This morning, Barack Obama nominated a new Supreme Court Justice.
Her name is Elena Kagan, and she´ll be replacing John Paul Stevens (no relation to the Pope). He´s the leader of all the liberals (the 4-5 minority), and he`s really old. He`s also really not-a-douchebag.
Kagan, on the other hand, has ignored the Fourteenth Amendment and its Equal Protection Clause, which says, “no state shall … deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws,” by saying, “There is no federal constitutional right to same-sex marriage.”
The black President with the Jewish chief-of-staff and the cabinet that looks like page 72 of the Affirmative Action catalog are supporting a woman who doesn´t recognize constitutional civil rights.
My constitution protects the idea of same-sex marriage.
My president doesn´t.
A few things are hard to come by in Argentina: coins (They’re the only way you can pay for the bus.); nice guys (Because apparently, “She never has to find out,” is winning logic.); and pens.
I’ve never seen anything like it. The first time a waiter gave me a receipt to sign, he hovered over me like a dog. I gave him the receipt, and he got all flustered. What the hell’s his problem? Then he starts pointing at the table. He just can’t leave the table without his pen. Waiters, I feel for you, but I guess that’s just proof that they don’t work for tips.
Then there was today, when I went to get an Argentine background check. “Suerte!” followed by the awkward pointing. Followed by, “No!” I had her pen, I had the goddamn pen.
Fine. I’ll buy my own.
You’ve never seen so many confused faces as when I tell Argentines that I play rugby.
Un chico: “No, no juegas, no te creo.” Silencio. “¿En serio?”
Viejas: “¿Les permiten mujeres jugar rugby? Nunca lo sabía.”
It’s hilarious, you know. I also vote, work and wear pants.
Tonight my host family laughed out loud when I used “cagarse” perfectly. I guess gringas don’t talk about crap. Tomorrow: “puta madre.”
Tonight, my teammates and I were going to walk (dos cuadras) to the bus stop from rugby practice. It’s in Flores. One of our coaches took the eight of us there in the back of his van. You know those movies where the cops open the back of the van and 30 people walk out? That’s what it felt like.
This weekend, a bunch of us went to Gualeguaychu, “the third best carnival in the world.” I’d really shoot for a better title if I owned that company. “The most awesome carnival in ever.” Oops, I’m showing my American-ness. Anyway, there, in the medical tent, I learned the phrase “Me caí.” (Don’t worry, Mom! It’s just a scratch.) I also learned that reggaeton is fucking awesome, people take any opportunity to hit on you, and that I can name all 50 states faster than Joey Tribbiani.
Here’s a picture of the beach, somewhere. Apparently Uruguay is on the other side.
Oh, and nobody spoke English to me today. I must be learning… 🙂 Or getting some sun.
Four-hour drive to JFK: $50
One-way 15-hour plane ticket with five-hour layover in Mexico City: $640
Hamburgesa con guacamole y papas Crisscross: 75 pesos mexicanos
Comida para comer en el avion: 60 pesos mexicanos
Finding out (from a gracious passenger who could translate it) that after your five-hour layover, you still might not get out of the airport until the next morning because the airline sent a smaller plane than the one they sold everyone tickets for: Priceless
A family of 20 voluntarily stayed behind so that they wouldn’t be separated. Whoever you are, thank you.
When I was boarding the plane in NY, the airline people spoke to me in English. It was funny. Like, “Jaja” funny. They of course offered Cuervo on the plane. And when the sun rose this morning, we were flying over The Andes. They were beautiful. They were taller than the clouds, and they looked something like this (not my photo):
Damn, it’s hot down here, and I’m a North American without her air conditioning. 🙂 Luckily it’s starting to rain.
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