Change in Change?

Is it just me, or has everyone noticed a lot more American change in their pockets these days? I have received three quarters, two dimes, and one nickel of Amercian change from various Montreal vendors this week.

Now, I know that when you look for something, you notice it more. But for those of you that know me I'm a bit of a coin and note fanatic: generally, I look at the change when I get it back (for commemorative or rare coins, not to see if I'm being short changed). So, maybe this isn't a coincidence. I guess people are just starting to get rid of those American coins, realizing they are worth less than their Canadian counterparts.

Food for thought.

Support Beams

Although nobody has been clamouring for a new post, I thought I would give this blog thing a go, again.

Today, I spent some time at my mother's place. We were clearing all of the furniture out my baba's room: she is now permanently in an old folks home. As I was disassembling the frame of the bed, I had a moment of realization. The metal beams and plywood that I was taking apart had been supporting my grandmother for as long as I can remember. Not only physically, but also mentally: my baba has a habit of lying in bed when she was feeling depressed, and has throughout her life. A coping mechanism, if you will.

My mother has a tremendous amount of pent up guilt about leaving my baba in the hands of the people in the retirement home. After spending seven years providing home care for my grandmother (living with her in the house where she grew up) my mother wasn’t able to care for my grandmother anymore, and had neglected to care for herself. My mother had been supporting my baba for a long, long time. I, on the other hand, was there to support my mother: physically, by getting these things out of the house; and mentally, by reminding her that she has been as supportive as anybody could possibly be, and that it was time to put herself at the forefront of her life.

Recently, in various media, I have heard a couple of variations of the saying that, “the only person that you can depend on is yourself.” I think that's a crock of shit. Yes, ultimately we are responsible for our own actions and ourselves. However, without being able to be weak, admit defeat, and ultimately depend on a loved one for support to get us through a rough time, we are not human.

We all need support, and today, I was there to support my mom, just like so many people support me.

On a lighter note, here’s an old picture that my mother dug up. It’s a Polaroid taken circa 1979 near my grandparents' cottage north of Montreal. We were on our way blueberry picking. I like this shot because I think that we look like a real Eastern European family.

Clockwise from the far left: my great-aunt Katerina, my mother, my baba, my dido, my sister, and myself.

It's a Helluva Town

The long weekend brought us to NYC and surrounding area. Here are a few snaps of cityscape and others, from our stay in the Big Apple.


I couldn't resist taking a picture of the Apple Store. This cube had a circular glass elevator that brought you down into the store. I felt like I was in the future!


Here are some metal trees we saw in Madison Square park. Vaguely reminiscent of the metal flower that we saw in Buenos Aires. Mr. T thought that it looked like the metal trees were fighting! "Take that you impostor!" "NOOOO, take that you impostor!"

We stumbled upon the Ukrainian festival, and so, Mr. T, insisted on snapping one of me in front of the Trezoob (the Uke trident that you see hanging above my head). It's funny, these festivals are universal. All of the stalls were selling the same things that they sell at the one that happens in Montreal -- painted eggs, embroidered shirts, pirogies, cabbage rolls etc... Haven't we evolved as a people? I mean, how about a Вєрка Сердючка CD or t-shirt or sumfin'? Huh?

In the garden at the MoMA. These were some amazing metal sculptures that you could just walk through and around. One of them was shaped like a slanted ellipse. Depending on your position, your voice would be muted or amplified.

Inside the MoMA looking down a few levels at a super-cool helicopter. Do you feel dizzy?

The mandatory picture of sculpted-labouring-men-statues. My favourite was Mr. Coal. Hey, this gives me an idea for a pageant...


After a couple of nights in the big city we took the train out to visit our friends Mayla and Ron, and their daughter Lirit in Stamford Connecticut (or Stepford, as Mayla likes to call it). Lirit wanted to try out Mr. T's hat.

And then, my glasses...

Call me greedy, but four days (three sleeps) is just not enough... We've made a pact to go back every Victoria Day weekend. Long live the Queen!

Вєрка Сердючка Sings Her Little Heart Out

Look out Agnetha and Frida, Eurovision’s got a new diva. Say hello to Ukraine’s hottest drag queen: Вєрка Сердючка (Verka Serdyuchka).

I came across this in today’s BBC article summarizing a list of expected performances at the upcoming Eurovision competition.

It’s disturbingly reminiscent of my days of Ukrainian dancing classes: with a distinctly Eastern European pop/techno twist of course. The costumes on the other hand (although outlandish) weren’t quite so avant garde.



I hope this crazy bitch wins the contest!

Quasiment Comme Batman!

Monsieur anti-mégots: mon héro!

This is the kind of vigilante environmentalism that we need in our neighbourhood:



Maybe I can make Mr. T and I some superhero costumes when we go out to do our work.

L'André-Boisclairisateur

En mangeant mon sandwich de jambon durant mon heure de dîner, j’ai fait une recherche pour « André Boisclair » sur youtube : Question de voir un extrait du débat de chefs que j’ai manqué hier soir.

En regardant les résultats de mon enquête, j’ai trouvé ce drôle de vidéo qui m’a fait rigoler :



En plein milieu de la campagne électorale, c’est important de rire un peut, non?

Les Joyeux Lurons en font un nouveau a chaque semaine.

Post-Vacation Blahs

• One week ago to the day: starting back at work.
• Two weeks ago to the day: our delicious wine tour and lunch in Mendoza.
• Three weeks ago to the day: our shopping extravaganza in Palermo.

Sigh, I wish it were three weeks ago. To lift my spirits, I have been watching a photo/video montage that Mr. T made this weekend:



Doesn't it make you want to go to Argentina? It sure makes me wish I were back in America del Sur. I guess I'll just have to content myself with making snow angels for the next month or so. Not that I really ever do that...

Mountains, and Gliders and Wine, Oh My!

With one hand on my stomach and the other hand on my eyes, after 24 hours of stomach flu / food poisoning, I waited at Jorge Newbury Airport for our plane to Mendoza with a combination of excitement, and "I sure hope that I don't shit my pants." After many delays, and an aircraft that looked like it was a relic from the 50's (seriously, the overhead bins were taped to the ceiling in some parts and the aircraft was yellow on the inside from the days of smoking on planes), we finally landed in the welcoming little town at the foothills of the Andes.


While I slept the rest of the bug off, Trevor set out to take some pictures of the city, that I posted here for you very much viewing pleasure.


The building aboverwas kitty-corner to our hotel.

Mendoza has really amazing parks. There is one giant, perfectly squre park smack dab in the middle of the city. Four satellite parks, are all semetrically placed three diagonal blogs from the larger central park, and all have neat themes. This one is taken in Plaza Independencia while the sun is setting, and I'm starting to feel a bit better.

The above photo, again taken by Mr. T, had neat metal panels that had rusted over the years to create a quilt of different coloured panels.

A few short hours after waking up the following day (and might I remind you, the first day that I don't feel like I have to monitor the location of bathrooms and not stray farther than 20 meters) we went on our full day wine tour and tasting!

Both the above and previous photos were taken at Alta Vista winery: one of the oldest in the region.

Surprise, it ain't wine, it's sparkling wine! Did you know that the bottles are stored like this for 6-8 months and re rotated (manually) daily to move the sediment int he bottle around? You're paying for the daily turn, baby.

Mr. T tasting some grapes, fresh off the vine before lunch.

Click to see the panaramic picture in a new window. It's worth it! Like I said, the vineyards are really at the foot of the Andes. This was our view at lunch (On. A. Monday!).

Speaking of the Andes... In a moment of exhausion combined with his late afternoon hangover from wine tasting, Trevor instructed me to organize an activity for the following day. I did as I was told, and headed out to the tour office to sign us up for paragliding! I think that at first Mr. T regretted his decision to give me carte blanche.

The highest peak you see, in the picture above, was where we jumped off. It's taken from our base camp.

Here's a quick 30 second video to show you the what it's like to be on a paraglider. I took it just after we ran off the cliff and sat down. The audio is loud wind, so you might want to turn the volume down a bit.

Mind my knees:

Did spot the cow? For real real, not for play play.

I just loved this flower, because is was the *only* colourful thing breaking up the brown/black/grey landscape that day. That and the fact that it grew right out of a pile of rocks.

I love this one! That's Alejandro, our instructor right behind Mr. T.

Well, that's it folks. We leave BsAs tomorrow night.

Bienvenidos a la Republica Oriental del Uruguay

After nearly a week in the busy city, we decided to take the Buquebus (recycled BC Ferry) across to Uruguay. Colonia, just a little over an hour's ride away, tickled our fancies just fine for our six hour visit. It is a small, sunny walled city founded by the Portuguese, but then reclaimed by the Spanish. Aside from the fact that it is a tiny town (contrary to the 15 million person city we had just left), the differences between Argentina and Uruguay were more apparent economically. Despite the fact that their economy didn't collapse a few years ago, it's clear that Argentina the rich, trumps Uruguay the poor. Nevertheless, our hosts at the lovely El Drugstore treated us to some delicious salmon accompanied by cumin potatoes and the mandatory half litre of white wine.



This neat old car was just next to the patio where we ate our lunch at El Drugstore.



Sufficiently toasty, from both the wine and the sun, Mr. T and I make tracks for the lovely beach that you can see in the distance in the photo above. We had enough time to take two swims (in the unsalted water!!!), and soak up enough sun to give Andrew a bit of a burn, before heading back to our Buquebus that would take us back to BsAs.


Corner of quaint street and lovely lane.

A note to those doing this trip in the future. Uraguay is one hour ahead of Argentina. Thank goodness the kind lady at the tourist booth told us this before we headed out into the town. We would have undoubtedly missed our ferry, and as much as liked this quaint little town, that would have been pretty horrible.



Another hotel champagne cocktail before heading out for our midnight dinner reservations. I figure, when on vacation, and when a mini bottle sets you back about 1.25 CDN (cheaper than a bottle of pop) one should take advantage of the opportunity, no?

LADE will take you anywhere! Oh, and South is the new North.

When travelling, it's important to have a local porn stand near one's temporary dwelling. This magazine stand had an excellent selection, and was a mere 15 meters from our doorstep in BsAs.

Welcome to La Boca. A neighbouhood in BsAs known for as the birthplace of tango. Above, a traditional, no frills Argentine restaurant cooks up some meat on the indoor/outdoor grill. Ummm, smokey meat!

Recovering from sunburns, Mr. T and I decided to take our mandatory arm-extended-self-taken-holiday-photo in front of the colourful buildings of La Boca.

Don't be fooled by the radiant colours of the buildings, and assume that we are in a 'safe' neighbouhood. We were stopped repeatedly by police officers asking us why we were here and where we were going. After realizing that we didn't speak much Spanish, they would switch into English and say ''Not safe here, not safe here.'' We took their warning seriously after the third time, and headed out by taxi.

BsAs

It’s been five days since our arrival in Buenos Aires. The abbreviation in the title is used as a short form for the city’s name. I'm all for abbreviations, but when you consider that Argentineans don’t pronounce their esses, you wonder why use such an abbreviation. But I digress…

Our trip here, so far, has been eventful, and fun. Buenos Aires is a grand city. Massive boulevards with six lanes of fast moving traffic crammed into four. Five to eight story buildings on all of the major arteries, excellent food, and generally friendly Porteños (the city's folk). It’s true, BsAs does look and feel like Paris, but somehow, the French café that we went to on our first afternoon didn’t quite have the same feeling I remember while in the French capital. Having recently seen a few locals block traffic with a truck: leisurely loading some bags of unmixed cement while carrying on an impromptu conversation with a couple of passers-by -- all this taking place to the magnificent soundtrack of ear deafening horns of varying pitches. Then, I felt a bit more like I was in Latin America. And it feels good!

Shopping has been a little more successful for Mr. T, than I... I have been looking for a leather jacket, but I think that I might be too picky. When we came across this shop, I thought it best to stay away, and take heed to the warning in our guide about some stores selling lower quality goods. But I thought, at least they're honest...



Our hotel (or temporary apartment, as they call it) is very central, affordable, comfortable, and perhaps most importantly, air-conditioned. I’m not saying this to rub it into anybody’s face, but it’s been HOT since we got here. Also, being able to close the windows for a bit of respite from the traffic doesn’t hurt. We have a pool, and have fallen into the routine of spending most of the day outside touring different neighbourhoods and city sites, then heading back for a little relaxation by Piscine Miguel (what I have taken naming our pool). Followed by some sparkling wine (well, at least once so far), then we usually nap.


Since Porteños tend to have supper at about 11:00 PM (!!!) we have been struggling to hold out before heading out to the restaurant. On our first night here, we made a reservation for 10:00 pm, and found ourselves alone in the restaurant for the first 45 minutes. At that point, we understood that our trusty travel guide wasn’t lying when it explained that supper happens between 11:00 pm and 1:00 am. When do these people sleep?

The city is rich by day, and poor by night. After the pampered Recolettans tuck themselves into their hideaways in the city, the poor come to the city in droves via pick-up trucks to root through the day’s debris in hopes of finding carton and plastic to exchange for some pesos. Knowing that so many people depend on the debris, I can’t help but feeling guilty for recycling on my own.

The most touristy thing that we have done so far was today: we went to Recolleta Cemetary to visit our beloved Evita! We had to fight off many Japanese tourists to get our way in to take a picture. And surprise surprise, we weren’t the only gay men there!
Tonight, it’s tango lesson night. But we still haven’t decided who’s going to lead… I’ll keep you posted!

Definitely not the Postman’s Son

This weekend, my sister and I went to see my father. We had longstanding plans to go through some family memorabilia: documents, newspaper clippings, family trees, and pictures. The idea was to document and classify the contents of the various boxes: adding order to chaos, really. By the end of our marathon, we had only made a dent.

While flipping through the photos, my sister kept gasping, laughing and squealing: “Oh. My. God.” She was the first to look through a box of snapshots of my father when he was in his late-twenties/early-thirties. She saw a resemblance. Both my father and I were a bit surprised when we began examining the photos of him and comparing them to me. So, I thought that it would be interesting to put some photos side-by-side to see for myself.

In this set, my father is 27 and I am 26:


In this set, my father is 32 and I am 30:


When I brought some of pictures home, Mr. T. was a bit freaked out, noting, “If you cover your dad’s nose in the picture, it looks just like you.” I guess I got my mother’s nose…

¡15 días hasta que es caliente!

With the temperatures in Montreal falling into a deepfreeze pattern, I’ve become increasingly excited about our upcoming trip to Argentina. Bundled up in my hooded jacket, scarf, gloves and hat this morning, I marched to the metro in –30-degree wind-chill. The buds of my headphones froze the interior of my ears while the sound of the Spanish Earworm instructed me to reiterate “Y otro coñac para mí también.” I thought that it was a bit early for cognac, but I just went with it...

Other preparatory exercises have included booking hotels, a wine tour, as well as figuring out the best way to get from Buenos Aires to Mendoza. In the end we decided to fly, if only to avoid the 12-hour/955-kilometer trek on the bus.

The countdown has begun in earnest! I hope to blog a little bit while I’m there (but will not commit to daily updates). In the meantime, I leave you with an excerpt from our favourite diva/African baby thief adopter:

Fill me up with your heat, with your noise
With your dirt, overdo me
Let me dance to your beat, make it loud
Let it hurt, run it through me.
Don't hold back, you are certain to impress
Tell the driver this is where I'm staying

Hello, Buenos Aires
Get this, just look at me dressed up, somewhere to go
We'll put on a show

Oh, will we ever put on a show... Especially after our Tango lessons – although I fear that it will be more of a comedy than a cultural event.

Hey... You!

I found it! My favourite SNL commercial of all time:



The beat sounds like the soundtrack to a porn, the bar is smoky and brown, and Guilda's performance is top notch -- as usual.

The Perfect Belated Holiday Gift

Like most (normal) people, I don't subscribe to the idea of holiday shopping for next year now. Despite the bargains that can be found, the leftovers are usually an array of trash that you would only give to your enemies and/or family members you would rather see in their graves. However, I do have some ideas for next year's festivious time of year.

While in the lovely Ontario capital over the joyous time of year known as Christmas, Mr. T, Nicky, and I stumbled upon some excellent ideas to surprise those people who just have everything.

Including the uncle that has a criminal past in West Virginia. Consider this quick fix:
Or what about the couple that you can't bear spending one more evening entertaining because their always at each other's throats. Okay, maybe it's not all that selfless, but everybody wins with this present:



Keep this in mind for next year!

Ho ho ho!