado de Israel. so i was going around asking people: donde esta Estado de Israel. translation: where is the state of israel? this is a very political and personal question, and why is a person asking strangers about such a controversial topic on the streets at dusk? these people are just waiting for the bus. they just want to go home.
my bad. what i meant to say was: donde esta la avenida Estado de Israel? (where is avenue Estado de Israel?)

since then, things have been up and down. i knew it would happen. the helpless feelings, the homesickness (but where is my home, really?), the discouragement. i often rely on the red wine (malbec, delicious and cheap) when i feel those things. and brandon, too. a person alone would have a much harder time existing through this without the companionship of their best friend--for me, a person who i can trust with my best and worst emotional states, who can laugh with me with the same force (full stomach laughter) about our mistakes and runs of bad luck, as well as the odd fashion decisions of many pedestrians we have passed.

the situation that i currently feel after two weeks: i am unsure. i will at least stay here until march. this is the point when i will run out of savings and have to return back to the states with enough money to also have a life there (move to portland, OR, probably!). the job situation is sticky. if we can find jobs here, they will be quite low-paying, perhaps not enough to support ourselves. the reason for this is because summer is about to begin and the people here chill out for the summer, because it is so hot, and because it is summer. they don't take english classes. many people leave. any decent job prospects for us begin in feb-march. another option is online work. we met a girl here who is doing just that. she helps college kids in the states revise their papers. it pays 10/hr usd. which is good. if even one of us could get this job, we could survive for a long time. if we wanted to. im still not sure if i would stay here longer. we shall see.

at the very least, i will be here until march. i will be working as a full-time poet. i will be working on a publishable manuscript. i will be ready to submit to contests and publishing houses when i return. i will be ready to apply for PhD programs and fellowships.

my least favorite part about buenos aires is the dog food. luna is used to having very high end food, full of nutrients and protein etc.. they have nothing of the sort here.
but i spent the day at a huge park in palermo, reading cortazar in the shade of a big tree. and i thought i could stay here for a long time. brandon and i had fresh bread and a bottle of wine. we were happy-- sitting there, reading. it seemed like life was exactly as it should be.

the reality is that we need to find an apartment soon. very soon. im above average in confidence that we will find somewhere. we are looking at a promising shared place (with Argentinians) on friday.