—South Beach, Florida, 1994
I was spending a few weeks in Miami and fantasizing about moving there (hey, at 22 and coming from Venezuela, it was like Paradise.) My only worry was the visa situation. How to get one? What about marriage? A gay, straight, or good Samaritan friend? Paying someone?
Those were my thoughts when I was accosted by a guy on Washington avenue and 10th.
Guy: Psssst, psssssttttt, are you from here?
Lily: Eh... no.
Guy: Do you want to stay here?
Lily: [Paranoid] What do you mean?
Guy: I'll marry you for money and you get papers. Don't you want to stay here???
Lily: Eh... [crossing my fingers] no, not really.
Guy: Look, I just got out of prison. I need the cash. You need the papers. It's a win win situation.
Lily: [Paranoia trumping temptation] Eh... bye.
Later that night, I was sipping my $1 coffee (the only extravagance in my budget) and thinking I had been a crazy paranoid dumb-ass, until a friend told me: Did you hear? There was an immigration crackdown. Cops posing as guys trying to get married. They took Ferdinanda away. And Hannah.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Don't say multicultural, darling, say hybrid
Today I got a brochure from the Jews for Jesus organization that asked me if I was "Mixed up about hybrids?" After all, aren't Asian Euro Hispanic American hybrids? According to them, "whether you are Jewish or Gentile, we are all hybrids.""
Nice one.
They may have solved their identity crisis, but not mine.
Nice one.
They may have solved their identity crisis, but not mine.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Welcome to Jamaica, baby
I did a very dumb thing when I moved to my new apartment. I assumed that Conedison was my gas provider as it had been for the last 12 years in every neighborhood I've lived. However, after receiving ridiculously low bills for 3 months it finally dawned on me that something was wrong (I am very, very fast). I made a few calls and found out that my building was on the National Grid system and, because I was four months late, I had to open the account in person... in Jamaica.
I've never been to Jamaica. So I tried to cheer me up with stuff like: hey, maybe it's interesting. Maybe I can take a few nice pics. Maybe they have some cool weird santería store.
I think the name Jamaica made me delusional (which I realized once I got there.) The only exotic spot was a Walgreens (we don't have that many in NY yet). I got totally lost and almost ended in the desolate, lonely area where serial killers play domino, but was rescued in time by Yves, a congolese man and his cute, teenage daughter. He was very happy to have found me. Not only had he rescued a lost, ditsy mademoiselle, he could practice his French. The neighborhood didn't look that dangerous but he insisted to walk me to the National Grid's offices and kept pointing out cops at every corner: "You zee, tiz iz the way you should come, therrrr arrrr copz everrrywhere. It'zaferrrr!"
Altough freaked out at the time, in retrospect, the fact that his daughter was laughing and rolling her eyes, makes me think that Jamaica was actually safer than Yves, the flirt.
I've never been to Jamaica. So I tried to cheer me up with stuff like: hey, maybe it's interesting. Maybe I can take a few nice pics. Maybe they have some cool weird santería store.
I think the name Jamaica made me delusional (which I realized once I got there.) The only exotic spot was a Walgreens (we don't have that many in NY yet). I got totally lost and almost ended in the desolate, lonely area where serial killers play domino, but was rescued in time by Yves, a congolese man and his cute, teenage daughter. He was very happy to have found me. Not only had he rescued a lost, ditsy mademoiselle, he could practice his French. The neighborhood didn't look that dangerous but he insisted to walk me to the National Grid's offices and kept pointing out cops at every corner: "You zee, tiz iz the way you should come, therrrr arrrr copz everrrywhere. It'zaferrrr!"
Altough freaked out at the time, in retrospect, the fact that his daughter was laughing and rolling her eyes, makes me think that Jamaica was actually safer than Yves, the flirt.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Pets, babies, whatever
Yesterday I almost killed Bonito while we were having lunch on the terrace (we were having one of those perfect weekends that makes wonder why anybody would want to live somewhere else).
What I said: Hey, got an idea, why don't we get an esquincle (skinny hairless dog)?
Whet Bonito understood: why don't we have an esquincle (little boy/baby)?
What I said: Hey, got an idea, why don't we get an esquincle (skinny hairless dog)?
Whet Bonito understood: why don't we have an esquincle (little boy/baby)?
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Time to get wasted!
I start working in less than a week so in my last few free moments I'm grabbing as many yoga classes and alcoholic drinks as possible. I apologize if posting becomes erratic (or cut short because might miss bellinis at $6, which only last until 8 p.m.). I wish you many drinks, and zero hangover (hey, at least lets damage the liver the fun way, not the boring acetaminaphen way.) Cheers!
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Feeling thankful and corny today. Deal with it.
Yesterday someone told me: "I can see you like your job."
I smiled politely and say: 'Yes, I do."
As if anyone would like to work in advertising.
And then it it me: I actually do like it. I don't know when I started doing so, but I can't deny it anymore. There is no artistic frustration left anywhere. There is no master piece left unfinished (actually, un-started). The little talent I may have when it comes to writing is amply fulfilled with this blog. I guess the hard part is that facing the fact that I don't mind what I do for work takes a lot of drama away from my life (don't worry, there is enough to spare, I'm a born and bred drama queen). It also makes me feel sad for my dad, who spent his whole life typing away books nobody ever read (I do have to confess the little I saw was on the boring side) while hating his job, and, in time, his life.
Anyway, the idea of this disjointed, corny and emotional rambling post was that some people say blogs may be a fad, and a waste of time—but, darling, for me they beat therapy hands down. So thank whoever decided to make them easy and free (just like myself.)
I smiled politely and say: 'Yes, I do."
As if anyone would like to work in advertising.
And then it it me: I actually do like it. I don't know when I started doing so, but I can't deny it anymore. There is no artistic frustration left anywhere. There is no master piece left unfinished (actually, un-started). The little talent I may have when it comes to writing is amply fulfilled with this blog. I guess the hard part is that facing the fact that I don't mind what I do for work takes a lot of drama away from my life (don't worry, there is enough to spare, I'm a born and bred drama queen). It also makes me feel sad for my dad, who spent his whole life typing away books nobody ever read (I do have to confess the little I saw was on the boring side) while hating his job, and, in time, his life.
Anyway, the idea of this disjointed, corny and emotional rambling post was that some people say blogs may be a fad, and a waste of time—but, darling, for me they beat therapy hands down. So thank whoever decided to make them easy and free (just like myself.)
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
One year anniversary
...one week late. It seems we created this blog on June 25th, 2008. Weird. Didn't even notice it was my niece's birthday. Anyway, here are some of Lily and Bart's first year's favorite posts:
-10 common faux pas foreigners commit while socializing in the US
-Some possible leftovers from the Vene-Russian love affair
-Snobs or just plain odd
-Random conversation
-Freudian slip
-Facebook versus facebookeando
-It's not TV. It's Bart TV.
-Three kind of people I love to hate
-I'm wearing Lacroix, darling
-Healing sounds
-10 common faux pas foreigners commit while socializing in the US
-Some possible leftovers from the Vene-Russian love affair
-Snobs or just plain odd
-Random conversation
-Freudian slip
-Facebook versus facebookeando
-It's not TV. It's Bart TV.
-Three kind of people I love to hate
-I'm wearing Lacroix, darling
-Healing sounds
Just read
The Book of Illusions, by Paul Auster.
There is even an Argentinean character that loses his accent :-)
There is even an Argentinean character that loses his accent :-)
Monday, June 29, 2009
The lady with the accent
Decent smelling homeless guy in subway: Excuse me, lady. Can you give me the money?
Lily: Eh... what money?
Decent smelling homeless: The one the guy who liquidated his IRA gave you?
Lily: What are you talking about?
Decent smelling homeless: Yes, yes, he took out all the money from his IRA and gave it to a woman with an accent. You have an accent. It must be you. Give me the money!
I did give him two bucks. The fact that he knew about IRAs—if not that there is more than one woman with an accent in New York—really impressed me.
Lily: Eh... what money?
Decent smelling homeless: The one the guy who liquidated his IRA gave you?
Lily: What are you talking about?
Decent smelling homeless: Yes, yes, he took out all the money from his IRA and gave it to a woman with an accent. You have an accent. It must be you. Give me the money!
I did give him two bucks. The fact that he knew about IRAs—if not that there is more than one woman with an accent in New York—really impressed me.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Flashback Fridays: metaphoric monsters
Caracas, 1983, night, generic living room.
Imagine an 11 year old Belgian and a 11 year old German in a Venezuelan school. Imagine how popular they were: one obsessed with disco music (four years too late), wearing thick glasses and with teeth so forward she could not close her mouth. The other one pretty but way too bookish and a fan of Beethoven. Not the best recipe for getting alone with Venezuelan tweens (I swear we did try to like Menudo. We even tried to learn their songs but they were too terrible).
Maybe that's why my (at the time) friend H. (she was the pretty one) and I spent afternoon after afternoon reenacting the thriller video in her house. We were the zombies/monsters of course. We had no rhythm and no props. Just our facial expressions and lost of frustration from being laughed day after day at school.
Looking backwards, our monster impersonation was a perfect existentialist metaphor of our school status. Go figure.
And yes, this memory was awaken by the death of Michael Jackson. Corny I know. But all the same, it made me feel sort of... old. Pffffffffff.
Imagine an 11 year old Belgian and a 11 year old German in a Venezuelan school. Imagine how popular they were: one obsessed with disco music (four years too late), wearing thick glasses and with teeth so forward she could not close her mouth. The other one pretty but way too bookish and a fan of Beethoven. Not the best recipe for getting alone with Venezuelan tweens (I swear we did try to like Menudo. We even tried to learn their songs but they were too terrible).
Maybe that's why my (at the time) friend H. (she was the pretty one) and I spent afternoon after afternoon reenacting the thriller video in her house. We were the zombies/monsters of course. We had no rhythm and no props. Just our facial expressions and lost of frustration from being laughed day after day at school.
Looking backwards, our monster impersonation was a perfect existentialist metaphor of our school status. Go figure.
And yes, this memory was awaken by the death of Michael Jackson. Corny I know. But all the same, it made me feel sort of... old. Pffffffffff.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Finally a bank you can trust
Venezuela and Russia are partnering to create a bi-national bank that will invest primarily in transportation and energy projects, announces an article in Venezuela Analysis. If you deposit lots of money you get a free vergatario phone and a free 20 minute table top dance at an "glamorous" bar in Brighton Beach.
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