Jesus wants me to learn Spanish

You know those private little moments when you know you are getting a message from the big man himself?

I worked with a teacher who would look me straight in the eye and say "I appreciate all you are doing to help Timmy (not his real name) read."

Well, actually m'am, I was just going to tell him to hold his tongue behind his teeth while we played go fish. But now that you mention it...

My first day here I had that moment. I was lost. I was tired. I was pretty sure I had jsut eaten a sandwhich loaded with mayonaise (I hate mayonaise and monkeys. If I could blunder onto Calles de los Monos I'm sure I would).

And in my frazzled, sweaty attempt to navigate the calle and avoid saying "Hey there! Where ya'll from?" to everyone - time stopped. A lady, probably 60 or so, with the bearing of a retired school teacher spoke to me.

"Teines la hora?"

It was too late, she saw the shadow of comprehension cross my sweaty face.

I'm not good with numebrs in any language. And Spanish has this menos de rule where once the big hand hits a magic number time must be told in what it isn't instead of what it is.

I stuck my wrist out to her.

She gave me the teacher nod. But she didn't let it stop there. We had to practice it there on the street corner.

"Son las sies y media." She slowly said it, and waited for me to repeat it back and add a little "Lo siento."

A little curt nod from la mujer and time resumed. I wondered if she was ever really there at all.

Every day I am unavoisably required to say something I didn't practice. I made it across the equator without a pen or a Spanish-English dictionary. Neither of these items is sold in the same shop. There is no earthly reason for the way things work here. And I find myself in akward situations everyone else seemed to skip.

In class I have to introduce myself as "una fornoaudiologica (a speech therapist)." I sit next to an "enferma" and a "medico."

I have been trying to avoid this one - but I am here in my apartment waiting for a plumber. Somehow I have to tell him that I have hot water in my kitchen, but not my bathroom.

All I can say is - Lord, please tell me there are some really cute kiddos in NC needing speech therapy. Or a muy guapo doctor en Buenos Aires!

Things I learned in BA today...

1. Count the Subte stops. And the streets. Signage is decorative.
2. The five pesos we found in the playroom belongs in the playroom, but the girl at the bakery was very nice about it.
3. It is really hard to buy a pen here. The nice part is that before you buy it the shop lady tries it out in front of you! (This was one of my favorite moments. Since it was a tabac I wondered if she would also teach me how to smoke.)
4. Portenos like to be cozy. Scaves, hats, gloves, long coats - today it hit 60 degrees. Did they know something I didn't. Was a frigid wind from Patagonia about to strike?
5. My mom was right. She helped my pick my qausi-healthcare job. Today I had lunch with two nurses and a sonogram technician. Guess who has time AND money to travel folks?

On my way

Mid day margarita, duty free shopping, and eavesdropping in men calling each other "Che." I'm happy just to be on the airport.

Apartment hunting

I am in the midst of the great apartment hunt. So far the most promising ammenity is from the place that sends a complimentary bottle of champagne to new residents. But in the cold sober morning do I want to go to building gym withthe college girls? Or look for my car on a hip but sketchy side street? Maybe head for the corporate sellout property. You can now live ina mall and still call it a loft! Scenic units now with a view of Chikfilay.
But I think I found it. Locked up next to downtown parking lot with wrought iron gTes blocking a view of a brick courtyard with a statue that does not have a decorator's tag hanging from it. The place. And no one woulda swear the phone or let me in. So I chatted with the maitainence supervisor who spoke of gauranteed parking and a location so safe he would lethis own daughter stay there. He gave me the managers card and contact info and complimented me on my skincare (sunscreen ladies). Elusive and complimentary. This is bobo heaven. It's always better if it's hard to get in!

Last Call

We made it. Last call at the Pure Volume after hours show. Highlights of the day and night and morning: the Cults, AWOL Nation, Fitz and the Tantrums, Wanda Jackson, and fried avocado. The last part is food not a band.

SXSW the journey

SXSW is still sleeping. My bad Kanye karma made my GPS route me through a closed 6th Street so I got in late night after a scenic tour of downtown Austin. Which led me to wonder - Is there a by limit on cyclists? Because I am pretty sure one of those red blinky lights would look pretty cool over my fireplace.
I am wearing my chicest day wear t and comfy yet funky shoes ready to go. I have even packed a cross shoulder bag with supplies. Festivals go a lot smoother if you bring your own protein bars, toilet paper, and bandanas.
And while I was assembling my provisions at my small town Walgreens Kanye struck again. I looked down at metamucil and sunscreen and said to the clerk - "so you think I am ready for a couple days at a music festival?"
He got really excited. "Oh - are you going to the VEVO festival?"
I gave a cross between my teacher face and hipster glare. "Actually that's justone party. I'm going to the whole festival. And I didn't get into The VEVO party." I took my fresh wipes and left.

Getting ready for SXSW

    I am planning my quick trip to SXSW, which at this point consists of getting a haircut and telling everyone "I am going to SXSW!"  I am also carefully picking out my shoes and practicing my bored stare and slight head nod.
    Today I got this facebook message about Kanye West playing a show.  I don't think I can pull it off.  A few years ago I was really excited to get into a secret They Might Be Giants show.  Let's just say my knowledge of Kanye's consists of knowing to say KAHN-ye instead of CAN-ya.

So here is my message for Kanye:

Dear Kanye,
    You are very cool.  You make lots of money.  Everyone knows who you are.  But no one knows who I am and that is an integral part of my disaffected personality.  I go to SXSW to stand around in comfy yet hip shoes  (can't decide this year between orange Kangaroos and purple Keens), drinking a Shiner' and nodding like I am in the industry.  This is as hip as I will be all year.
    You may have ruined this.  This is the one week of the year people like me take Sixth Street back from the UT frat boys.  This is the week geeks rule.  The time we learn all the secret cool bands and apps and indie movies that we need to impress our friends all year, or for several years if you live in a small town like me.
    Please go back to LA or NY or Miami or wherever.  Thanks for collaborating with great indie artists so people hear them outside of car commercials.  But please don't come to SXSW, or I will lose my parking space to a bunch of kids from San Marcos.
  
                                                                              your friend,
                                                                               Knixie