Annegreth and Lieslotte weren’t twins. An instant or two dedicated to closer inspection revealed this.
Yet thanks to same shaggy blonde manes, blue eyes, clear, sun-blessed complexions, and manners of smiling that made each tall though not lanky woman appear uncannily similar, clearer observations rescinded the quick judgment. Neither Uruguayan was truly indistinguishable from another. Yet that’s how most undiscerning strangers like MacDiarmid saw them. Continue reading Antipodes: The Amethyst Twins
Looking back on the months of March in 2004, 2005, and 2009, didn’t I spend an almost inordinate amount of time in Buenos Aires inside the Shamrock? Why, yes I did.
Spent properly, those hours could’ve been devoted to visiting vineyards west towards the Andes or even venturing south into Patagonia. There, I might’ve investigated cities along the South Atlantic coast and waited to witness whales breaching the ocean’s surface.
But urban creature as I most surely am, and one who traveled alone then, louche comforts lured and guided me.
Perhaps “louche” a harsh judgment for the Shamrock. Let’s direct that upon its clientele. Continue reading Antipodes: The Shamrock
Dissolute excursions inside the Shamrock or the Shannon did not fill my every waking evening hour in Argentina and Uruguay. The principal cities offered plenty of cosmopolitan attractions, particularly Buenos Aires.
Maybe having grown up in Metropolitan New York made it easy or easier. But setting out to investigate rumored addresses never unnerved me. Most of those places were merry and bright; a precious few turned out being among the darkest recesses imaginable. Continue reading Antipodes: Dark Places
In March 2009, I stood in the terraces of La Bombonera, a k a “The Chocolate Box,” in Buenos Aires, Argentina. It is the home field of the Boca Juniors, one of the country’s most idolized teams. In the nearly vacant stadium, on my 50th birthday I hoisted a retired Copa Libertadores trophy.
The Copa is one of the most prestigious soccer tournaments encompassing Latin America.
Looking at the span which that particular piece of hardware had been bestowed, it had been raised by Pele and Diego Maradona, each a deity in short pants for his respective nation, Brazil and Argentina. Immodest of me as it was, I lifted that thing and preened as if I’d somehow contributed on the pitch towards its acquisition.
I wasn’t the only one there that sunny afternoon fantasizing. Plenty of aficionados, dyed-in-the-wool soccer fans, were in attendance summoning the echoes of past contests be they championship caliber or regularly scheduled Boca tilts.
The indulgent Porteña accompanying me looked on with pity and benevolence. She could’ve mocked me or rolled her eyes at my undeserved and unearned basking. But she understood the importance of futbol. Despite being a norteamericano, I at least displayed an appreciable measure of reverence for pursuits purists often believe holds no less meaning than life and death.
That demonstration hopefully also compensated for much of my lousy Spanish. Continue reading Antipodes
This February cool cats should’ve observed what would’ve been the 90th birthday of Bo Diddley. Burly, commanding, Diddley could not have been mistaken for one of the Golden Era of Rock’s cutesy teen idols.
As Bo Biddley himself would’ve proclaimed, “Bo Diddley was a man!”
A seminal rock ‘n’ roller, Diddley resides on a lower tier than, say, Chuck Berry and Buddy Holly, but Diddley contributed greatly to the genre nonetheless.
Way more than Elvis Presley. Continue reading Music as Menace
Higher evolved as humans claim themselves, maybe the lower primates, four-legged creatures, and fowl have the whole relationship matrix grasped better. For the most part they answer to instinct. A time of year triggers them to couple, copulate in order to assure continuance of the species, then diverge.
Easier than what Adair endured. Continue reading Living Art
Perhaps the man/woman parlays which follow were just as bald back in New York. There, though, unlike here in Las Vegas, the couples involved are more discreet.
The Mojave Mecca’s transient nature permits the sort of convention flouting which would make proper Easterners recoil. Of course Westerners could claim by their openness they’re unbound by rank hypocrisy. Continue reading People Who Parlay
What is dignity worth?
In our Trump times, Americans have steadily devalued that attribute. Continue reading Cheapened and Coarsened
For the first time in my five years here in Nevada, the Yuletide has had a joyous feel. Not that the locals have brightened up the Mojave with glitter and approaches which correspond to the merriment derived from the period’s significance. After all, it remains bizarre seeing Christmas lights decorating palm trees. Continue reading The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
Lola and Anastasia are in “the game.” Both are “working girls.” Nice euphemisms, eh?
Las Vegas lures a lot of good-looking women with negligible abilities. Taking honest stock of themselves, and deciding what they can offer shouldn’t be wasted behind a counter for minimum wages, or making babies from the jump, these entrepreneurs have decided that marketing their sensual commodities the most viable route to happiness and fulfillment.
Well, the pursuit generally starts out with that intent. But doesn’t life invariably derail dreams? Continue reading For Hire