Soul Patches and Socialists

In case you didn't know, soul patches are in. At least in Buenos Aires they are. The sheep parader at La Rural (the Argentine equivalent of the MN state fair, except without the food on a stick), the bartender who fed us potato chips and empanadas while we waited an hour (until 11:00 p.m.) to get a table, the dj at "BA's best live music venue". The soul patch is everywhere. And I think I speak for people everywhere when I say, really?

Unfortunately for the dj, his soul patch wasn't my only complaint. I can't say that he was particularly bad, his transitions were smooth and his beats were interesting house/latin stuff. But (Joe, Adri, Domi, Mom, you will all understand this) he was completely lacking in the crescendo that always brings to mind mental images of Mateusz, Thomas, Dre, and Piers, fists pumping, jumping like there was no tomorrow. Without that, even a soul patch can't save you.

WARNING: The following two paragraphs contains some painful descriptions of leg waxing, but don't worry, it's all below the knee.

So, this all begins with the fact that I have very little hot water in the morning which means that there has been some shower routine reorganizing. And one of the things that got cut was shaving. At this point it had been so long and there are so many signs around for "depilación" that I thought I would just go into this place near my apartment and ask how much it cost. This is how I accidentally got my legs waxed.

The second I walk in the door the nice older couple running this place have me bustled into a "room", and about 30 seconds later my waxer had me pantsless and on a table. At this point I am in a stall that looked like a bad department store changing room with a jar of wax was oozing into a warming pot in the corner. It was just so menacing and without subtlety; I'm sure that Polish knights felt something similar when they faced Swedes with morning stars. I am proud to say that I did not flinch. Well, maybe once or twice when she got my ankles. Apparently I have very sensitive ankles. Considering that about 15 minutes and $4 dollars later I was sent on my way, I'll probably go back. But next time I'm wearing a skirt.

Speaking of skirts, now that I can wear one in public that is, I am going to join the Jane Austen Society of Buenos Aires, or JASBA. I even have a personal invitation addressed to "Miss Margaret, 5 A". This all began last week when I held the elevator door in my apartment building for a mujer grande (the Argentine euphemism for an older woman, vieja would be terribly insulting). She got in and asked if I was new, what I was doing here, etc., all in Spanish of course. I tell her that I am studying letras (language/literature) and in the blink of an eye she has switched into flawless and faintly British English (but of course) and is asking "Have you ever read Jane Austen?" (It is much better if you imagine Maggie Smith as Prof. McGonagall speaking.) Obviously I have, and we chat all the way to my floor where she promises to leave me the information next time she goes out. I was expecting a flier under the door, but of course not. Two days later my host mom brings me a sealed envelope addressed to Miss Margaret from Prof. Nadine Aguilar from 6 A. I am having visions of Jane Austen themed debates over cafe con leche and medialunas. I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. (Yes Heather, I will introduce you. :-D)

I also recently met my portero/encargado (doorman). We had spoken before, but it was mostly about my inability to open the front door. Whoops. Anyway, yesterday I introduced myself and learned that his name is Jose and that since I like Argentina and will be here for 6 months (plenty of time he says) I should get myself a porteño novio. I'm guessing I don't need to translate that one. ;-) I should have asked him if he has any available sons, but he's about 5'4" so maybe not.

Classes are starting soon, like, Wednesday soon. This is actually coming as a huge relief (okay, enough shock and awe people, I never said I was excited about doing the homework on time) since, after being here for 2 weeks, I still have no routine. It is really messing with my mental clarity. But classes start soon, so all is well. Yesterday a bunch of us went and registered at UBA - FILO (Universidad de Buenos Aires - Facultad de Filosofía y Letras). UBA is the largest university in Buenos Aires and also one of the only public ones. Public meaning cheap, not $20,000 vs. $40,000 cheap, free except for your materials cheap. Even for foreigners. You can say whatever you want about their economy, but if they can manage to send 308,594 students to university for free... they've got to be doing something right.

While the Law School and Engineering School are located in buildings that rival the Palace of the Parliament in Bucharest, FILO is located in what appears to be an old warehouse. But of course, poets don't want columns or clean windows, right? Actually, FILO is kind of like Macalester, if you added about 25,000 students and 2,000 brightly painted posters (except now the writing on them will be advertisements of socialism and student revolutions instead of school dances and student org fairs) while taking away all the money and the Econ and Science majors. Sorry Joe, Brandon, Charlie, you'll have to settle for 5 story stone columns.... think you can manage? Needless to say, I love it and hope that I love two of the four classes I registered for so I can drop the other two and happily establish my routine. Maybe even join a socialist revolution or two.

p.s. I will let you guess which is for Econ and which is for poets...

p.p.s. the poster at the top is for the leftist collective... Apparently resistance is not futile.

One last thing, I know this is getting long, and I apologize. However, I have been meaning to let everyone know that you can comment on my blog. Not only that you can, but that I encourage it. It nice to know that I have an audience (it is my theory that all blogs start out as "for the people" and then quickly become yet another method of self-aggrandizement, resistance, in this case, is futile), and I like the feedback. Thus far, and not surprisingly thanks to facebook photos, it is only the undergrad crowd who has figured out the comment button. And so I hereby challenge all of my older and wiser readers to break through the technological and language barriers and make a comment. Grandma, I'm rooting for you to be the first one. :-D