Blogos Aires Day 4

During the call with the client yesterday, Wanda asked about mosquitoes. Not the tropical minty drink (ha! See what I did there?) but the blood sucking insects. We assured her that, despite the heat, there were no mosquitoes as far as we could tell. That night, Liz started scratching a bit and joked that it was probably payback for saying there were no mosquitoes.

Cut to this morning. Liz’s leg looks diseased. A picture of it looks like it belongs in a medical journal with a caption under it. So we sent out a quick e-mail to Wanda warning her about the infestation. All we need is a client angry about a bunch of mosquito bites.

I think I’m being gassed. I’m sitting in the lobby and all of a sudden, I get a strong whiff of men’s cologne. But there’s no one around me. No one just walked by me. The only people in the lobby right now are the two security guards who seem to think they work for the Secret Service or something.

I forgot to mention another sighting of the crazy-looking lady…or lack thereof. The one time I’m the last one at the sign of the cow, Topher and Liz tell me that she swept through the lobby wearing some dress with a meshy top over it. This morning, Liz was able to snap a photo of her by pretending she was taking a picture of me but focusing on our tourist friend instead.

I also forgot to mention the security at the restaurant last night. I guess purse snatching is reaching the popularity of an Olympic sport down here. Since we’re sitting outside and right along the river, all women have their bags locked to their chairs with these plastic cable ties to deter people running by and grabbing the purse off the back of the chair. Ingenious!

Back to today. Our new driver is Carlos Eduardo Xavier. I think. You know those hack licenses in NYC cabs where you can’t tell which is the first name and which is the last? That’s what we have here. It turns out he’s from Jersey City. Regardless, I still can’t understand a word he says.

Topher is sunburned. He already has white teeth and ice-blue eyes but these are augmented by his newly red face. It’s not a really even burn either. His legs are a bit blotchy. Liz and I? Still bright white.

Today is wardrobe day, which, for a copywriter, can be dull to begin with. But Liz has an amazing sense of style. I wear jeans all the time. So I’d always defer to her judgment when it comes to this stuff. I’m tired and it’s pretty hot in here so I find myself dozing off. The benefit of being a writer while Liz is wardrobing is that I can catch up on some z’s. A bit later on, the Playtex crew whooshes in. Suddenly our quiet little session turns into the Ziegfield Follies (look it up). We hear about their day and they insult our shopping location. They’ve also all brought guests from the States.

Liz is tired, too, and she gets some Coke Light for a quick caffeine jolt. She said she was willing to risk the gas baby for it. This is a reference to the bloated feeling everyone got from chugging too much Coke Light. I never got it. I don’t think Robert did either. Must be a girl thing. The tiredness (?) is making us punchy and making the odd comment Topher just made about corporate mergers even more odd. He noticed a billboard for BankBoston, which he knew was bought by Fleet and then by Bank of America. So why is there a BankBoston down here? We come up with some theories about the billboard being old and all of a sudden, we see a BankBoston branch! Weird! Or maybe we have the power to conjure up images merely by speaking about them. More on that in a moment.

So why would there be a BankBoston way down here in Buenos Aires when the brand no longer exists? I come up with some crackpot theory of not wanting to have a Bank of America in Argentina because maybe they hate America. Topher says that Boston is just as American and I accuse him of changing the subject. Liz says it would also be weird to see an HSBC. No sooner does she say that when we see an HSBC out the window. This is nuts! There was a third thing, too, but I forgot to write it down.

After dinner, we crack ourselves up over a restaurant we see. It’s called “Kansas” and Liz wonders aloud if it was named for the state or the band (she was kidding, or so she wants us to believe). This, at the time, was a riot. I tried to imagine a bunch of entrepreneurs down here deciding to open up a real American restaurant and naming it after some hot American band. But they don’t realize they’re 30 years behind the times. So they sell Carry On Wayward Sonion Rings and stuff. This leads us to believe that BankBoston was founded by the band Boston.

It was funny at the time.

More useful Spanish from American TV: Es genial (that's cool), Lo jure (I swear), en serio (really).

Today’s make out count: 1 ½ (there was a couple squeezing each other’s asses so we counted that as ½).

Blogos Aires, Day 3

Day 3: January 15
It’s Martin Luther King Day but you’d never know it from walking around down here. Maybe that’s because there are no blacks down here. At least no one’s calling them African Americans. We’ve gotten so PC that whenever we go to Toronto or even Bucharest, someone mentions finding African Americans for our cast. They’re only African Americans in the US and then only if Al Sharpton is in the room.

I’ve been watching a crazy amount of television since I’ve gotten down here. Despite the lack of anything in English, I’ve managed to find stuff to watch. The other day, I watched Los Padrinos Magicos (Fairly Odd Parents) and La Pantera Rosa (The Pink Panther). I’ve seen every Fairly Odd Parents so I was able to follow the storyline without a problem. And The Pink Panther never really had any dialogue. Then I watched a little of Los Angeles de Charlie. I should probably try to get out more.

We’ve decided that whenever we have to meet in the lobby, we’re going to meet under the Sign of the Cow. It’s a huge painting of dozens of heads of cattle. While waiting for breakfast in the lobby, Liz spotted the quintessential American tourist. This lady belongs on a cruise ship, not in a hotel lobby. She has these huge classes and giant Chanel earrings. Her pants are white with lots of colorful stripes. She looks a little like Carrie Donovan from the old Old Navy commercials. Her husband seems normal or, at least, tolerant. This lady is quite a character.

So breakfast in the lobby consists of a huge buffet with their versions of standard favorites. There were bagels but if you refer back to a previous blog in which I wrote about the ins and outs of bagels, you know that this was really just some bread with a hole. There were pancakes with something called syrup that was really too thick to be syrup. The French toast was a roll cut in half and dipped in egg.

And now we’re headed out to casting. We’re in our third van already. In Romania we had one car with one driver the whole time. That’s okay…we still have Julietta. We’ve noticed that the younger people around here like to pack themselves into small cars or, as Liz put it, “they love to pack people into cars down here, don’t they?” We’ve noticed that the older you are, the less likely you are to be wearing a shirt. This rule only applies to overweight, hairy men. It took us forever to get there. The driver got lost a few times. We did get to see one of the huge soccer stadiums down here. But thanks to our blind driver, we got to see it three times. And casting went well. I doubt we were there for more than an hour. So now it’s time to shop.

Palermo SoHo is an area of Palermo called that because the shops remind people of NYC’s SoHo. Which means I won’t find anything to buy. But we have a good lunch at Bartok. Another all-Spanish menu. Dios bless Julietta.

So we have time to kill because they don’t eat dinner until 9 pm. Back at the hotel, Liz and I decide to have a drink while Topher said he needs to “work on the prepro book.” We’re convinced this is a euphemism for something else. Anyway, this place is home to the Blue Sky Bar, right on the rooftop, 9 stories up. So Liz and I head there because that’s what cool people do. Of course, cool people also would have known the hours. After wandering the rooftop wondering where everyone was, we went back down and were told that it’s only open from Wednesday to Sunday from 10 am to 7 pm. Why not Monday and Tuesday? Because “the girl is off those days.” So they can’t get another person up there? Is it a private franchise owned by this mysterious girl who only works 5 days a week? It’s a mystery.

Also on the roof is the pool. I once entertained going into said pool but changed my mind after seeing the hard bodies and skimpy bikinis populating the area. My body type wouldn’t be allowed up there.

Oh, I’ve discovered a couple of TV stations that play undubbed American shows with Spanish subtitles. I’m actually starting to pick up some terms. Lo siento (I’m sorry), disculpe (excuse me), que mas? (what’s up?). Good stuff, TV.

Quick call with the client. We asked for a speakerphone but it’s not available. I’m having a hard time with that one. This hotel has one speakerphone or something? So we end up having a conference call by all of us calling in individually on our cell phones. When the meeting ended, we swiped all the water and took some croissants. That’ll learn ‘em!

*****
We’re having dinner tonight with some other Grey folks who are down here for another shoot, among them being James from the Romanian excursion. Topher and I were pretty sure we knew where to go, sure enough that we blew of the directions given to us by the concierge. We figured that whatever she was telling us that seemed wrong; it must have been a language barrier. So after wandering around for a bit, we had to accept that we were lost. Liz’s shoes weren’t made for this much walking around. Topher’s actually going up to anyone sitting still and asking if they know where the restaurant is. Well we finally get some directions and realize that we probably should have taken a cab. The highlight of this really long walk is the bridge we’re supposed to cross. It’s only for pedestrians and it looks very cool at night. We also get our count of making out couples much higher. Before this walk, we were stuck at one or two.

We finally arrive at Cabaña Las Lilas, one of Puerto Madero’s finest steakhouses. That’s what Lulu tells us, anyway. But then she tells Liz the Vegetarian that she really doesn’t eat a lot of meat. So I’m taking meat advice from a woman who shuns the stuff. I had something called a Club Steak. I asked the waiter to tell me about it and he says that it’s very good. Then he proceeds to produce a photo of the steak from his wallet. It’s big if nothing else (the steak, not the photo). I was underwhelmed. And Topher’s filet was undercooked. But we did have these soufflé fries. It’s as if someone cook up some steak fries and scooped out the potato. Very airy and really good.

After the meat fest, the three of us get in a cab and head over to La Faena. It’s an upscale hotel, which is priced way out of our budget. But other Grey employees have stayed there. Michelle couldn’t stop raving about how beautiful it was. To me, it was one of the freakiest places I’d ever been in. If Dracula ever decided to stop hanging around Transylvania and go into the hotel business, this is the kind of place he’d open. Kubrick could have shot “Eyes Wide Shut” here. It’s very dark and everyone is wearing long, black coats. There are a few rooms to the right side and each one is done up completely differently. One room is all white and has unicorn heads on the wall. We eventually find our way to the pool. Very beautiful. More couples making out. Topher had some Skollar-type frozen drink, which was amazing. Liz ordered a Mai Tai. Every once in awhile, Liz channels 63-year old women.

We hear a splash and some man has stripped down to his Speedo and started doing laps. It’s 1:30 am. And older man in a business suit is watching him with interest. We figured that this might be some sex game they play. “I’ll be Greg Louganis and you be the strict Olympic coach.” Something like that. The guy eventually gets out of the pool, dries off and puts his business suit back on. Crazy.

Number of couples making out: 12.

Suburbia del Sud: Buenos Blog, Day 2

Day 2: January 14
I deplane and head for customs. But I could wait for Topher and Liz at baggage claim or on the customs line. So I opt for customs. I get off the line and wait. And the line grows rapidly. No sign of Liz and Topher. The line now passes the gate. There is some confusion between the deplaning passengers staying in Buenos Aires and the ones heading for Montevideo (capital of Uruguay. Read a book!). But Topher and Liz show up and now we get to exchange plane stories. Here we go: Topher slept the whole time. Liz slept most of the time.

Once we get downstairs, the huge customs line moves along nicely. Argentinean residents zip through, probably because there are less than them. Or maybe it’s some government program to get people to move to Buenos Aires for the quick customs lines. Anyway, we see a sign, which lists the various things you cannot bring into the country. Biological things are forbidden, including semen. Semen? Is there a huge semen smuggling ring down here? I think that if a customs agent asks if you have anything illegal to bring in and you have the balls (pun intended, of course) to say “actually, I have some semen in my bag”, (no pun intended) then you should be allowed to bring it in on bravado alone.

Liz brings up an interesting question. When Angelina Jolie was married of Billy Bob Thornton, she used to wear a vial of his blood around her neck. Would she have been allowed into the country? Hmmm…

Customs ends up being very low key. No questions at all. Canada customs is an oppressive regime compared to this place.

You know how it is when you ride a ride at Disney World? After the ride, you have to pass through the gift shop before exiting onto the street. The airport is like that as well. We get through customs and are blinded by the fluorescent lights of a huge duty-free shop, complete with loud club music. I don’t have any Argentinean pesos yet. But I do have around 400 Uruguayan pesos courtesy of Poker Chick, a friend who was just down here. I exchange them and get around 42 Argentinean pesos.

******
The weather is great. A nice breeze. Very sunny and warm. Being south of the equator will do that for a climate. We meet up with Julietta, our chaperone/translator/aspiring film director.

Hotel Madero is nice in a post-modern kind of way. It lies in the relatively-revitalized Puerto Madero district of Buenos Aires. Very minimalist with earthy, new age music playing (the hotel, not the area of Buenos Aires). Lots of people dressed in black. The rooms aren’t ready when we arrive so we head out to this river walk-kind of area. It used to be an active port, which was abandoned about 30 years ago and was revitalized about 10 years ago. We cross over a river, which is a few shades of brown. Liz and Topher notice schools of dead fish floating on the surface. We will call this place Dead Fish River. Not as stinky as it could be, so we've got that going for us.

Veronica from the production company shakes around hands but tells us that the customary greeting is a kiss on the cheek. So I start kissing everyone I meet. I must be doing it wrong because I keep getting my ass kicked.

While we’ve seen 2 nose pickers so far today, we see significantly more couples making out. Necking. Pitching woo. Whatever the kids are calling it these days. They’re on benches, at tables or couches in restaurants, in cars, on street corners. It must be that customary cheek kissing which leads to this. Or that Latin blood. Except no one down here speaks Latin.

So we have lunch at a place where the menu is in Spanish but has English translations. Very handy.

******
Apparently people don’t eat dinner around here until 9. So we walk around some more. We’re driven to this area called Santelmo or San Telmo or Sant Elmo (or maybe none of those) where the street is closed every Sunday for a huge flea market/antique fair. Except when we get there, everyone’s packing up. We basically crashed at the hotel and slept through this fair. No worries, it’s just the usual collection of crap. There were some interesting, odd things, however, including a strangely large number of creepy dolls. Liz is totally freaked.

And then I get my first taste of the tango. There’s this large, outdoor area where tango music is being played and the courtyard is filled with people doing the tango. It’s definitely not what I expected. I always pictured the tango as everyone sees it in the movies. You need lots of space. You need a rose. And women need long legs and a skirt with a very high slit. But these are just your basic people dancing. It’s as precise as the tango I envisioned but it’s a lot more compact. I’m transfixed. There was something about it that I couldn’t stop watching. It seems to be this national dance that everyone has to know to live down here, like that weird dance Baron Von Trapp danced with Maria in “Sound of Music”. It would be cool to learn this but it’s not exactly a solo dance.

So we have dinner at Lele Troya or something. Julietta has this Spanish accent that everyone down here seems to have so I think this is what she said. Every room is done up in some primary color. We get the blue room. The blue includes everything: the walls, ceiling, chairs, tables, even the clothes our waitress is wearing. Unlike lunch, we get menus that are all in Spanish. Poor Julietta has to translate everything. This got more complicated when dessert came around. Liz asked about something with turned out to be cheesecake with, as Julietta translated it, ginger ale. A quick reality check determined that she was trying to explain ginger, the spice. We all agreed that it must have a gingerbread flavor. This sounded good enough to overlook the grape sauce topping, whatever that was. Liz gets it. You know that sensation you get when you eat something and you’re expecting a completely different flavor? Well it turns out that the ginger was actually the ginger that comes with sushi. Gross, right? Liz ate it anyway, deciding that once you get over the shock, it really isn’t that bad.

We’ve also discovered the wonders of Malbec. I’ve never had a red wine like it. I’ve been drinking a lot of it. I hope to bring some home if there’s any left by the time I’m done with it. Very smooth, unlike many other red wines I’ve had. It must be fate because there was a whole article about Argentinean Malbecs in the USA Today I read on the plane on the way down here.

We’ve been keeping track of the number of couples making out. They have to be making out. There are many couples who may have been making out before we saw them but that doesn’t count. Today’s count: between 11 and 15.

The Buenos Blog, Day One

Welcome to the Buenos Blog (thanks, Crimestopper!) or Blogos Aires (thanks, Liz!). For the next few days, the staff at Greetings From Suburbia will be on a business trip in Buenos Aires so we’ll be returning to a travelogue-style of writing. Fans of the July ’06 postings from Romania remember the hijinx of Liz, Topher, myself and a cast of thousands as we toured post-Communist Bucharest. Well the three of us are back, this time in South America as we shoot a commercial for Twister Scram, new in the Twister Outdoor line from Hasbro.

Day 1: January 13
Now I know why I don’t do a lot of international traveling. I used to think it was because I don’t have any money. But the truth is that I tend to end up at the 3rd world airport known as JFK. I think it’s the only airport where the name and the official code are the same. Can anyone confirm or deny this? Anyway, I’m not in the swanky new International Terminal I got to use when I went to Romania. No, I’m in the terminal that time forgot. Vintage crap. Stained carpeting. Holes in the ceiling. And that’s just the gift shop!

Badum dum.

Of course, I got here way too early. So now I have 3 hours to kill. And the difference between Romania’s business class and this class that American Airlines calls “economy” are becoming obvious. It’s pretty hot here. That may be American trying to acclimate us to Buenos Aires weather. It may also be American turning on the heat in November and leaving it on.

So it’s the same crew as Romania, minus Robert. Kind of a drag because he’s always good at finding something funny in everything. Now it’ll be up to me and Liz. Topher’s a really good guy with a dry sense of humor but no one’s lining up to call him Shecky if you know what I mean.

Going through security isn’t so bad. First we had to dodge the elderly couple arguing with each other about identification. The husband says she needs picture ID. His shrew wife (“don’t you hate Perry’s wife?” Anyone? Anyone?) keeps saying “photo ID or passport?” The whole thing could be solved by telling her it’s the same thing but that solution seems to be eluding the poor schmuck.

And then I get scolded for putting my sneakers on top of my computer. I’m actually told to “never do that again.” I offered to run the stuff through again and she said it was too late. Too late? Viva Homeland Security.

We should be boarding any time now. I know this because they’ve just announced that only first and business class are boarding and everyone else should wait. But everyone got up and rushed the door. And now that I’m boarding, the indignity of economy is magnified by having to walk through first and business. The sad looks. The way they avert their eyes when you look at them. And then the space diminishes and the walls start closing in. Economy starts at row 20. I’m in row 23 so I can still see that happy people with their leg room and their foot rests and their metal flatware. I got an aisle, so that’s nice. For a moment, I was seated next to an old man who resembled Menachem Begin if he were alive today. But he not only doesn’t speak English, he can’t read either. He’s supposed to be in 23F, not 23D. The woman who belongs in 23D also speaks no English but is easier on the eyes. She is carrying a printer but doesn’t even try to put it overhead. So she puts it on the floor in front of her feet. It won’t fit under the seat. So she puts her feet on the box and then covers herself with a blanket to hide it.

This being a red eye, there’s very little to say about the flight. I read. I did a puzzle. I watched “The Queen” (Helen Mirren was great, the story was ho hum). I slept for 5 of the 10 ½ hours. Topher and Liz are many rows behind me so I have no one to exchange funny looks with.

And then we land.

What's In A Name?

While some may see the proliferation of variety a huge benefit of life in suburbia, it does have drawbacks which lead to many questions.

For years, dating back to my suburban life on Long Island, I saw the plain bagel develop colors and flavors that just don't seem right on a bagel. I get trying to bring in the Gentile market but still, shouldn't a bagel be a bagel?

What makes a bagel a bagel? I'm sitting at a Panera on Bloomfield Avenue in West Caldwell, NJ (birthplace of President Grover Cleveland) and eating my favorite Panera item: a cinnamon crunch bagel. But was it really a bagel? There was no hole in it so it looked more like a roll than a bagel. And if it were truly in the bagel family, it would be more of a bialy than a bagel. But bagels come in many varieties while I have only seen one type of bialy in my life. You would never see a cinnamon raisin bialy.

A bialy also doesn't have a hole. It has a dent in the middle. So is it the hole that makes it a bagel? Well if that were the case, wouldn't a donut be a bagel? Of course not. A donut is more like a cake while a bagel is more like bread. So right there is a clear designation: cake vs. bread. Okay, a donut is not a bagel.

At what point does a bagel become a tasty roll? This cinnamon crunch thing on my napkin is pretty close. It doesn't have the texture or the consistancy of a bagel. You also wouldn't put plain old butter or cream cheese on it. Once you start getting into the flavored spreads, you're out of the realm of bagels as far as I'm concerned.

A fellow blogger has some thoughts on this very important subject. For one thing, a bagel should not be toasted. I don't really agree with this one but she's a city dweller and doesn't know from suburbia. In suburbia, it's very common to buy more bagels than you need. Sometimes a bagel needs to be toasted, or at least nuked, in order to make it edible again. But getting a bagel right from the store? No toasting.

Weird flavors are forbidden. And that's where the cinnamon crunch thing falls. Bagels are plain or poppy or sesame or garlic or egg or salt or everything or pumpernickel. I guess whole wheat is acceptable. Some will include cinnamon raisin but not me. Once the bagel starts tatsing sweet, it's a roll. Or a muffin. Cinnamon crunch, asiago cheese, french toast and the like are not bagels. They're rolls.

I still love the cinnamon crunch bagel. I love Panera. And I will continue to seek out my favorite Panera food at least until I go on Weight Watchers again. But I will not order it as a bagel. "Gimme two cinnamon crunch" and leave it at that.