The Proletariat's Daughter

On the Subte

2012-02-06T14:57:00.000-08:00

i see sweat and sweat stains
the small imperfections on peoples clothes
wisps of hair flying
zippers up, zippers down
young mothers, families
dirty shoes and leather belts
teenage love and teenage angst
headphones, eyes closed
beggars, sellers, performers
blue collar, white collar
old and young
tourist
skinny girls with shoulder bones protruding
exhaustion, apprehension, boredom, curiosity
staring eyes
i hear conversations. foreign to me.
high heels and botox
grey hair and saggy breasts
eye glasses, sun glasses
shirts tucked
spiky hair, long hair, dred locks
many stumble, but no one falls
people sleeping, people reading, people talking
i am close to them, but so far away

-tpd
February 6, 2012

My Christmas in Buenos Aires

2011-12-27T21:58:00.000-08:00

The recent holiday weekend in Buenos Aires was full of life and good cheer. It began with Christmas eve dinner and wine with friends. Ah... but first...let's not forget the fireworks. Imagine 4th of July... but right in the streets and for hours straight! It sounded like war, minus the death of course. Just before midnight two of my friends and I went to the balcony to engage in the traditional Christmas champagne toast and to admire the barrage. What a spectacle! I've never seen/heard/experienced anything like it. It's one of those things that a written description wouldn't do justice. (I wish I had pictures/video to share... I really tried, but it was just too difficult to catch on camera.)

More friends joined us at the house after dinner and we left the house at about 2am or so, in search for a place we could grab some social time and more vino. (2am is a perfectly normal hour to go out in Buenos Aires, btw). To our dismay, most places were closed because of the holiday. We walked by a cozy looking establishment that was obviously closed, but had people inside. Courageous with wine, we craned our necks and waved at the people inside. A man came to the door... "We are looking for a place to be merry." The man opened the gate and let us in. We cheered and entered. The place was warm with music and people and lights and wood. We had been graciously invited into a private event. The man asked us: "How many are you?" We told him: "Six." He pulled out six wine glasses and poured us all a glass and then gave us the bottle. No money was asked for. We proceeded to chat and meet new people and drink another bottle of (free) wine. We stayed until sunup (another perfectly normal thing to do in Buenos Aires). Generosity, spontaneity, warmth, fun, and genuineness all come to mind when I think back on the night.

I spent most of Christmas day in bed. But not to worry! It doesn't get dark until about 830pm this time of year, so I didn't feel at as though I had wasted my day. A girlfriend of mine came over to my place in the evening and after a couple hours of deep conversation about our travels, our lives, our weaknesses and strengths, we decided to head out for a beer. We walked a few blocks to a spot called Plaza Dorrego (I mentioned this place in an earlier blog). There was a percussion group in the streets (as there is most of the time in the plaza) and TONS of people hanging out, drinking liters of beer, and dancing. The mood was high energy, light hearted, and fun. We walked a bit farther down the street and grabbed our own liter of Isenbeck (another popular beer in BA) and headed back to the plaza to join in on the festivities. We had a great time hanging out, dancing and people watching. We decided since it was Christmas, that we would treat ourselves to an over-priced dinner at one of the many restaurants in the plaza. The plaza is highly trafficked by tourists and the prices reflect that. The food was mediocre, but the bottle of wine we ordered was quite impressive. In any case... it was really the ambiance of the plaza that we were after. We sat and had more deep conversation and more great people watching. After dinner we headed over to the cozy pub that I had been to the night before (called Gibralter, btw), had a couple more pints and a brownie with ice cream. Yummm! This was my first taste of ice cream in BA, which is known for its ice cream. I can see why! We then parted ways and I went home to tuck myself in after a very warm, very different, and very fun holiday weekend.

I hope that everyone enjoyed themselves last weekend. Besos!!

-tpd
December 29 2011

Buenos Aires: Some Observations

2011-11-30T04:46:00.001-08:00

Dogs, dog walkers, and dog poop: This is an enormous city. Millions of people live here. So, it makes sense that there are a lot of dogs. One of the funniest things that you will see on the streets of BA are professional dog walkers. Why so funny? Because they are walking at least 5 dogs and usually up to 10 or more. All on leashes! I don't know how they do it... but it's surely a site. Dogs=poop, right? Right. I guess in BA there are no rules about picking up after your pet... or if there is, people don't abide by them. Before I came to Buenos Aires I read plenty about the dog poop problem plaguing the sidewalks of the city. I read so many negative things actually, that I was almost scared to see what it would be like. And while yes, it is worse than any city I've ever been in, it's not nearly as bad as I had pictured. Some days I will only see a pile or two all day. And some days it seems as if it's everywhere. I'm sure you're wondering if I've stepped in it yet, huh? Yes! I have as a matter of fact.

Keys, kids, and cabs: I'm not sure if it's the whole country of Argentina, or just BA...but they have the funniest looking keys. I'm not sure why something as mundane as key shape is important enough for me to put into my blog.... but alas, here it is. Perhaps because they remind me of something old. I suppose they are, in a way, artistic. Rustic. I guess I dig old, artsy, rustic looking things. You also almost always need keys to exit or enter an apartment building, so you have intercoms at nearly every building... and some apartments you need to take your keys every time you step out of your door because the doors automatically lock. So I've been staying in a place that is close to a school... naturally there are a lot of children around when I go out. Why the heck is it that children speaking a language other than your own is so damn charming? I mean... don't get me wrong, I love to hear anybody speak Spanish (I wouldn't be in South America if I didn't!). But there's something extra special about hearing a child speak in a foreign language. Lastly.... Gotta love the cabs in BA! They are plentiful (I think there might be more cabs than personal cars on the road), cheap, and they look all the same. Literally you won't go a minute without a cab driving by. I love walking here, and mostly I do... but for those nights when you stay out late or you're just too tired... it's so convenient to hop in a cab to get you where you're going.

-tpd

November 30, 2011

Buenos Aires: The Very Beginning

2011-11-19T09:26:00.001-08:00

Buenos Aires! Besides the scare I had about not being able to board my plane in Los Angeles, my travel was pretty smooth. The 24+ hours of travel was much less daunting than I thought it would be. The flight from Miami to Buenos Aires was quite pleasant actually. I flew on LAN airlines. The plane was spacious, I had movies to watch, two decent meals.... they even passed out ear plugs and eye covers. Both of which helped immensely with my sleep. I had booked a shuttle to the hostel... the driver was a friendly chap who did not speak English. We smoked cigarettes and had funny conversations with his limited English and my limited Spanish. The drive to the hostel was about 45 minutes and full of insanity. The traffic and drivers in Buenos Aires are crazy! There seems to be no rhyme or reason at all. People zoom around both in cars and on motorbikes, and cut each other off like crazy. There also seems to be very little attention paid to making or sticking to, actual lanes of traffic. It's a fast-moving and frightening hodge podge of a system. But....it seems to work somehow, which is miraculous!

The city is giant and bustling and loud... but in spite of this there is a tranquil feeling as well. The architecture is amazingly interesting. I've walked on both the widest and narrowest streets I've ever seen so far in my life. There are people everywhere.... all different shapes and sizes and colors and ages. It is a fascinating place to walk down the street.

Upon arrival at the hostel I met a very eccentric (but harmless) guy from Columbia who suggested that we take a walk to Puerto Madero to check out the Reserva Ecologica Costanera Sur, of which we only saw a small portion. It's definitely a place I want to go back to explore in more depth. We bought a couple Quillmes (a popular Argentine beer) and sat in a beautiful public park that is part of the reserve. On the way back to the hostel we stopped at a food stand and split a Choripan (chorizo sandwich) which was delicious. The best thing that I've eaten here so far.

After returning to the hostel and a much needed shower, I met up with a fellow San Diegan who now lives here and who I had been introduced to by a mutual friend. We had steak dinner at a small local restaurant and then some drinks at a fun and busy bar called La Puerta Roja. We then stopped to have a few more drinks at a place called Plaza Dorrego....a large open air square surrounded by coffee shops, bars, and pubs. There was a live blues band playing when we arrived, and once they finished...live Tango music began and a couple performed Tango dance. It was beautiful and the vibe was pure magic.We then headed back to La Puerta Roja ending the night with one of the most interesting and strangely addicting shots called "Chili Bombs", which are apparently unique to this bar. They infuse every day vodka with ground up jalapeno juice and pieces. The shot of jalapeno vodka is dropped into a cup filled half way with some kind of energy drink. It was shockingly spicy and weirdly exhilarating. Overall my first day here was full and pretty much perfect!

My hostel stay has been a bit rocky, but overall I'm trying to go with the flow and not let things upset me too much. I've met some cool people here and really you can't beat a hostel that serves beer in the lobby. The food in Buenos Aires has been mediocre which is disappointing....but I'm hoping for some better meals in the near future. I haven't seen or done too much exciting in the last couple days... alot of just walking around the city and chilling out. I look forward to doing some fun sightseeing in the next couple of days. On my list of things to do next: La Recoleta Cemetary and Feria San Pedro Telmo.

Until next time...Ciao!

-tpd

November 19, 2011

Here I Go!

2011-11-15T14:38:00.001-08:00

I'm sitting at my gate (J12) in the Miami International Airport. In two hours I will board the airplane that will deliver me to Buenos Aires, Argentina. A trip a year in the making. But really... when you think about it... a lifetime in the making. We can boggle our own minds retracing events in our lives that have led us to our current positions and places. I get a kick out of it sometimes. But mostly I am just extremely grateful. Grateful for the myriad of blessings that have been presented to me. The people, the strength, the courage, the love, the lessons, the experience. All of these things having their own place in my present moment. A beautiful puzzle...static and dynamic all at the same time.

So... I am off. Entering the unknown. Fulfilling a fantasy, a dream, a goal. The excitement and anticipation is unequaled. When fear grips me (as it does every 15 minutes or so).... I think of all of the brave solo women travelers that have gone before me. It's easy to fall into the trap of fear.... in our society we are spoon fed millions of reasons to be fearful. It is much less often that we are given information that empowers us as women, as people. So I hold onto the stories and experiences of the millions of other people that already have taken the leap of solo travel to foreign lands. To be sure there are many, many more stories of success and wonderful adventure, than there are of failure or bad experiences. And really.... what is failure and bad experience but something to learn from? So I guess anyway you look at it I'm heading into a journey of the spirit....

Adios!

-tpd
15 November 2011

Yellow Tarps

2009-03-17T10:24:00.000-07:00

As I was driving up the I-5 freeway one day late last summer on my way to the post office, I came upon some traffic. It was at the Downtown San Diego S curve going north. I was on my way to the the Midway Post Office to drop off my works quarterly newsletter. A simple task...a routine errand. As I slowed down to heed the brake lights in front of me, my gaze moved to the left. There were flashing lights, fire trucks, police standing around, orange flares...warning us to stay away from the scene. Next I saw a smashed beige four door sedan of some kind. It was facing the wrong way on the freeway...sprawled out across the lanes...looking very out of place and too quiet. The next thing I saw was a yellow tarp. It was draped across the dead body of whoever owned that smashed beige four door sedan.

I held myself together for the next couple of miles. Once I pulled into the Post Office parking lot, I lost it. My thoughts going to the family of that person under the yellow tarp. How this day... that one moment on the I-5, would change their lives forever. The sadness and grief of that family ripped through me as if it were my own. And I suppose on many levels....it was. When you lose someone tragically in your lifetime (as I did my mother when I was seven)...you tend to have this supersonic ability to feel others' pain and loss. A sad moment like the one I experienced that day on the freeway turns into much more than a sad moment. It replays itself over and over again in my mind.

I can't stop imagining the mourning family... flailing around moaning and weeping as if they themselves will surely die. I try to picture what they look like. What their houses look like. I think of the dead persons belongings and how the family will perhaps walk around with these things clutched in their hands to try to be as close to the deceased as possible. Maybe the persons wife or husband will go to the closet and bury their face into their dead loves clothes.... to pick up the scent that they surely will never forget.

After that day I was turned upside down for awhile. I wrote the below poem during that time....

i called you all last night…

but none of you were her.
all i see is a yellow tarp.
laid over my brain...
i'm seven years old.
and thank god i didn’t see
the yellow tarp.
thank god...there was
not one for me that day.
but for her...yes. it was her
day. never mind her children.
never mind her youth.
and never mind their children.
the ones that die every day.
yellow tarp, draped.
across freeways.
across generations.
people are dying...every day.
and we sit and laugh as if
life is something that we
have a right to.
but, all the while death's knock
is at our back door.
ready to surprise us...
ripping and shredding
through our souls...
our hearts...our
sanity.
tell me what you think
of when you see the
yellow tarp?
are you grateful
for your life? do you
understand what it
means to be ALIVE?
or do you think your life
is something
that is owed to you?
do you think that you deserve
it? and please tell me why?
freeways eating up our loved...
while public transport gets
eaten by big oil, automobiles.
of course.
and our freeways are killing.
oil is killing.
yellow tarps draped
across the world.
yellow tarp draped across
a human being. someone.
someone like me, someone
like you. tell me again
why you deserve
to be here? why you think
you're so special?
you think the freeway
won't get you? think again.
big oil won't shed a
tear. neither will
GM.

-tpd
17 March 2009

Some recent thoughts on my broken GI system...

2009-02-06T07:35:00.000-08:00

From journal entry 01/28/09:

God I am so sick of this unyeilding nausea! Sometimes I feel as though I'm living out some twisted curse, or unresolved bad karma from a previous life. Perhaps my mental grief is bigger than I know and expresses itself through my tortured guts. I pray for relief everyday.

From journal entry 02/03/2009:

The nausea continues today. My ticking torture gut bomb of madness. My never ending saga of pukey stomach drama. Well, I take the pukey part back. If I were to be pukey, perhaps that would help the situation. Whatever it is inside me, I wish it would find its way out in one pukey mass of relief. But alas, it sits there like a psychotic warthog with severe diarreha and a terrible case of genital sores. Roaming around my insides with its disgusting pus filled eye sockets, drooling and stumbling against the inside walls of my stomach. Creating a chaotic bubbling mess of my gastrointestinal system. Wrecking havoc on my digestive mechanics like a blind being with no arms or legs, but just a useless flailing stump of an existence.

I still pray for relief.

-tpd
6 February 2009

Child of the Americas

2009-01-22T15:03:00.000-08:00

(this artwork is by stephanie dodson. http://www.stephaniedodson.com/)

In the Sring of 2007, I took my first Womens Studies class. It was entitled: Women's Studies-Cross Cultural Perspective, and was taught by Sophia Arredondo. Words cannot touch how special this class was to me. It was a lesson in healing, in finding my own creative voice; not only as a woman, but as a survivor. During this time I was able to pay tribute in several different ways to myself and my life, as well as to my mother and her memory.

One of those was an assignment in which we were to recreate a poem written by feminist scholar/author/poet Aurora Levins Morales. This process was an absolute joy from start to finish and in the end I produced one of my favorite pieces of writing. Please read on for both Aurora's original work (which is lovely to be sure!) and my own rendition.

Child of the Americas

I am a child of the Americas,
a light-skinned mestiza of the Caribbean,
a child of many diaspora, born into this continent at a crossroads.
I am a U.S. Puerto Rican Jew,
a product of the ghettos of New York I have never known.
An immigrant and the daughter and granddaughter of immigrants.
I speak English with passion: it's the tongue of my consciousness,
a flashing knife blade of cristal, my tool, my craft.

I am Caribeña, island grown. Spanish is my flesh,
Ripples from my tongue, lodges in my hips:
the language of garlic and mangoes,
the singing of poetry, the flying gestures of my hands.
I am of Latinoamerica, rooted in the history of my continent:
I speak from that body.

I am not African. Africa is in me, but I cannot return.
I am not taína. Taíno is in me, but there is no way back.
I am not European. Europe lives in me, but I have no home there.

I am new. History made me. My first language was spanglish.
I was born at the crossroadsand
I am whole.

-Aurora Levins Morales

Child of the Americas (my version)

I am a child of the Americas,
a blond-haired, blue-eyed woman of
Norwegian descent, though my Norwegian history is forgotten.
I am slightly touched by an unknown ancestry that allows my skin
to brown instead of burn in the summer sun.

I am a lower middle class Caucasian American,
a daughter of a construction worker. A daughter of the labor union.
I am a product of the North as well as of the South of this
stolen land. This California. This, my home.

I am a child of prejudice and ignorance,
Transformed by knowledge…inspired by the world.
I am a woman creating her own reality, a woman empowered
by her choice to move through the world
unchained by dangerous ideology.

I was raised within a culture of abuse.
Alcohol, drugs.
Murder. Murder. Murder.
My young mother robbed of her life, ripped from her children.
A young daughter left motherless. A young daughter left to grow up with
A black abyss in her soul where her mothers light should be.

I am a child of the trees.
My connection to the earth and the natural, is my connection to "God".
I am a child of rock and roll, but have been utterly seduced
by the hypnotic rhythms and sensual beats of the electronic world.
I speak from that movement. I sweat from that movement. I love from that movement.

I am not a capitalist by choice, though I am forced to live as one.
I am not a victim, though people may see one in me.
I am not a proud American, though I am proud of who I am.

I am new. History made me. My only language is English.
I was born at the crossroads.
I am whole.

-Tiffany Kay Olson

Peace.

-tpd
22 January 2009

A bit about the name...

2009-01-21T13:47:00.000-08:00

Why "The Proletariat's Daughter", you ask?

I have a true and deep respect for manual labor. I suppose you could say that it's something close to my heart. My father was, is and will be until the day he dies, a devoted union carpenter. I'm a tried and true union baby. Support of and respect for the Carpenters Union was instilled in me from very early on in my childhood.

Because of this positive discourse surrounding my fathers occupation, I came to look up to my father for the work that he did. I've always held him in high regard because of his unyielding work ethic as well as his dedication to the field of carpentry. Gratefully, my father passed on his tireless work ethic to me, his oldest child.

******************************************

There is something so remarkable about someone that can build things. From the bloody, smashed fingers to the distinct scent of oily wood on their skin. The dirt and grim; and the wholesome tiredness that can only come from using your body all day long to lift and move and hammer and climb and carry and build. Over the years these things have become endearing and special. At present there is a little place in my heart where builders of things will always have a place.

******************************************

I truly believe that basic carpentry is one of those skills that every person should have. It's one of those life skills that everyone (at one time or another) is pissed that they don't have. (Ahem, myself included!) Mechanics is another one. In high school they should teach Mechanics 101, Carpentry 101, and Finances 101. Seriously people! What the fuck am I going to do with the knowledge that I learned in Chemistry 101?

******************************************

So that explains the name choice for my blog...with a few side notes.

Happy Building!

-tpd

21 January 2009