Home again

As you know, we're once again stateside. Yes, it's good to be back. Around Sarah's mother's house, not much has changed. While we were in India, Sarah's mom lost one of her cats. Luther, we'll miss you. Apart from that, and a new network television line-up (a Jeff Goldblum detective show?? Why does this guy keep getting work??) it feels like we never left.

Anyway, it's wonderfully suburban and quiet in Santa Rosa, California. We're staying here until we figure out what to do, and I'm not in a big hurry to leave. There are lawnmowers, cul-de-sacs, neighbors who stop by and chat about new hardwood flooring. It's tranquil compared to the life we've led recently. And it's nice to get some more people into the mix. Sarah and I are grateful to have her mom around, just to be able to talk to another person besides ourselves.

Well actually, there are three new people in the dynamic. Sarah's mom, a girl named Bunny and a guy who goes only by Cosmo. They sleep a lot and shed on the carpet (Bunny and Cosmo do. Not Sarah's mom).

Cosmo and I are still kind of warming up to each other. You'd think that being the only guys in the house, we'd bond a little more. I'm still waiting for him to kind of come around to me. Yesterday, I'm walking down the hallway where he's sitting (right in the middle, I might add, as if he's looking for a problem) and as I walk up towards him on a completely un-cat related errand, he suddenly freaks out and runs into the bedroom where I'm also headed. Once there, Cosmo is beside himself. He's cornered. He's zigzagging, trying to find an escape. Hey Cosmo, relax! I'm only looking for a pair of socks in here. Sheesh.

So Cosmo, if you're reading this, let's hang out tonight. Just the guys. It'll be fun. We'll watch the game and you can fall asleep within seconds.

-Brendan

Back in the US of A

Well, we're home. It's weird being back. Really weird. Really, really weird. But it's nice. My mom's cats are happy to have us. "American Idol" is on seemingly every night. It's springtime. The blossoms are out. The neighbors are out washing their cars. Life is good.

Speaking of cars, yesterday I drove my old stick-shift for the first time in a year, and I've probably never had a more enjoyable ride in my life. It was an innocent trip to the grocery store. Brendan wanted to come along, but I made him stay behind. See, when the two of us are in a car, he always drives. I usually don't mind being a passenger, but yesterday I just really wanted to be behind the wheel and in control. And I didn't want anyone offering constructive criticism on my driving skills, or hogging the radio dial.

He pouted a little as I pulled out of the driveway (a little too fast, admittedly), but all was forgiven when I came back with his favorite Whole Foods frozen chicken pizza. Of course, that was before he discovered that the only milk available to wash down his cereal was made of soy.

-Sarah

Goodbye Love

Things had been going great. I had been a tiny bit depressed about coming home, but I was feeling much better about it lately. I was getting lots of work done (on an unrelated video project), running everyday, and eating well.

Then, I got drunk and someone stole my video camera.

Now, someone didn't steal it because I got drunk, but sitting at the sidewalk table for three hours in the late afternoon certainly didn't help. I know just when it happened too. There was a moment when a dirty-faced twelve year old boy walked up to our table and brazenly grabbed a handful of peanuts out of our bowl. I was amused. Sarah slapped his hand. I'm pretty sure while I was feeling sorry for this poor kid begging for change, his buddy was under our table making off with my bag.

I am so pissed off. I loved that camera. Yes, it's insured, and yes, I know it's just an object, but you know how you love an old pair of sweatpants or a comfy chair? It was like that between me and my camera. We went everywhere together. We lasted 11 months without a single problem. I let my guard down one time, and now my sweet camera is gone (along with a full hour of great Buenos Aires shots).

Feeling sorry for myself this afternoon, hungover and alone in McDonalds, I thought of this kid. Fantasizing about hunting him down and punishing him, I tried to think of something a little nicer. Maybe he (or his mom) won't sell my beloved camera. Maybe he'll learn how to use it and develop a talent for filmmaking. Maybe stealing my camera is a turning point in this dirty-faced boy's life. Maybe he won't grow up to be a bad person who steals. There's always hope.

-Brendan

Hooligans

Sarah and I spent all day last Sunday walking around, checking out the sites and shooting video. It was a prefect day, sunny in the mid -70s. Not a care in the world as we strolled the safe-ish avenues of Buenos Aires.

Then we got to the district called La Boca. It's a working class neighborhood south of downtown, home to Buenos Aires' most popular soccer team, the Boca Juniors. It's not really a bad neighborhood, it just can be dangerous in parts. We actually went to a game a few weeks ago without incident. We paid some guy to take us and a bunch of other tourists to the game and back, but this Sunday, we were on our own.

As the cab driver dropped us off, he gave repeated instructions to be careful with our camera. I shoot with a somewhat expensive video camera. It also looks expensive, which never helps. The helpful cab driver then proceeded to give us detailed instructions (which neither of us could understand) about taking this road, and not that one, and then making a left on this street, and blah blah blah. He was trying to keep us safe, which got me worried. We look like tourists carrying expensive video equipment in our backpacks. You might as well put a bulls-eye on my forehead.

Trying to look inconspicuous, we passed four shirt-less guys talking to each other in the middle of the street. I thought they looked pretty drunk, especially for two in the afternoon, but what the hell, I thought, it's game day. Then suddenly, we heard a loud boom right behind us. I turned and saw the fat shirtless guy on the ground. Apparently, long-haired shirtless guy had just thrown him into an unsteady garage door. And now long haired shirtless guy was kicking the other guy repeatedly, in the face.

"Oh my God. Oh my God." Sarah had broke into a speed walk.

"Come on honey, let's get out of here."

We hustled up the the street as the other two "buddies" yelled obscenities in Spanish at each other. I'm pretty sure that argument also ended up with someone getting kicked in the face.

We reached a corner where hundreds of guys had congregated. Apparently, they were just hanging out before going into the stadium. But it wasn't your average "have a few beers, throw the football around" kind of tailgate party. These guys we're moving in packs. Plus, all the low flying smoke from the homemade grills made the scene look like a refugee camp. And here I stood right in the middle of the action deciding whether or not to take out my camera. Since everyone seemed to be leering at us, I decided to keep it in the bag.

"I think we should go," I said.

"So we're NOT going to shoot anything?"

"I don't think so."

"But we came all the way down here."

"Yea, I know, but I just really don't feel safe here." Did she not see that whole face kicking thing?

"All right, but it just feels like a waste, you know?"

Yea I know, I thought. But I was also thinking that all one hundred lbs. of her weren't going to help when it was my turn to get kicked in the face.

"We'll come back during the week, when it's a little more quiet."

"Fine."

"Thanks for understanding hon."

-Brendan

Dear Sir or Madam...

The biggest downside of coming home from a year-long trip is looking for work again. I knew this day would come, but I chose to ignore it as long as possibe. Before the trip started, people would ask Brendan and me what we planned to do once we got home, and we'd chuckle and dismiss the question as the most uninteresting thing in the world. So much time to travel! So much time before traveling ends! So much distance between us and paychecks! Corporations! HR departments! We were escaping!

Now, we're getting ready to re-enter, and it's kind of a bummer. Not becuase I hate the idea of working so much (I actually miss a lot of the routine aspects of having a steady 9-5), just because what was once a far away scenario is now upon me. I've traveled. I've seen a million things. I'm finishing. And I'm sorry to see it go. I wonder if marathon runners feel this way when the big race is over.

Brendan and I fight over the computer more than ever, since we're now churning out cover letters along with everything else. A part of me is excited to see where we end up, but for now, it's still completely up in the air.

I guess in a way we're still on an adventure. Yeah, that's it.

-Sarah

Sarah's Plans

We really have begun to settle into a pretty simple life here in Buenos Aires. It's nice not to have any responsibility, any jobs or any reason to get up before noon. But there's a shadow hanging over us. We're coming home soon. Yes, it's all right around the corner. Jobs, responsibility, an alarm clock. I shudder at the thought.

For Sarah, coming home is like opening a door to a brand-new and somewhat delusional world. She has big plans for us, which are slowly being revealed to me. For instance, she believes I should become a vegetarian when we return (this would be impossible here in Argentina as steaks as big as your head cost about four dollars). She thinks I should use the opportunity as a fresh start for a new life without meat (no mention either way regarding fish). I don't really see the connection to coming back to the States and eating more salads, but like I said, delusional.

Some other of Sarah's big plans include kittens. Also, no more drinking beer in the middle of the day for no reason. I can actually get behind these. The kittens thing has been in the works since she was eight years old. And as for the beer drinking, I'll agree to it now, but if you see me bellied up to the bar at around two in the afternoon, do me a favor and just don't mention anything about it to her.

-Brendan

Let's Go Shopping!

Buenos Aires is a modern city, meaning it has lots of shopping malls. Since I'd been running low on socks, and Sarah had been running low on expensive boutique style knee-high boots, we decided to visit one of these malls.

What I was thinking when I agreed to go, I can only guess. As soon as we walked through the heavy glass doors and stepped onto the gleaming white floor, I winced.

"Oh my God. What have I done?" I mumbled under my breath.

"What's that honey?"

"Nothing."

"Ohh.. look at all these high-end stores!" I heard my wife say. She was already halfway up a nearby escalator and rising.

See, I've never liked shopping malls. I seize up in there. I always feel uncomfortable, like I'm being watched. I hadn't been inside a mall in ten months, and I didn't miss them.

I especially don't like going to malls with Sarah. It's not her fault, she just likes to shop her own way, which entails going into nearly every store, flipping through the racks for twenty minutes and then leaving without buying anything.

As she thrusts back hangers, I usually hang outside the store. I wait. I look at my watch. I look at my shoes. I look at the security guard looking at me. I look at my shoes. I get anxious, so I go in the store and stand next to Sarah until she looks up at me.

"See anything?"

"Well...." she answers me with a concentrated look at a shirt in her hands.

She flips more racks.

"I'm sorry honey, are you waiting?"

"No. I'm just.. you know. I'll be outside."

"Okay I'm coming," she says as she follows me out of the store.

This works every time. On every shopping trip, once I walk back in the store and stand next to her, she always walks out. I think she just doesn't want me looking over her shoulder, so she'd just rather leave with me than tell me to get lost. However, I do have to use the "walk-back-in" tactic somewhat sparingly. I can't really use it when for instance she's in the drug store. If she actually intends to buy something, then the "walk-back-in" will blow up in my face. She'll get mad and tell me I'm pressuring her. At times like these, it's just better to stay outside, feel uncomfortable, and stare a little more at my shoes.

-Brendan

The Internet Saga... Part Deux

I'm just going to come right out and say it: I am addicted to the Internet. I love exploring. I love signing up for new services just to see how they work. I love chatting via IM. I love devouring all my news via neatly organized browser tabs. The Internet is my playpen and I love to play. I am a total nerd.

At first, I was glad to unplug when Brendan and I embarked on our world trip late last May. I had been living and breathing internet technology for years, both in my personal and professional life, and had become bored and cynical and desensitized. I needed a break.

For a while, I happily embraced our weekly trips to the local internet cafe, complete with dial-up connections, power outages, and shop owners who thought refreshing the desktop repeatedly would fix a network crash. When I could get wifi (rare), I cheerfully lugged my Macbook Pro laptop out of its safe little coccoon in Brendan's backpack, but was careful to remaine detached, so as not to become too dependent on a commodity that still isn't available in most parts of the world.

So now that the internet has been successfully set up in the Buenos Aires apartment, I can't get away from it. Here's the thing: in an internet cafe, you're paying by the minute or hour, there are all these other people around, and most of the time the connection is going at a snail's pace. You don't really want to hang out in there. You check your email and get out, for fear that if you visit perezhilton.com someone will judge you.

But now I'm surfing in my underwear on the futon with my feet up in Brendan's lap, feeling as free as a bird. Nobody's hovering behind me, silently willing me to log out of Gmail (thank goodness I married someone who prefers books to websites). Nobody cares if I spend four hours fiddling with the HTML on my newest tumblelog. Nobody thinks it's silly that I'm taking a crash course in All Things Technological that I had to drop out of last year. Nope, nobody minds one bit. I am an internet addict.

But it's also kind of pathetic. So today we're going to the MALBA museum here in Buenos Aires's Palermo barrio for a little less code and a little more culture.

Right after I finish reading Baby Name Wizard.

-Sarah

Unplugged!

Since we're going to be bumming it in Buenos Aires for the month, we decided beforehand that our digs should have three things: a kitchen, cable TV, and an internet connection. We found a little place online promising all three, rented it for the month, and moved in last week. There was just one little issue. The 12v power supply for the cable modem was missing. No power, no internet. We called the landlord. He apologized and agreed to bring it by the following day. Kind of annoying, but whatever. Honest mistake.

The next day, he brought by the power cord, shook both our hands, and left. I eagerly plugged the laptop in and awaited couch-surfing internet bliss. But the little LED on the "cable" part of the cable modem was strangely dark. As if...

I called the landlord, at which point he confirmed that yes, the cable had probably been turned off since he had actually cancelled the service a few weeks ago. He hadn't thought we'd have a problem since in the past the cable modem often went "working" well after the service had been cancelled. In short, he didn't want to pay for the cable that came with the apartment, was hoping he'd get it for free, was wrong, and now we were left hanging.

Come on.

I've spent a lot of times in internet cafes over the last ten months, and it's more or less been fine. But if I'm paying good money for an internet connection in my own home and I don't have one, it's only a matter of time before I freak out.

We woke up at 7 am this morning. Not because we wanted to, but because the cable guy's window of service was between 8 a.m.- 1 p.m. and it's a known fact that if you sleep in with the hope that the cable guy doesn't come until 10 a.m., he'll be early.

So, yeah. 7 a.m. It's now 1:30 p.m. It's nice to know that some things never change, no matter where in the world you are.

Poor Brendan. He's the one who really suffers the most in situations like this. Especially because now he has to call the landlord - at work - for the sixth time in three days.

-Sarah

Domestic Bliss

We're living in an apartment in a nice part of Buenos Aires. It's a welcome change from our "communal bathroom" life of the past few months. It's a small one bedroom place with a kitchen, balcony and cable TV and after spending all day in the cheap seats at a local soccer game, we decided to unwind on the couch, getting back to our domestic roots.

Sarah was boiling spaghetti when I got out of the shower, dried off and flopped on the couch. The "O.C." was already on in the living room.

"Please don't change it. I'm watching this," she called from the kitchen.

"Sure."

The gripping drama unfolded until it was time for a commercial break. I grabbed the remote to see what I was missing. A couple of Spanish language soccer games and the movie where Arnold Schwartzeneger gets pregnant was all I could find.

"Can you please not do that?" she commanded over the running water in the sink.

"What am I doing?"

"It's the flipping. I can't stand the flipping."

"I was going to go back. But I'll go back right now. Even though it's not even on yet."

I lay there watching a Spanish language shoe polish commercial. She grated cheese.

"It doesn't seem fair to not let me flip between the commercials."

"Yeah, well." She banged pots.

I've seen the "O.C." maybe twice. Sarah claims she's only seen it once, even though she knows all about Mischa Barton leaving the show and how it's now canceled. Last night's episode starred Kevin Sorbo as Ryan's father.

"And starring Kevin Sorbo as the dad." I said through a mouth full of spaghetti sauce.

"Who's Kevin Sorbo?"

"That guy."

"But how do you know that?"

"I don't know. I just do."

"But who is Kevin Sorbo?"

"That person on the TV right now is Kevin Sorbo."

"I know that. How do you know the actor?"

Silence. Chewing.

"Kevin Sorbo plated Hercules, I believe. He was also in some Star-Trekky type show."

"Oh, okay."

Later on, she lay on the couch with her feet up on my lap. A foot massage was expected. "Lost" was on. A genuine first viewing for both of us.

"I love foot massages," she said, while I worked through the muscles of her left arch.

"I know you do."

On the TV, sweaty people ran through the jungle carrying torches.

"Where were they going?"

"Back to the base camp I think. Those people were following them."

"No, I mean when the plane crashed."

"Oh. I don't know."

I switched to the right foot.

"Wouldn't it be great if there was like a machine where you could stick your foot in and it would massage your foot for you?" she asked.

"You're adorable."

"Why?"

"You mean a foot massager?"

"Oh. Well, I didn't know they had those."

"Watch your show now honey."

"Okay."

-Brendan