Idioms

No trates cubrir el sol con el dedo
Don't try to cover the sun with your finger


El que se acuesta con perros se despierta con pulgas
He who sleeps with dogs wakes up with fleas

El gato con guantes no caza ratones
The cat with gloves doesn't hunt mice

Cada cosa que vees son dos o tres
Every thing you see are two or three

Se defiende como gato con la panza arriba
He defends himself like a cat, belly up

En bocas cerradas no entran moscas
Flies can't go in to closed mouths

No todos los dedos de la mano son iguales
Not each finger of the hand is equal

El pez por la boca muere
A fish by the mouth dies

Zorro dormilón no caza gallinas
A sleeping fox doesn't hunt geese

Al que madruga Dios lo ayuda
He who wakes, God helps

Ojos que no ven corazón que no siente
Eyes that don't see; heart that doesn't feel

En el reino de ciegos el tuerto es rey
In the kingdom of the blind, the one-eyed man is king


El que anda con lobos aprende a aullar
He who walks with wolves learns to howl

El que quiere pescar tendrá que mojarse
He who wants to fish must get wet

Lo que no mata engorda
What doesn't kill you makes you fatter

So Cultured

This weekend is a weekend of CULTURE!!!

Yesterday Nikki, Heather, Olivia and I went to the enormous book fair, Un Futuro Con Libros that's here in the city. After overwhelming ourselves by books and books and more books and people and more people, we went to a narration session, where I promptly started to fall asleep. The first narrator was interesting I guess, but not enough to keep my eyes open. (See image below)

The second one, I couldn't sleep through if I tried - she was SO COOKY. Her baggy clothes, disheveled hair, strange story and shocking singing were so obtrusive. She was talking about sheep, and flying into the clouds on a sheep, then frogs, and sheep again; words that were trees and the river that flowed around the tree... OH BUT THAT RIVER AND THE SHEEP!! I was like... "uhhh" (See image below)

Needless to say we left after YODEELLEHHHHHHHHHH YoDelEEeeeEEeLLL Yodeleeeeeeehhhhhhhh *rocking back and forth* (her song under the word tree in the water summoning the sheep so she could go touch the clouds that looked like sheep and were made of sheep).

Nikki and I looked at each other utterly bewildered at what just happened. Olivia, Nikki and I then went to go see some independent films at a small art institute of sorts - hopping on the 59 and searching for the elusive building we walked by 3 times. 

We finally walk in, 15 minutes before the films are supposed to start, and of course that is FAR too early to arrive so we were directed to go look at the small exhibits they had. The exhibits were fantastic; really sensational displays of household items with laser lights playing in sequences against the structures that played fun images on the walls. The first room made me feel like I was in a brain watching neurons firing signals - really exquisite.

The films were a different story. We sat down for 4 short films, totaling 50 minutes, at about 645 PM and lost Olivia to another independent film with Heather at a different location. The first film was about 2 minutes long and I wanted to tear my hair out because all it was was this image of a mare feeding its child to the tune of something SO MONOTONE and REPETITIVE and CLIMACTIC covered by the sound of a simulation of an old movie projector. The song overstimulated my brain and it drove me crazy because the music said nothing about the clip of the horses other than their possible impending doom: from a musician, in my opinion, the music should have told a story. It could have been effective, but after 2.5 minutes the music had no effect other than tears and pleas for mercy.

The second film was about some boy in from Barcelona who had to go back there from Argentina with his grandfather for the Bull Run. I'm not sure what happened next, because that one included the same special effect for 20 minutes - refocus and out of focus and show individual frames of the images every so often. AGAIN I WANTED TO TEAR MY HAIR OUT and knock my teeth in. Once again, the significance of the film, which was more understandable because there was dialogue, was lost on me because of the irritating music and effects. 

The third film was just a few pictures of a young boy on the beach. Covered up by the same simulated movie projector sound AND the chemical reaction special effect -a chemical reaction producing a black substance with gas - and then disappearing again. Then the bubbles came back and everything was red. Then they went away. And then they came back. And went away, and came back and PLUS another repetitive and overstimulating song. The story was told neither through the special effects that became useless, the music that had no meaning, and the enigmatic photos that were repeated for 10 minutes. 

The final film was also images of a little boy on the beach, but this time there was a girl. And there were movie clips. Unfortunately the bubbles from the chemical reaction came back for the entire film and there was once again, useless music. 

I'm not trying to be a movie critic, but I am. 

If nothing more than a good story this remains, I am happy. But I guess to culture yourself you really never know what to expect.

Angela

On Time

As a child, there was always a saying that stuck with me - I heard it first from my band conductors (in regards to dress rehearsal times):

"If you're early, you're on time; if you're on time, you're late; if you're late, don't bother coming."

Here, this doesn't exist. 

I have a 10 minute grace-period to sign into class with our nifty electronic attendance cards, so at 8:11 AM, I am tardy. The thing is though, teachers come in at 8:25 AM, 8:30 AM... for a class that starts at 8 AM, regardless of the fact that it may be just a 1.5 hour class or a 5 hour class. 

The STUDENTS do the same - some stroll in at 8:45 AM, 8:55 AM with not a hair out of place - even if they are considered tardy. I mean, attendance is pretty strict here; to be permitted to sit for the final exam (which means TAKE the final exam) you have to be counted as present for 75% of the classes. I see people skip class/ not come for one reason or another and some stroll in almost an hour into the class. I guess if that last case happens, it's only about 15-20 minutes into lecture, but still...

I used to get to class 15 minutes BEFORE the supposed start time, but now I sleep more and stroll in a hearty 20 minutes before class starts: 5 minutes before 8, and at least 15 minutes before the start of lecture.

When I think about this, it really seems outrageous to be considered in class for 5 hours (as I am on Friday's) but start 30 minutes after 8, then have two breaks, each about 30 minutes, and then get out about a half hour early. It's like half the class is gone by socializing. 

In some ways, coming back to the States and taking a class that is 50 minutes or even the dreaded Tuesday-Thursday "long, 75 minute class" is going to seem a breeze because of these 3 and 5 hour classes. I'll defend myself by saying that we do lecture for over an hour at a time, then we break, then come back and do it again; I AM TAKING CLASSES, I promise. 

It just doesn't seem like it sometimes. But 23 hours a week at the university is a lot. -_-

Congratulations, most of you, on another semester complete. How about you bust out these finals and I'll start warming myself up for midterms in this chilling weather? Great! Great? Great... .

Angela

Shifty Guys

A question of ethics: what do you do if you think someone was robbed?

Stricken by the sympathetic nervous system of my body (the fight or flight response), I was paralyzed as I think I saw a young man pickpocket the wallet out of the back pocket of an older man while standing at the bus stop. He had slick black hair, too much wax, and tan skin; a scrawny guy of medium height, wearing a sports jacket and dark pants. Besides that, I couldn't tell you, and I don't know if I could identify him in a lineup.

But shifty guy did something strange as the old man and I got off the 60, because it wasn't taking us to Cabildo like we thought, so he caught my partial attention: the brain picks up the abnormal and the thalamus zones in on that. It was so fast and I had divided attention that I couldn't formally accuse him of pickpocketing the older gentleman. I wasn't dissecting what was happening but as I digested it later, it was so sketchy a move that I have to assume now that's what happened. The bus started to drive away and I was frozen, I didn't know what to do or what to say. I didn't do anything and I feel like I should have, but that would be involving myself in something that could be unsafe for me, maybe it was a sting. Maybe it wasn't. I didn't know the capabilities of the young man, I didn't know what the reaction would be even with other people around.

So I was quiet.

But my question is, to myself and to you, is what was I morally supposed to do. Should I have asked the man if he still had his wallet? Should I have called out the robber on the bus as it was pulling away? Should I have done what I did and minded my own purse?

Sometimes it's hard in the streets, but why was my decision about Shifty so difficult.

Angela

Fiaca

There is this bout of laziness setting in; in lunfardo it's called fiaca; a lack of motivation to do anything; more specifically called senioritis. I simply do not have the drive to read forty pages of microbiology and teach myself about N-acetilglucosamina y N-acetilmurámico and which is present in Gram positive or Gram negative bacteria and their bonds with other carbohydrates and I don't even know what. Lucky for me I had no physiology homework, but I have to go buy Plato's Symposium (El Banquete) and sort of know what that's about for next week. Google serves me well to get the gist of things but knowing how things are said and what Eriximaco and Aristófanes each thought is important.

But again, I have mucha fiaca.


I'm almost at midterm week, so all you readers know what that's like. Unfortunately for me, most of you are cringing about final exams now, and I'm just mosying along in this semester. Today to distract me from my microbiology and ácidos teicoicos I started researching medical schools and their fast facts, because this early on in the game I still want to do research (no college-search burn out yet). And then I got scared and ran away to the shower, because the only other thing looking to catch me was... microbiology. (On top of everything, my teacher is cooky and she doesn't even use a microscope correctly.)

So back to the fiaca. My cycle will probably continue tonight, as I procrastinate and eat dinner, then facebook a little more; probably check some twitter, wait around for the Skype, instant message a little bit, look up fun things to do in the city and stay up until an un-Godly hour where I will then go to sleep, wake up at an un-Godly hour to go to class for an un-Godly amount of time. And be tired.

And still be no less lazy.

Welcome to the #doldrumsofthesemseter : they have dulce de leche.

Angela

'Merica

A tidbit to you United States citizens:

Argentine's are Americans too. And so are Bolivians and Peruvians, Uruguayans and Chileans, Venezuelans and Brazilians and everyone else in south and central America.

They don't really like when we call ourselves Americans, because so are they. At first I didn't understand this when I was asked a few years ago by one of my Ecuadorian friends, but now I see it clearly. Unfortunately for the English language, we don't have the direct translation of estadounidense (obviously), which means UnitedStatesean (basically). It is as if there is nothing we can do about it, but since living here I have become cautious about using American to describe myself. In Spanish, I use estadounidense and in English I try to use US Citizen, or say I'm from the US.

This may seem trivial, and to those who take pride in 'Merica, that's fine. But this is something so small that can fracture an intercultural [business] exchange because it demonstrates a lack of understanding and a slight bit of ignorance.

Of course, as I admitted before, I didn't get it when my friend César asked me why we called ourselves American, but through my experience here that is one of the small cultural differences I picked up on that I think all Global Leaders should really focus on, so I share with you.

That's all, folks.

"The limits of my language are the limits of my world." - Wittgenstein

Angela

Woop Woop!

It's the sound of the police in my hood... .

I feel like the cops here use their sirens all the time for no reason other than to get through traffic more easily. I fear for a case of the boy who cried wolf.

In fact, even if they didn't use their sirens all the time I would still be a little afraid. The cops here could (employing hyperbole) be generalized as jokes wearing police uniforms. I mean, really. The stories you hear about people getting pulled over for drunk driving and then they just pay off the cop or people who are caught doing other things but have a crisp stack of cash to get away. Things in the newspapers and on TV, stories from friends and family all expose the corruption with the police force.

They're pretty vigilant; you see cops at their posts throughout the day and at night,  on street corners in doorways, inside stores, oh yeah it makes me feel safe. At any time.

But there are times where I walk by them, and they look me up and down. Or there are times where they don't, and I look at them and say to myself, "hey look, this street is safer because there's a police officer. Wait. Would they actually help me if I needed it?"

This isn't to knock on EVERY police officer, it is just a strange feeling sometimes to be surrounded by a government that is invaded and infested by so much corruption and realize that you might not actually have genuine support from people you should.

The people here are already on high alert; we were told to keep walking if someone is asking for help (with directions or because they are hurt) because they might be faking it and working with someone else to distract you and rob you. It's the city life and it's a reality, but what will be the point for change, and is this just a hopeless cycle?

Angela

Wild Snorlax

I mean, a wild Snorlax didn't appear, just a large compilation of my favorite pictures (and ones I want to share with you). Starting with Snorlax.

Also, a shout out to the Chivers, you'll notice I'm trying to bring theCHIVE everywhere I go. KCCO.