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Stories from a man who fails to meet media expectations of what it means to be gay:
white, frivolous, over sexed yet sexless, shrill, single, stylish, a clown, unimportant, et al.
10/17/2004
Jupiter, Minerva, and rampaging octopi
More summer vacation catch up:
Thursday was our first full day in Buenos Aires. �After a large breakfast, and long walk to the local subway station we made our way to Plaza Italia (loads of Italian immigrants on Argentina). �We had a full agenda for the day, starting off with the National zoo.
The place wasn�t too bad. �The animals weren�t displaying repetitive behavior, and seemed fairly healthy. �As expected, there was a respectable selection of South American animals, but the most �native� of the animals, Maras (rodent rabbitty looking things which used to roam the pampas in the thousands) weren�t in an exhibit, but rather roamed free through the zoo and park, eating grass and looking a the visitors with mild disinterest.
There were lots of statues and fountains, many with Roman classical themes, although some of them were just plain freaky. �One fountain consisted of a pile of reptiles and amphibians topped by a crocodile squeezing the life (and water) out of a dead fish. � Another fountain had small boys being threatened by octopi. �It�s been a while since I�ve read any Greek/Roman mythology, but I don�t exactly recall that particular scenario.
After animals and disturbing statues we had lunch at a nearby caf�, munching on sandwiches and drinking Coke looking out at the city and waiting for our next stop to open. �I�d forgotten that I preferred the Latin American blend of Coke �cause it�s not so carbonated and therefore better. Oddly, the most memorable thing about the caf� was the large chunk of soap nailed to the wall in the men�s restroom. � It had a strong industrial clean scent, and was worn oval from constant use.
The thing we were waiting to open was the Museo Evita. It was just up the street from the caf� and housed in an old home for unwed mothers that Eva Peron apparently had built in the middle of an upper class neighborhood in order to tick off the rich women who had previously snubbed her socially.
For a relatively small building there was a lot, and I mean A LOT, of exhibits/material devoted to her life. There were rooms of clothes, hats, posters, magazines, artifacts, and several audiovisual displays of radio speeches, a film of her funeral procession, and a video biography of her life. � �
That bio was a tad weird. �It covered the numerous hardships of her life all to background music that I�m pretty sure came from the soundtrack to one of the Cirque Du Soleil shows. �Eva Peron was portrayed as a hero, as a saint, and in one section were someone photoshoped some holy flames around her as an Argentine version of the Virgin de Guadeloupe. �
That bit weirded me out. �I may not be a practicing Catholic, so the image should not have bothered me, but well, the Virgin? The video creators were obviously not Mexican.
Aside from that, the bio and recordings of her speeches revealed a very powerful speaker. �It�s easy to see the strengths and charisma which gave her such a devoted following.
As is the norm in modern exhibits, there was a gift shop at the end of the self guided tour. It was small and sort of disappointing, which should be expected I guess. �The entire museo is so respectful, so reverential, there�s no way they�d sell anything to cheapen the image of Evita, therefor minimal chotzkies for sale.
The next stop was MALBA, the Mueso de Artes Latinos de Buenos Aires, and was one of the better museums we saw during the trip. �It was collection of Latin American artists with a focus towards modern and contemporary art. The artists ranged from Diego Rivera to Joaqu�n Torres-Garc�a to Alejandro Xul Solar. � There was even a Frida Khalo self portrait.
The idea of the collection is interesting. �Is there value in idea of a shared common artistic viewpoint from a common Latin American identity? One effect of�displaying these works together was that even cold minimalist pieces seemed to have a certain uncharacteristic warmth and energy.
Not all was energy though. �There was a temporary exhibit of three contemporary works, sort of performance pieces sans performers that while interesting, may have been a bit more concerned with gimmick than anything else. The best one was simply a matter of forced perspective, where when walking downstairs you come across a video monitor which reveals that from above, some seemingly random lines across walls and floor actually form a square. The other two works were environments, one of video images projected against a wall and sounds to evoke an sensation, a mood; and the other piece an odd thing were you step into an clear acrylic cabinet littered with little Styrofoam balls. I didn�t understand this last one. � There�s a small fear that the balls are going to fly around when you get into the booth, but instead an audio tape is played.
Whatever I was suppose to get out of it, I missed. �All I did get was that putting little Styrofoam balls into a interactive work meant that thanks to static electricity, there will be little Styrofoam balls littered everywhere. �
Dinner that night was at a restaurant in the Collegias Barrio. It�s a bit out of the tourist districts, so the waitress felt the need to confirm that we were there for dinner and not a quick pre dinner snack since it was only nine.
After dinner while walking back to the guesthouse, we stopped at an helado place for some ice cream. The teenage clerk was a bit snotty with us, throwing us attitude as only a teenager can. I found it more amusing than annoying, for no real reason other than it was funny to watch her trying to be simultaneously aggravated and disdainfully bored by our patronage. The poor service did nothing to change the fact that the helado tasted great. It seems that good things happen food wise wherever there are Italian immigrants.