Friday, March 6, 2009

What happened after Uruguay. Well, I woke up and met this guy, this guy Matt Hill, a crew member on some boat who was on paid vacation. We went to Recoleta on a cloudy-sprinkle-rain-kinda day. Perfect weather for a visit to a famous cemetary. The whole place was kind of egyptian in a sense. Like a place to live your afterlife. It was all laid out in streets and the crypts looked like store fronts. There were lots of cats around. Then we took a stroll through a ritzy mall, we passed a place called the Tucson steak house.  
We parted ways cuz I made plans at the university to meet Flavio.

Friday I awoke to loud drums in the streets. It was a 
subway workers protest. This would be one of four protests I would see that day. I think many marches had been postponed because of the rain and they all took advantage of the first sunny day at once. I asked the guy at the front desk what exactly they were protesting about and he said, " hunh i don't know, there are so many i loose track"

I told Matt Hill I'd take him down to this cool bar I'd been too, an irish bar about 60% argentine and the rest irish english and american and other. Then it turned into a group of 10 following me to a place that I could hardly remember how to get to and the pressure was on to actually get there. If it were just two people it wouldn't have been so bad. So I walked confidently using the iron in my nose to get us there. To my relief it worked out. The smoking room in the back is just benches that face and encircle a pool table in the center. A short well dressed quantessentially argentinian man was kicking ass. He was way too old to be there, but he gave the room it's Buenos Aires charecter. 

I said goodbye to Matt and went to a Feria Americana, which is like a thrift store. I loved this place. It was heaven. I could have the coolest looking apartment here just getting everything from this place. amazing shit.

I bought some clip on sunglasses from these old men. One of them seemed really talkative towards me. Nordberg was his name. A painter that studied in Paris and Florence in his youth. When I put the sunglasses on he said I looked like James Dean. I couldn't understand him at first . It sounded like.. "jasdmnasdkjfn". well not like that bad but, "yams gean" or something.

oh shit. This guy just walked up to me on the roof. cheech and chonging. Anyways. uh , I can't write right now. ok that guy just left.

so like i was saying, Norberg talked to me a lot. and afterwards walking down the street when i left. i started translating some of the stuff he said in my head. things i remembered that i could'nt translate fast enough at the time and stored for later. I had no idea at the time, but this dude was tottally gay. seriously. he was hitting on me. i just didn't realize till later. He wanted my phone number and address and told me anything i need i could use his internet. luckily i don't have a phone number or an address.

Earlier in the night I went to a Circle Jerks show and hung out backstage all night. 

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