Weekend at Berno's

The other day one of the locals I befriended named Berno invited me to celebrate his child's birth.
The child in it's early developmental stage seemed hardly capable of contributing much worth noting, yet I thought older people would provide insights into the Argentine condition.

My first impression of Argentina infant birthdays was rather positive. The father was cranking Jimmy Hendrix full volume and the baby was playing with an Argentine edition Winny the Pooh (it was a Peronista street protester the Pooh). There was an assortment of party food such as chips, cheetos, guacamole and tortillas, Coca-Cola, Sprite and Heineken. Until then these Argentines seemed to be accepting global hegemony. Everyone was getting along and the conversation was amenable.

But then the troubles started.

The mother rolled out the local food: peceto, arrollado dulce, and what really seemed to tip the scale: Russian Salad. From that moment on everyone got a little louder. Controversies started to erupt. River vs. Boca, City vs. Country, Capitalist vs. Communist, etc. The mounting tension was palpable. We seemed to drift closer, with every byte of these local flavors, to a full out fist fight.

"Marn', ween ya see them trybl' peepls goin et'it, doncha take naw sydes. Das how ma papa went. Arraw to da hed tryn' to fix'em up Cherokee cheevs." Charley, I tried to follow your advice... but then, the grandmother in a fit of fury after losing face in an argument about pasta vs. potato gnocchi confronted me.

She considered herself grieved because I came to her country, was invited to her granddaughter's birthday and had the spunk not to talk to or play with the child.
What did she want me to say? "Congratulations on successfully circumnavigating the sun, through no merit of your own despite your caretakers best attempts to die of red meat ingestion and 70's rock overexposure."
And as far as playing with the child, frankly, I only came because of the father. As far as the child goes, I wasn't sold. When we could have a basic conversation then we could agree to spend some time at parties. I'm not going to sign any papers with someone who could turn out to be a Khmer Rouge sympathizer.

These completely reasonable arguments only seemed to enrage the abuela even more. My attempts at reasoning were thus exhausted.
For the old woman's sake I did what Niels Bohr would have done and tried to unify our theories. This was a poor assessment. It turns out that if there is something Argentines love more than complaining it's staunchly defending a position solely to contradict others. Reaching accords is a major faux pas.

My friend kindly asked me to apologize for this, but I thought he meant to apologize about my original statements. The woman was pushing ninety and did not look good. She already had enough of a stoop story without the trip to the ER. When I was about to retract for the sake of peace Berno's face twitched, he stopped me to say under his voice "don't you dare apologize for your opinions in my house! This is a free country..."

After that I played with the baby, which was the appropriate way to reach a truce. Everyone including the grandma seemed satisfied. The baby turned out to be a lot more sophisticated than I anticipated being fully dexterous in kissing on the cheek, high-fiving, knocking heads on command and displaying her index finger when asked about her age. She also discarded most gifts while primal-dancing to "All Along The Watchtower." With that nascent being I already found some points of agreement.

Atta boy!

A week of revelations and the re-arranging of priorities. Identifying things most despised, is necessary to easily pass judgment on entities I consider damaging to the human spirit, or the liberty and freedom of man.

Such list is with some unoriginality topped by the -isms (Nazism, communism, and extremism of all flavors and excuses). I'm aware it's easy and uncontroversial to complain against, e.g. Nazism in particular, but this is a very well thought through abjection, I assure you. A more sophisticated and elegant one. So it is for communism. I will not elaborate on easily achievable conclusions. Read a book, maybe the ones used to justify these shenanigans. If you still don't get it, go read about Ga-Ga and stop clogging my bandwidth. My 2 billion readers(1) will not yearn for you. Yes, two billion readers, that is one thousand million times two and only the second post.

My second greatest hate is for sports cheats. I can make a goal with my hand too. We wanted to know who's the best with their feet. Thanks for being meaningless, FIFA World Cup.

Cheating in other instances I can understand. Fourth is Graham Siegel. Fuck that guy; "my name doesn't show on spell check. FB update: got a haircut, baked a pie, and changed the font on my resume today." We don't care! It goes: Nazi, Thierry Henry, BA night-clubs, GS. Then it's Julia Roberts: Mystic Pizza (never again), and resembles GS. They're all pretty close in hate-points difference.

Digressing. I despise Buenos Aires night clubs. For my more proletarian followers who have not been allowed into "exclusive" night clubs remember the scorn with which you were rejected by Parisian/New Yorker snobbery. Now make it 10% snottier. Voila, your average BA night club.

The rigidity of the dress code makes it all the more aggravating and ridiculous.

For men replace dress shoes for a nasty pair of Adidas. Now put your "I've-been-saving-for-this-A|X" shirt back in the drawer. Replace it with some ratty t-shirt. It can be dirty, you could have been playing rugby in it earlier. You are ready to mingle with the children of Buenos Aires' elite and it's less industrious heirs.

Women shall abide by the dress code of any elite European night-club. You better look like a darn model, or it's gonna be a long night out in that street line with a mugging rate only describable as "off the charts ."

I was exposed to this barbarity thrice in the past two weeks. As a man It's a challenge to get the right amount of scruff. For my first attempt I sported flip flops based my yachtsman's assessment of atmospheric conditions. Got into one bar, later rejected from a club because "There is too much glass on the floor, señor! Just come back with shoes/sneakers." I had taken it too far even for this rustic lot.
Upon my return no one else was passing but the door-sentinel who had sent me away recognized my port and informed another sentry to grant me access. The ancient and honorable trade of the grinding cage gate-keeper seems to be an ethical profession.

The second time around I sported skater sneakers. I gauged dress shoes might be excessive. It made no difference. Apparently as long as the toe is not evident it's cool.

The third time around some pseudo-friend summoned me to an establishment close to my crib claiming easy access. A lie if I ever heard one! Ole Charley warned me thus:

"Neevr dee ya trust dem frnrr woman! Dey fool ov'em tricks dey bee!"*

This was of course after ole' Chukles' heart was all tore up from the leash and lashes of the oriental woman.

The line was deep and the Patovas** scrupulous in their selection. They violently rejected folk who was in search of no more than a denigrating night club experience. A patova quickly took note of my determination to go to sleep and rushed to inform me I was amongst the chosen few by the broad in the background to cross the portal. Fuck her. My opinion? This only happened because for the occasion I was wearing nice shoes. "This gringo is going to drop some reserve currency on our ass" they conjectured. How wrong they were! I'm cheap as boxed wine on sale!

The last laugh was theirs; I was now trapped in this chamuyo*** factory. Never would I find my peoples on the inside, only to dance with a doctor woman who would leave me with a broken heart. I'll never forget the awkwardness and discomfort of that night. I even spotted an American. I gave him a nod encoding the message "Sup, brah. I'm a Green-go as well. Got your back, son." He gave me a look which can only be interpreted as "This Argie is mental." The fool thought me Argie, Hoya wanker fo'sho.


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(1) This is en estimation based on the author's ego.


Idiomatic notes:

* "Women in foreign lands are not as trustworthy as American women, raised in liberty. Lies are there as common a currency as the greenback."

**Patovas is the vernacular short form of Patovicas which is vernacular for night-club-door-man.

***Chamuyo (Tchah-moo-shoh): the practice of whispering lies to a woman in order to secure sexual favors. In general chamuyo is a form of lie which can only be stomached in an inebriated state, both by the emitter and the receiver.