Thursday, March 28, 2019

It's the neighbourhoods!

By Wladyslaw, Wikimedia Commons, CC BY 3.0
Somedays I imagine that at the beginning of winter, there was someone on duty at the City of Toronto Department of Public Works (or whatever we call it in Canada) who suddenly thought, "Heavens to Wayne Gretzky! We're dangerously low on the number of screaming, aggressive drunks in circulation! I better order more from Supply stat!"

Meanwhile, at Toronto Transit Commission headquarters, a similar scenario played out. "I swear on the name of Rocket Richard! We are almost out of screaming, aggressive drunks! I sure hope Amazon.ca can ship some overnight!"

And so now here we are, with too many screaming, aggressive drunks in circulation and fresh out of 30-day return options.

Wednesday, March 27, 2019

¿Qué vas a hacer?



"¿Qué vas a hacer?" a beautiful, romantic ballad by Ricardo Montaner. Which also happens to be the theme song for Campanas en la noche. What a coincidence!

Tuesday, March 26, 2019

Half a dozen glazed with a side of forced labor

From the Deutsche Welle English website, March 25, 2019
Goodness. First they came for Chick-Fil-A, and I said nothing--because my mouth was full of chicken sandwich. And then they came for Krispy Kreme and Dr. Pepper . . . .

These days, you can't even aspire to Diabetes Type II without worrying over the racism and fascism behind your fresh, hot glazed and soft drinks.

Even, according to this article, Panera's not safe.

So what are we supposed--oppress some animals and farmworkers by buying and making our own food? Return to our rustic, agrarian past? Should we now only use Nokia phones for communication and stick to non-premium cable for entertainment?

I'm going back to bed. I can't handle being this woke all the time. For one thing, I'll starve.


Monday, March 25, 2019

Happy Monday, but no, not really



For reasons that may eventually become apparent in this public/private mental space, aka my blog, it's more than a little odd and highly ironic that I would post one of the most lush, romantic songs I've heard in the last couple of decades on today of all days. But here we are, listening to Keren Ann channel Bob Dylan in "Lay Your Head Down" from 2009 or so, one of the best damn songs I've heard in recent years, musically, lyrically, and vocally--the whole pop package.

I saw Keren Ann in an interview on France 24 last week, and this song came back to me--too late, I'm afraid, but just in time as well--along with the memory of a concert I attended at the Andy Warhol Museum with the Music Lover back in my Pittsburgh days. It was Keren Ann, her presence, her voice, and an electric guitar, and that was all that she needed to play and sing her wonderful songs, songs that make me feel warm, comforted, and loved.

This is all very ironic, of course, assuming that I know what irony is and assuming that anything is ironic anymore.

Sunday, March 24, 2019

Fight or flight

Photo credit: Meanwhile in Canada Facebook page
Today's challenge: A caption contest from the Facebook page, Meanwhile in Canada.

My response: Canada geese don't reach their full a**hole potential until they've had their morning cup of Tim Horton's coffee. Its watered-down taste, insipid aroma, and tepid temperature start the day off wrong for cranky Canada geese at home and abroad.

If only someone would introduce the geese to Tim's Dark Roast and a sour cream-glazed, there would be joy in Mooseville (and Gooseville) again.

Then again, could there be anything surlier and scarier than an over-caffeinated Canada goose? Well, sure, serial killers, but a goose on the loose is a close second.

Saturday, March 23, 2019

Ring my bells

Campanas en la noche
So ... I discovered I can order à la carte on cable an Argentine TV channel, Telefe Internacional. Although I'm fairly certain I watched some of its programming while I was in Patagonia and Buenos Aires last year, all this time I thought Telefe was a religious channel--"fé" means "faith" in Spanish but in this case "fe" is short for "federal".

So not a religious channel. Not in the least it would seem.

Two nights ago, I started watching the telenovela Campanas en la noche (Bells in the night)--anything to avoid the 24-hour speculation-à-go-go on MSNBC and CNN regarding a certain report by a certain special counsel that finally has been sent to a certain attorney general who may or may not decide to disclose its contents. Ay, por Dios. And you thought there were no ridiculous plot twists in real life.

The story so far goes like so: The lead female character, Luciana (played by what I'm assuming is Argentina's answer to The 'It' Girl, Calu Rivero) is married to a possessive, abusive husband (Vito played by what I'm assuming is Argentina's answer to The 'It' Boy, Esteban Lamothe) while secretly in love with Luis (played by vintage galán Federico Amador), a man in the adult education class she teaches who she knew from years ago. Luis fled Patagonia with his daughter after being falsely accused of murdering his first wife, and Luciana apparently witnessed his escape.

Luis has remade his life in the big city, but it's not without its complications. Por ejemplo, his current partner just murdered a neighbor, possibly a prostitute, and has disposed of her body ... somewhere.

Another character is from Brazil and practices an indigenous religion in which she has horrific visions--such as one involving her own hand, her boyfriend's mother, and a circular saw. (Trust me, you don't want to know.) I've yet to figure out how she fits into the overall story, but it's a bizarrely entertaining sideplot nonetheless.

It's Argentina, where psychotherapy is common, so the female lead and her abusive husband are in couples therapy, and now the therapist has asked to meet with Luciana separately to get to the truth about her relationship with her husband and why she gave up her passion for photography. (Hint: She is repressed by Vito and her disapproving family.)

I picked up all of this from watching two episodes and reading back story on the web. Language-wise I'm getting maybe 25% (lots of rioplatense accents and grammar--ashá, sho, cómo se shama, y ¿vos entendás? to sift through). As a result, I'm feeling pretty hopeless.

So, in short, María la del Barrio this ain't.

Nevertheless, I'm going to hang on. As my friend Faby would say, "You know how it's going to end!" Yes, indeed. But the journey is nonetheless entertaining and fascinating and the acting quite good. If you've watched Estocolmo on Netflix, you will be familiar with Esteban Lamothe's acting chops (and exceptional hunkiness), and I suspect you may see him and/or Calu Rivero (poorly used) on a North American screen one of these days, should they so desire to make the move upward.

I know people dismiss telenovelas as pop pablum, but this is a cut above the usual, far darker and moodier even when it hauls out a few clichés. In fact, with my ongoing savoring of Argentine culture (with a splash of Chile, Peru, and Colombia on the side), I'm starting to get a very different picture of the Spanish-speaking world, having been mostly exposed to all things tejano and mexicano.

I still adore Mexico, but Mexico is not all there is, nor is Spain. I wish someone had turned me on to the breadth and depth of Argentine and Latin American culture and society much earlier in life, but here we are, at 57 years old,  an American living in Canada, partnered with an Egyptian, working with people from Australia, Britain, Turkey, India, Ukraine, and a host of other nations--and yet pining for another country, Argentina, a Spanish-speaking land that's kind of half-Italian (along with Jewish, German, and Eastern European) in disguise.

Che, esta es mi vida. Welcome to it.

Wednesday, March 20, 2019

Don't mind me, I'm just catching up on my ranting

From the Washington Post, March 19, 2019
Oh for fuck's sake.

Is Trump really getting worse? Is he really deteriorating? I respect Jennifer Rubin, the author of this piece, but just how many column inches and bits and bytes can we spend on dissecting the alleged mental frailties of someone who is essentially diarrhea in human form, excrement in a suit, vomit with a combover? Always has been, always will be.

At this point, I would prefer far less pearl-clutching and "bring me the smelling salts" Aunt-Pittypatting around--and might I add zero public foreplay between George and Kellyanne Conjob--and more thoughtful discussions on how to counteract and circumvent him, direct calls for his resignation, and out-in-the-open plans for carting his fat ass out of office and into prison.

To quote our fearless shithole of a leader, "What the hell have we got to lose" at this point?

Monday, March 18, 2019

Saturday, March 16, 2019

Language is a virus



Forty-nine Muslim worshippers murdered during Friday prayers by a so-called "white nationalist" who cites the President of the United States as an inspiration.

This is not my white house. This is not my white life. Well, how did we get here?

Sometimes there is not much one can say, at least not anything that can comfort the dead, the grieving, and the survivors.

Except maybe I love us all, and I'm so very, very sorry for our loss.

Tuesday, March 12, 2019

The rich also make bad TV

Verónica Castro by deissertv via
Wikimedia Commons
. CC BY-SA 3.0 Unported
Tonight, in a desperate search for something, anything that would hold my interest longer than a nanosecond, I stumbled across the Mexican TV series, The House of Flowers (La Casa de las Flores) on Netflix.

Ay, Dios mío. This show will not be that thing--but I will watch a few episodes to be sure.

This is one of at least three Netflix programs made in Mexico. (There are also a couple being made in Argentina.) Believe you me, I'm glad to see some TV programs from Mexico, Argentina, and other Latin American countries, especially ones that move beyond the Cinderella storyline. You know what I mean: María meets Juan Pablo, María loses Juan Pablo, María wins Juan Pablo.

But, chavos y chavas, this just seems like bad, dumb, and dubbed (¡Que barbaridad!) Almodóvar.

A case in point--Bienvenidos al big ridiculous plot hole! The de la Mora family consists of fabulously wealthy florists. The only son Julián is screwing/in love (?) with both Lucía and Diego, but he can't come out of the closet. Meanwhile, Julián's dad Ernesto has been having a 20-year affair with Roberta, who owns a drag cabaret--and my money's on the eventual reveal that Roberta will turn out to be Roberto--that features some of the dodgiest quality female impersonators I've seen in the Mexican context (and I've seen my share). The family loves gay Diego (he's their gorgeous accountant and confidante), everyone despises Lucía, and Paulina's ex-husband is transgender. Julian is "artistic" (a design student) and does his mother's hair from time to time. AND HIS MOTHER IS PLAYED BY VERÓNICA CASTRO.

This last point makes more sense if you've been watching Mexican TV off and on since 1989, as I have. All hail the woman who starred in a telenovela called Los ricos también lloran (The Rich Also Cry, which seems like the quintessential telenovela title) and prominently featured the half-gay duo Erasure as guests on one of her mid-´90s talk shows, likely way before many did.

If you can't come out under those circumstances, Julián, then perhaps it was never meant to be.

So far the show has had its moments, such as any scene with Paulina (played by the fabulous Cecilia Suárez), a quick shot of Julián's bare butt (played by the bare butt of Dario Yazbek Bernal), interactions with the housekeeper Delia (played by Norma Angélica), the set design, the cinematography, the fact that it's always sunny in México City, and, claro, Verónica Castro.

But sometimes its plot points are puzzling--for example, why does Roberta commit suicide (not a spoiler--it happens early in the first episode)? Is there a reason why she would leave behind her daughter, son, and lover? She doesn't seem particularly unhappy or depressed, at least so far. Rather, the suicide just seems like a cheap trick upon which to begin and build the story.

And I'm not comforted by the fact that La Vero leaves at the end of season 1--and they're already filming season 3. That's a long haul of over-the-topness without la reina del over-the-topness.

Nevertheless, I will persevere, perhaps alternating between La Casa and Ingobernable, a political thriller starring alleged El Chapo amiga, Kate del Castillo.

It's this or Days of Our Lives and 7de Laan, and, híjole, I just don't have it in me at the moment for straight (so to speak) plot and limited self-aware humor. 

* * *

Update, 15 March 2019

So I watched episodes 3 and 4 last night and thought better of the show. I don't get why Julián is such a mess, but that's likely the American in me. On to episode 5, 6, 7, ....

Monday, March 11, 2019

Boy (I've got) problems



All is fine on the home front. Very good in fact. I just really appreciate the pop catchy-ness and geeky goofiness of this song by Carly Rae Jepsen.

Of course, I'm appreciating it four years too late, but this is how it has been: One long, mad blur since I moved to Canada in 2015.

Sometimes, like during the last couple of weeks, I think I'm finally starting to surface after being tossed into the deep end of life's pool and flailing about until I could muster a mediocre dog paddle. And then at other times, like during the last couple of weeks, I feel like I'm drowning in a weird, poorly chlorinated mix of exhaustion, frustration, and grief.

It's probably just March, in some ways the cruelest month, with the hope of a rejuvenating spring on the breeze but the icy shroud of an eternal winter not ready to release its clasp and fall to the ground.

There's still a lot of turmoil between the surface of my life that I need to find a way to fathom and float above. But, in the meantime, Carly Rae Jepsen, god bless her, helps a lot.

Let's dance.

Saturday, March 09, 2019

Florida man's secret life as a prostitute

Business Insider, March 9, 2019
People are so puritannical!

I don't know why everyone is so shocked by this reveal, that a woman who ran a massage parlor business and sex-trafficked in prostitutes, would be a friendly acquaintance of President Donald Trump.

She a successful businesswoman with a good eye for talented whores. She knows a real money-maker when she sees it.

Ayer, hoy, mañana



"Mañana" by Usted Señalemelo. Still dreaming of you, Argentina.

Friday, March 01, 2019

Nerdnook of the North

It's amazing what difference a sunny day can make.

On February 27, we had heavy snow in Toronto from before dark until dusk. But on Thursday, February 28, and today, Friday, March 1, while there is still several inches of snow on the ground, it is at least sunny.

March has begun! And spring ... well, spring is just beyond the next snowbank, maybe in six weeks or so, if all goes well. While it still seems a long way off, it is much better than being 14 weeks from now, which it was at the beginning of the year.

Remind me of this when I'm still whining about the weather in March and April--not to mention July and August--OK?