I´m starting to come toward the end of my time here,  so I would like to start a series of posts that reflect on my time and experience here as a whole.  I was thinking over recently some of the things that shocked me a bit when I first arrived, but that I now accept as a part of everyday life.

Uruguay is interesting in that it is in many ways very modern and developed, but nevertheless there are still some social realities here that would be unheard of in most parts of the U.S..  So here it is, 15 things that no longer shock me in Montevideo:

1. Very cracked sidewalks
2. Dog poop on the sidewalks and lots of stray dogs. The lower class the neighborhood, the more dogs there are, and sometimes cats too. Oh, and people in general don´t seem to believe in castrating their pets here.
3. Vendors and street musicians on the buses
4. graffiti. Lots of it. Especially most of it relates to sports teams (Piñarol, Nacional, Bolsa or the most popular national teams) or politics (mostly for ¨Pepe¨ Mujica, but also Lacalle).
5. The people riding through town in horsedrawn carts collecting and sorting through the garbage

6. The traffic: lanes seem to be only suggestions or guidelines. Cars have a habbit of cutting in right in front of or right behind a pedestrian when turning (taxis are the worst). It is often common to hear a horn blowing as they drive through the intersection, should a brave pedestrian be attempting to cross and save themselves a few minutes, as though to say, ¨Don´t even try to cross in front of me ´cuz i´m not slowing down¨.
7. ¨Lindos Ojos.¨ Lighter colored eyes are not as common here and are apparently coveted and worshiped by men. If I had a peso for every time I heard ¨lindos ojos¨ (pretty eyes) from an older man passing by, I would be one wealthy gringa.
8. Montevideo fashion. A lot of people wear more subdued colors, like black, brown, olive, white. But there seems to be a fashion trend among certain groups of the younger generartion to wear bright green, bright purple, or bright peachy, orange-y coral.
9. People–especially men in their 20s, 30s, 40s carrying a thermos under their elbow and mate in their hand. They are everywhere. On the sidewalks, in the plazas, on the rambla, on the bus. In Argentina they say that uruguayans have a longer arm to hold the thermos.
10. People trying to make money at crosswalks during redlights. They juggle, wash windows, and sell flowers or newspapers to the people in cars.

11. ¨Guardacoches¨ — the people who sit on the sidewalks and help people to parallel park and watch the cars while their away. They operate privately and live off of the change people give them for their services.
12. Besos. The normal form of greating someone is a kiss or an air kiss on the cheek. When entering a room it is polite to greet everyone in the group (even if it takes a looong time).
13. No indoor heating and air conditioning in most houses. I lucked out that mine had heat.
14. Milk in bags (those who have been following my blog since the beginning may remember my first supermarket experience…)
15. Artigas statues everywhere. General Artigas is their equivelent of the founding father of Uruguay. You see images and statues of him all over the place.

I was out on the concrete Saturday night, usual spot.  November evening, cool-to-chilly.  Dry.  I’d set up my little P.A. system and guitar and mic and tip jar and music stand and I’d been strummin’ and hummin’ for about an hour.  Decent body traffic, routine tippage.  Good times.

It’s hard to read a crowd sometimes, especially when it really isn’t a crowd, but an ebb and flow of people to the movies or from the movies to the parking lot, or…

So, sometimes, it’s just best to play because you like to and not worry about “should I do a fast one?”  “Slow one?”

I thought twice about playing “So Far Away,” the Dire Straits tune.  I do a good job with it, since it does not require one to sing like David Lee Roth or Andrea Bocelli but it’s on the slow side and I sometimes feel it’s a bit of drag (though I love the song).  So I hemmed and hawed and finally decided to play it.  About two and have verses in, I notice to my right a fella standing there.  He’d dropped a couple bucks in the guitar case and was lingering the in area.  Longish hair, tall, dark–sort of Pakistani-looking.  Big smile.

“Hey, how ya doin’?”

“Good. That’s a great song.  I recorded it for my girlfriend,”  he said and held out his i-Phone.

“Your girlfriend?”

“Yeah, she’s in Michigan.”

“And you’re here—in the sun and she’s there in the…snow.” (A play on the words of the song).  “So are you going back?”

“Yeah.  I’m just out here for work, on a project for a few weeks.  I miss her so I wanted to send her the song.”

“That’s very cool.  I’ll start it again and you can get it from the top.”

So, he laid his i-Phone down by the P.A. speak and I started the song up again and it was oh-so smooth.  While it is true that a performer must generate his/her own energy and emotion and give it away to the listener, there is still something distinctly energizing about receiving the listener’s interest and enthusiasm and playing off of it, or playing when you know somebody wants it or will be benefited by it.  It was the coolest, rockin’-est version of “So Far Away” I’d every played.  He was so knocked out, he dropped a twenty in the case and bounced away a very happy man.

I told my friend Bill Berry this little tale the next day and he made a very validating observation: busking is a direct entertainment, an opportunity to reach a single person directly–much different from going to see Bon Jovi at an arena (don’t get me wrong–I like Bon Jovi).  Of course, this is pretty obvious but when you’re out there working on your chops  or trying to make a few extra bucks and deflect the occasional ill-intentioned individual, you don’t necessarily think in terms of touching another person (or helping them to touch another person…in Michigan).

But that is what is.  I am out there as much for the good people as I am to keep my chops up or make a few extra bucks.  I have a mental scrapbook of time when I was deeply affected by a song or have been out in the crowd and was swept away by some music I was not expecting or something new that really hit the spot.  I recall one time driving my friend’s fully restored ‘67 Mercury Cougar to work (my truck was in the shop) and “All I Want” by Toad the Wet Sprocket came on the radio.  That was the first time I heard it and I had to pull the car over it affected me so much.

Those really are the moments I live for.

Visit my website at www.stevennealwagner.com

After a series of long flights, we arrived in Glasgow around mid-day on Saturday.  Fred Morton needed to stop by the local Apple store so we took a walk down the downtown streets of Glasgow.  The Apple store was on Buchanan Street – a street that is closed to vehicles and open to street performers.  It was quite a treat getting an opportunity to see several street performers playing music, dancing, juggling, etc.  Here’s a sample of what we saw.

One of the things that was particularly noteworthy was how many teenagers were in the Apple store – “playing” with the technology.  It will be interesting to see what opportunities kids have with ICT in the Scottish schools, not just on Buchanan Street.  Really looking forward to the school visits on Monday.

After a series of long flights, we arrived in Glasgow around mid-day on Saturday.  Fred Morton needed to stop by the local Apple store so we took a walk down the downtown streets of Glasgow.  The Apple store was on Buchanan Street – a street that is closed to vehicles and open to street performers.  It was quite a treat getting an opportunity to see several street performers playing music, dancing, juggling, etc.  Here’s a sample of what we saw.

One of the things that was particularly noteworthy was how many teenagers were in the Apple store – “playing” with the technology.  It will be interesting to see what opportunities kids have with ICT in the Scottish schools, not just on Buchanan Street.  Really looking forward to the school visits on Monday.

I have had an incredibly active last several months, ever since I realized that I was “this close” to finishing my CD. All of a sudden, I realized I needed to design the CD package and, oh…that meant getting some new pictures taken and I had to find a mastering lab for the tracks and…oh, yeah, a Twitter site and update my MySpace and…oh, yeah, a website, so people can contact me and oh, so a really good website costs really good money? Well…I didn’t have really good money for a website but I had a little time, so I asked everyone I know what’s the best way to proceed. I got many, many suggestions. I ended up trying some of those free, all-in-one “solutions,” website-in-a-box kind of thing to build my own site. And, uh…the three I tried all ended up producing websites that looked like…a box. Couldn’t get the hang of it. So, I buckled down and learned about HTML and learned to write code and designed and built the site I wanted for very little money, but a good deal of initial frustration. Mind you, I spent all weekend and every night for many weeks through May and June, designing the CD package and designing and building the website. Oh, and I need a web-hosting service? A domain name? Web mail? Uh, okay.

I got a lot done in a short about of time: a CD and a website–no small feat. And then there’s all the stuff you gotta do to get your name out there: A blog (check), articles (check), Tweets (check), Facebooking (check), sending the CD off to this place and that (check, check and check), updating the website, updating the MySpace, updating the Facebook, Tweeting, writing new blog entries, editing videos for the videoblog and for the YouTube channel and on and on and on.

It is now November and I can attest that I have spent every night and every weekend hour (that I am not otherwise working or gigging) on the computer researching this or updating that (did I mention finding an e-mail database/merge program?).

Now, my music is on Jango.com and I am spending time e-mailing people who hear my music and become fans. I have not watched any movies or hung out with friends or dated or listened to music for pleasure since May. I have very good discipline and I understand the amount of dedication it requires to succeed: It must be a single-minded determination.

At the same time, I see that while all this work and the little initial successes are rewarding, what does it ultimately mean if I am isolated for days at a time, nose to the keyboard, working to “make it” and no one really knows it but me and the people who read my e-mails and updates and “feeds” (oh yeah…did I mention RSS and feeds)?

It has occurred to me at a time in life that some might consider “late” that it takes a lot of work to get any kind of foothold in the “industry.” When I was young and dumb, I just wanted to make music and, while I wanted to be successful, I honestly had only the dimmest idea of what that would look and feel like, let along the effort and sacrifice that it would take. I am only very recently beginning to understand that. Honestly though, it is a game that I really love.

I make some of my living from music but I am not a full-time musician-songwriter yet. So the hours that most people would use to relax, engage in recreation, spend time with their families, their children, their pets, I spend with the computer, the website, the e-mail and the rest.

Yes, it has moments of fulfillment (I just got an honorable mention in the American Songwriter lyric contest for my song “Driveways”) but it can be very lonely at times.

And being on the computer has almost become a sickness. I wake up, I check my e-mail. I check my Jango to see if I have any new fans. I come home, it’s straight to the computer. And there I sit, “getting ahead.” I had a laptop for years and it sat cold and unused for most of the time. Now it’s warm and alive everynight.

If I were married, I wonder if I would be able to do this. If I had kids and a family, would I be able to pursue this with the same vigor?

This kind of information might be a bit too raw for a blog entry. I don’t know how people perceive me. As a semi-semi-semi-known songwriter-performer, I doubt that people assume I live a life of glamour, so I trust that I am not bursting anyone’s bubble by complaining of keyboard blisters and loneliness–disabusing you of your ideas of the carefree joys of “the songwriter’s life.”

- – - – -

I went out to a birthday party tonight at a nice restaurant. Forget that each of the guests was expected to perform for the girl of honor. As I was driving there, knowing that I really needed to get out of the house, away from the computer, away from marketing and Tweeting and updating and the routine, something was still gnawing at me to remain in the safety of my little laptop cocoon, where I don’t have to deal with the world, with conversations, with social graces.

It worried me to be feeling that way.

After I was at the restaurant two minutes, it all melted away. I had a great time, made some new friends, had some great conversation (and a great piece of halibut, too)…very high-spirited.

And I knew I’d made the right decision.

I guess the bottom line is success in any degree is nice but there has got to be balance.

Visit my website at www.stevennealwagner.com

Coins?

Originally uploaded by Tokenhippygirl

Street vendors, street performers, street musicians…. lively.

Poppa Neutrino has all the characteristics of a man who could have built a fortune,” asserts The New Yorker’s Alec Wilkinson, who is featured in RANDOM LUNACY. Yet the radically itinerant Neutrino’s belief that “rent is the thing that beats us,” caused him instead to choose a homeless existence for himself and his family.

Unencumbered by possessions, save for a video camera kept rolling since the 80’s, he led his “tribe” on a quest for pure freedom and adventure.

“Some people are nomadic by nature,” claims his wife, Betsy. The self-taught family band called THE FLYING NEUTRINOS was literally singing for its supper as it roamed the world, while Poppa’s camera recorded first-hand a life of sleeping in cars, trucks, and on remote beaches, as well as the family’s time spent traveling with a Mexican circus. The rafts they built from street scraps, which they then would live aboard, exemplified their consummate ingenuity. Eventually one such vessel was pitted against the Atlantic Ocean.

Captured on tape — an astonishing portrait of survival outside of conventional society, in a self-created universe with a value system all its own.

RANDOM LUNACY casts a searching gaze on what it means to be marginalized, while at the same time examining what our choices have to do with our ultimate freedom.

The festival runs from November 12-15, Random Lunacy screening time TBD.

Of all the places in Gold Coast, I really love Cavill Avenue. It is located in the heart of Surfers Paradise on the Gold Coast. One fantastic thing about Cavill Avenue is its pedestrian mall located at the beach end. This street serves as the main activity centre in central Surfers Paradise.

I had my two week holiday in Surfers Paradise last year. I always come back to Cavill. Why? For the simple reason- there was never a dull moment when I just stand in that street and hang around, shop, dine and be entertained. The availability of internet cafes throughout the area even made my stay a little more convenient. I met both locals and foreigners alike. The best part was that I got to shop around and found some great bargains! I always had wanted to learn how to surf, so I bought surfing lessons from a surf school located at the end of Cavill Avenue. As for my discerning tastebuds, I went to different restaurants throughout Cavill Avenue which offered different delicacies and a variety of cuisines to choose from. I couldn’t resist stopping in at the gelato and ice cream shops as well!

And for those who enjoy free live performances, there are street performers in Cavill Avenue that will leave you in total amusement as they showcase their unique talents right in front of you. You might be lucky enough to spot the iconic meter maids strolling around Cavill Avenue too.

Choose from a huge variety of accommodation options within easy walking distance to Cavill Avenue including hotels, resorts, motels, apartments and more. In totality, Cavill Avenue is the perfect place to be for shopping, eating and being entertained both day and night in the heart of Surfers Paradise.

The Five People You’ll Meet in Barcelona

By Megan

As a high school junior, I  was lucky enough to go on a week long trip to France and Spain to soak up a bit of European culture.  I fell in love with Barcelona and immediately promised myself that I would find a way to live and learn there.  So, my junior year of college, I hopped on a plane and spent a glorious year studying at the Universitat de Barcelona and living in the city.  Granted, a year is only the first course of the city meal, but I got to know the town and people rather well.  Here is a list of the five people I promise that you will meet in Barcelona, even if you are only there for a week.

1. Tourists- Barcelona is fabled to be the number two tourist destination in Europe, after front runner Paris.  And it is plenty obvious when walking nearly everywhere in the city, especially if Gaudí, Picasso, or Mirò ever touched it.  Look for cameras and the shock on the faces of people whose belongings have recently been nabbed.

My old and good friend Jane Bolduc asked me to join her for a little music-making at Ronald McDonald House in Hollywood, California. The purpose was a luncheon to acknowledge the contributions of “The House’s” many volunteers. (Jane has a neighbor who has a sister who volunteers there, so that’s the McConnection).

Jane is a performing songwriter with several CDs to her credit and very good reviews. I too am a songwriter and performer and just released my first CD of original material. If you are a frequent reader of “Diary of a Music Man,” however, then you know that I regularly play other people’s material when I busk. Jane, too, has a stash of oldies and choice “cover” songs which come in handy for gigs like this McD House event.

Ronald McDonald Houses are one of several programs of Ronald McDonald House Charities (RMHC). The Houses are large facilities where families can stay who have come from great distances to get treatment for their sick or injured child. The Houses exist so that families can stay together during such a critical time. It provides private rooms, cooking facilities, dining areas and play areas for the kids. The House in Hollywood is a couple blocks from Children’s Hospital of Los Angeles.

The luncheon took place in the atrium of the House on Fountain near Hillhurst in Hollywood 90027. The atrium is quite large and, of course, has a beautiful clear glass skylight ceiling. Though a really attractive room, the atrium’s A/C was no match for today’s relentlessly hot sun, so it was warm in there.

Jane and I set up and were shortly joined by my friend Dan Brown, who came “boppin’ in offa the street” with his newly-restrung ‘68 Gibson acoustic guitar which sounded resonant and lovely. (He got it for $25 at a garage sale ten years ago so, of course, we hate him.) He was shortly joined by Jessica, his wife.

Jane kicked off the afternoon with some James Tayor and Sheryl Crow covers and received some well-deserved applause for her version of Shawn Colvin’s “Sunny Came Home.”

I stepped up and did a few mellow favorites, including “Spooky” and “Groovin’ (on a sunday afternoon)” with harmonic accompaniment from Jane.

Then the awards part of the program, which we were told would be about a 15-minute affair, but was more like an hour. I didn’t mind though. Anyone who does any volunteer work deserves as much acknowledgment as they can stand. Two of the McD House execs did the honors and it was pretty high-spirited. I did not get any of it on video because I was too busy seeking coffee and food (Jane and I loaded in and set up the equipment before I’d even eaten breakfast).

Good friend Jane smuggled me in some chicken parmagiana and nice steamed vegetables with just enough garlic from the buffet.

Dan and Jessica occupied themselves reading from one of the many children’s books in the sort-of living room area that functioned as our “green room.”

When all the awardees were awarded and acknowledged, the music resumed (with a lurch, due to the heat in the room).

Dan did some clean fingerpicking and had some pleasantly surprising song choices, including “Rocket Man” and a bluegrass-styled “Johnnie B. Goode.” Earlier in the day, he showed me the proper way to play the verses in “Blackbird.” I showed him how the play the chorus.

Lastly, Jane and I did a easy-going “Brown-Eyed Girl” (along with all the people who were cleaning up and singing along) and the Kinks’ “Sunny Afternoon.”

Then we broke down all the equipment, thanked and was thanked in return by McD volunteers Melissa (last name?) and Heidi Buell (“Mighty Heidi,” who is also Jane’s neighbor’s sister, as mentioned above).

We did a little bit of what we love in order to serve the community (or rather, to serve the people who serve the community).

There’s more in the video, including cakes (you gotta see these cakes).

Visit my website at www.stevennealwagner.com

wednesday, september 30th, 2009
headed over to new orleans from washington dc, with a stopover in new york. arrived around dinner time and overheard a hilarious conversation (see here). then got picked up by my couchsurfing host, daryl, and we went rock climbing indoors! it was $10 for like four hours of all-you-can-climb rock climbing. i will admit that it was harder than i initially thought it would be, for sure. i didn’t feel like i was too weak to do it, but the finger dexterity was for sure lacking. but it was somewhere between fun and non-fun, i guess. but yeah, there was a group of people he knew there, and like we got there and i vaguely introduced myself and literally a couple of the people just stared at me. it was kinda fucking weird.

{funny! i’m at this coffee shop in new york’s bushwick neighborhood, and they just started playing this really super epic orchestral music and everyone in the coffee shop is being put on edge, because it was originally this really quiet ambient stuff and now it’s all up in your face, haha. it’s like going through my headphones. funny.}

anyway, went to meet up with daryl’s friends at some coffee shop where they were playing some card game. i’m all for games, but they were quintessential nerds in every sense of the word. like, comic book guy from simpsons style. which is fine. it was funny, though. they were nice enough — well, one of them was. i didn’t care for the other two, really. they were babbling on about nonsense, too, and it wasn’t even funny nonsense, it was just like, “you’re kind of crazy” nonsense, and i happen to like crazy people.

head back after walking around a bit. another couchsurfer chick from france (pictured) was staying there too. daryl definitely had a grudge against her because she is the kind of couchsurfer that kind of stays in a place but doesn’t really wanna hang out with the host, and he’s the complete opposite and pretty much wants to spend tons of time together. that usually isn’t my style, either, but i ended up seeing some pretty cool stuff because of it. but yeah, french couchsurfer chick was funny because she used to work at mcdonald’s in france and she’d been in the states for like, three weeks (or was it three months?) and pretty much ate mcdonald’s EVERY MEAL which is fucking ridiculous, but she said she was doing it to assimilate to american culture, which is even MORE ridiculous.

talked to one of daryl’s roommates for a bit, and she was cool… one of the other roommates had the chillest fucking dog ever! it was like a cat! you could do whatever the hell you wanted to it and it wouldn’t bark or anything. AND it was really cute. jealous, jealous.

thursday, october 1st, 2009

woke up kinda late and went to eat gumbo at this place called coop’s, after dropping off french couchsurfer chick!

daryl! i have to mention that daryl’s house had this message that said basically that you could walk around naked in the space if you wanted to. that being said, he was never naked, and i think it was just so people who wanted to be naked could feel comfortable, but at first i found it kinda weird and later i was like, ah well, probably because he didn’t actually get more naked than underpants.

cool horsehead statue — broken!

LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE. in the downtown area.

i love old shit. therefore, i love new orleans. seriously, though, new orleans rules. it’s as foreign country as you’ll get in the united states, i feel like. granted there are some section of the u.s. i haven’t been to yet… but still.

street performer (who gave me a business card — going out of character — and wanted me to send him pics that i took… i still need to do that).

go to the farmer’s market and i snatched myself a harmonica, along with some really cool feathery masks that were only like $2 each or something sold by chinese people, of course. they’re always pawning the ridiculous warez.

didn’t even know beads came in so many styles.

who doesn’t want to pull tissue papers out of mr. bean’s ass?

these arent’ the masks i bought, but mine weren’t bad. i noticed after taking these photos that there was a huge sign saying, NO PHOTOS! oops.

need to go to an atm though, and visit an artisan market along the way.

come on, even the grating looks neat.

get driven through a neighborhood called bywater, where some artist has taken it upon himself (i think his name is bob) to name the place “bobwater”. haha. his art and reminders of his art are all over the place. rule.

new orleans = textural old time heaven. i would like to go back, for sure.

went to a store in bobwater and i really fucking wanted this ceramic sculpture. it made me sooo happy. saint with babies for clothes? I LOVE IT! I LOVE IT I LOVE IT I LOVE IT! unfortunately, it was like $30, and i was pretty sure i’d destroy the shit out of it, so i didn’t get to bring it back. but it was soooo awesome. :{

more cool stuff at the heavily mexican-influenced store.

i was kinda in love with this shit… wanted to take home like, all of it.

daryl with mask. this store was a LITTLE too fun.

old school baby stroller of death. doesn’t that look soooo uncomfortable?

best collection of fucking foods, ever!1!

head on over to the lower 9th ward shortly thereafter. these photos below are from a house that has essentially been left unchanged since the hurricane. it’s pretty insane that four years later so much of this shit is still in shambles. the government, i guess, asked people to board up and strip their own houses, but for people who just left and didn’t do it, sometimes no one did it. i think the reasoning is that it’s a bit of a hazard — which i completely believe, because we were in this house for like less than five minutes and i got fucking COVERED with mosquito bites.

not much was moldy other than this particular painting, it seemed.

that on the floor was mud. it was about an inch thick, i wanna say. daryl said his house had like 3-4 inches of mud on the ground. what’s surprising is that the 9th ward got a really low amount of water compared to many other parts of the city… the thing is just that the lower 9th ward was poorer, so there was less chance of people rebuilding than in other parts. like where daryl lived was a bit better off, i guess, so probably like 70% of the houses there were rebuilt (others were like boarded up and left alone). in the lower 9th ward, most of the houses were pretty much still shit or completely stripped and unlivable.

also in the lower 9th ward: new houses brad pitt is building. this one is just hilarious. most of them are modern in design but none of them really looked like this other than this one, haha. some of them were already completed and people were already living in them. the houses were built on super high stilts so that if it flooded again they’d generally be mostly okay. they also had like styrofoam walls and were super light.

fema dog house! how’s that for social commentary!

this is a sign around this gas station we stopped by shortly thereafter. the gas station owner showed a pic which showed how high the water was… it was completely over the top of the gas station. fucking CRAZY.

a whole strip mall full of stores that are like WTF now.

went to lincoln beach shortly thereafter, which is a former beach that isn’t really used now other than by graffiti people, it feels like. this here is what used to be locker rooms — the walls were these pretty brittle tiles, and remnants of those tiles are pretty much everywhere on the ground.

reminds me of the albany bulb in albany, california. i still need to write a blog post about the albany bulb, shit!!!

locker rooms!

that night, met up with dominique who runs blue lace, a music publication thing based in new orleans. wandered around a while. came across this funny headline. went to this “dad” outdoor concert for a bit and then tried to see what other shows were going on but nothing much really.

people are all bout brad pitt for mayor. this was in a local weekly thing.

went onto frenchman street — where there was supposed to be jazz, but there wasn’t this evening. ah, well. bummer. next time. we ate at a restaurant called 13 where they had tater tot nachos — i forget the name but it was a cute name. and it was REALLY delicious. i think they were called tater-tachos?

funny sammich.

a banksy piece, preserved under plexiglass, cuz new orleans has this guy who has been dubbed the gray ghost, and he goes around covering up graffiti everywhere with gray rollers.

we went along the river walk after that, which was alright, same as any.

popcorn that night. see the cob? the popcorn was just an entire dehydrated cob that you put in a paper bag and it all pops. haha. it cost more than a traditional bag of popcorn, but one would think it costs less to make (asides from the organic crappity crap crap).

daryl kinda gave me a guilt trip for wanting to go to bed after all this, but whatever. i was done exploring.

friday, october 2nd, 2009

went to bourbon street in the morning, and got some yummy croissant. it was weird, though, absolutely nothing going on there in the daytime. i didn’t happen to go at nighttime. it’s whatevers. i don’t party anyway. i’m an old lady. was gonna go see “zombieland” with dominique if she went but she ended up not going. ah, well.

also had the most hilarious mocha i’ve ever gotten in my life. i asked for a small and it was literally in one of those teeny tiny styrofoam cups. like, wtf! it was really, really GROSS, too.

i’m listening to… micachu and the shapes.

saturday, september 26th, 2009.

had a brief layover in boston on the way to new york… alex suggested i go to faneuil hall… great idea. it was like, the best layover ever, and i only had an hour to spend outside of the airport! thanks to awesome boston public transportation, it was only a couple stops on the subway to faneuil hall, making it the most perfect layover ever.

lots of cool street performers, including an acapella crew that was actually good. which is a rarity, to be honest.

most hilarious build-a-bear ever.

old-school post office!

there was an awesome outdoor market… 25 cent plum. yum yum yum yum. started liking these random fruits like peaches and nectarines and plums… it’s kinda weird.

friggin gorgeous eggplant. i’m just curious where the farmers are raising these crops near boston?

by this point in time, i was on a hunt for a quick ass bowl of clam chowder to grab before i got back on the plane. better to eat that than to eat at the airport, AM I RITE! found one by asking an info center guy, and there was a huge line, but luckily, it moved quick!

and then i hurried back to the airport, really rushed… but in fact, the flight got delayed so i coulda played for even longer. ah, well.

giant cup of dunkin donuts coffee.

Street Performers!

They come in two varieties; annoying and poignant. The most annoying are the manic street preachers. But the guy on roller blades with the guitar on Venice Beach is a real jerk. There are some who defend him, but I find him to be ultra-annoying, unfunny and untalented. (But he still deserves healthcare).

Rollerblade dude showing his stuff!

The most poignant are the talented ones, or the ones (like children and animals) who are forced to dance for the spare change of passers-bye. The first video is one of my favorites, but I’ve never seen the guy again. Next time, I’ll treat you to a couple of street preachers. One is from the Tony Alamo crowd (shudder) and the other drives a tour bus. He just preaches on the corner of Hollywood and Highland part-time. Don’t worry, you’ll be meeting him soon enough.

But then their are the ones who make you wonder.

I watched with a mixture of disbelief, disgust, and awe as he took a large swig of lighter fluid and walked into the intersection, two identical balls of fire hanging by his side, his hands fiercely gripping the chains that led to the spitting fire. The traffic light was red and Hugo, the performer, conducted his dance with the fire until the light changed. Swinging the enflamed balls of fire up over his head and around, again and again, exhaling at last and letting out a breath of fire, the finale of his performance, he nonchalantly bowed and walked between the cars, graciously accepting applause but looking for monetary handouts.

Trying to appear inconspicuous, I stood half behind a tree and looked on with anticipation as car windows opened and admiring observers dropped change into his palm. When no one was generous, when no one stopped him, I averted my gaze, glanced across at the other intersection, where another young Argentine was doing a performance of sorts. His attempts at earning, however, were not magical, I noticed as he wiped down the windshields on vehicles of obliging drivers.

“No saca fotos,” Hugo said, passing me as he returned to the corner to drink more of the viscous, dangerous fluid and relight the balls, and, ashamed, I dropped my camera in my bag, inwardly berating myself for acting so foolishly. They were the only harsh words he’d ever spoken to me, and even now, I wish he’d never had to utter them.

I continued to watch him perform for the people of San Juan until the lighter fluid was gone and his coughing grew more persistent. After the first few times seeing him drink the same thing he used to keep the balls on fire, I had to stop looking. My stomach was turning for him.

Later, when he wanted to know what I thought of his performance–although we’d been traveling together for about a week and had, despite the language barrier, gotten to know each other well, I’d heard of his street work but never witnessed it firsthand–I was at a loss for words. I asked about the taste of the fluid, for despite his shower, the smell lingered heavily. “No es muy rico,” he said as though it was no big deal at all. And, for him, it probably wasn’t. How long, I wondered had he been performing, hoping to make just enough money for food and drink as he made his way around parts of Peru and all of Bolivia?

Once we’d parted, the performance barely providing Hugo with enough money to travel to Valle Fertil, near San Juan in Mendoza, let alone Tucuman, my next destination, I wondered about practical matters: the ingestion of the lighter fluid, the inhalation of so much smoke, the blisters on his hands from such tight gripping– all for a few pesos.

I’d never seen anything like it before, I admitted to myself, and tried to conjure up memories of all the crazy stuff I’d seen people do for money in New York City. Nothing came close.

This was the kind of thing my guidebook didn’t mention.

About a week earlier, I’d tried to express my delight at not traveling like a tourist to Hugo and his friend, Nelson, as they set up a fire by the river (sans coals), pulled out a huge plastic bag full of carne, salted it, and created an asado (bbq) for the three of us, and I watched the tourists giddily white-water raft past us.

They had only laughed and said that what we were doing was “normal” for them, but I don’t know that they understood how grateful I was for their “tipica” experience. If only they knew how far off the beaten backpacker path they’d taken me, maybe they’d have been pleased with themselves.

Later, when I found myself couchsurfing in Tucuman with Cintia–una buena persona– and her family, and having some much-needed girl time, I explained that I felt lucky to be experiencing life as she experienced it: drinking mate in the park, sharing an enormous Saturday almuerzo with her family, going to a regional fiesta with live music, getting in the siesta groove mid-afternoon each day, enjoying tea time with cookies and cafe con leche following siesta, and eating dinner at 11 PM at night during the week. I was “fortunada” in so many ways that it was becoming increasingly difficult to feel–and express– sufficient gratitude.

I learned months ago to trust my guidebook for tips on bus travel, weather patterns, and border crossing information, but mostly, its advice is useless. Why consult it for the best place to find pastel de choclo (a Chilean specialty) when I can ask Pam and Aaron, the truly cool couple I stayed with in Santiago? Why bother reading about the best place to watch tango in Tucuman when I can accompany Cintia and her girlfriends? Why try the listed heladerias when I can ask a local–and a friend– where he or she goes when the ice-cream craving hits? Why go on every tour the book suggests is “not worth missing” when I can live as though I belong among the people who do belong and not as though I am merely passing through until I arrive at the next destination, where another over-priced, only halfway decent tour awaits me?

No, my guidebook cannot lead me to a rich, authentic, typical experience; that, I need to find on my own.

Fortunately, I’ve got more than five months to continue seeking my “tipica” experiences.

Day 1: We arrive into San Francisco International Airport around noon and once greeted by my dad, grandmother and cousin, are shuttled off to Dim Sum in the South San Francisco area. After settling into our rooms at Grandma’s, we are shuttled off to eat some more dim sum.

Day 2: We have brunch at a Seafood/dim sum buffet in San Mateo with more family and then spend the rest of the day barraged with questions about what we want for dinner. None of us can decide so all 10 of us pile into 2 separate cars and cruise around until we decide on Pho in the Sunset district. Then we are dropped off in tourist-trap Fisherman’s Wharf, where we do some touristy things that I am a bit ashamed of.

However, we do stumble upon the greatest tourist-pleasing act I’ve seen in a long time. I’ve grown tired of the break dancers and the caricature artists; but this is cool. It takes the artist about the length of 2 songs to complete each painting, with each piece featuring varying color schemes and theme. At $10 a piece or a voluntary donation, the show is worth watching.

Day 3: Dim Sum in Dublin, CA where I meet my baby niece. I’m finally an aunt!

We take a break from family bonding (aka lots of forced feeding) to walk off our meals. I introduce my crazy yet demure asian mother to the Mission district and take her to Zeitgeist–an outdoor bar that always has a mixed crowd ranging from bikers to bike-riding hipsters, where she also meets the famous San Francisco Tamale Lady (she has a fan page on Facebook) and got tips on where to find the best Mexican in the Mission.

As part of the town’s annual art fair or kunstmarkt, street performers were out in force around the Rode Steen. This trio presented what was to some a barely discernible story about a family of birds … this infant was particularly bemused, it seemed.

I love Oslo like it’s a person and think it has an infinite number of things that are advanced, smart and just all around awesome, but stopping public transportation at 12:30 a.m. has got to go. We have had to walk home many times, but Saturday’s walk was a little over an hour. So ridic.

Though, we did hear a lot of great music while walking though downtown. Not in da clubz (I have yet to find a Norwegian bar that plays good music), but from street performers. I wouldn’t say any of them looked particularly homeless, but if they were, American hobos need to take a lesson from these guys. I mean, one guy was rocking to Bon Jovi with an amp and everything.

When I started Norwegian I thought it would be a bit of a drag, but our teach Astrid totally makes it worth it. As I previously stated, Astrid is Helen Mirren’s doppelganger, and even though I’m guessing she doesn’t have an Oscar, I’m gonna say she’s twice as fabulous. She has brought the entire class chocolate and coffee twice, is a bigger enviornmental nut than Al Gore, and has flawless hair everyday. Flawless. She has a very practical approach to teaching, which makes remembering this stuff a lot easier. Plus, she loves me.

SUST classes are great as well. Sure, they’re a lot more work than I’d like while abroad, but I realized the other day that I may pull off spectacular grades this semester… Unexpected bonus.

Norwegian Parliamentary Elections were held Monday, which resulted in the re-election of Prime Minister Jens Stoltenberg. Intersting fact: Norway bans the sale of alcohol on election day, though the real news is that election coverage is not nearly glitzy (that’s right, glitzy) as it is In the good ol’ US of A. There were a few election parties, but I actually found out the results the next day from the New York Times. Needless to say, it was not anything like Obamania.

Hello!

Just a quick note to let you know that I was back in great health and back in action Saturday night at “my usual spot,” playing a lot–A LOT–of requests, mostly Beatles. Lots of Beatles lovers out there and that is about as good a thing as anyone could ask for. The Beatles just continue to…continue, despite not having recorded anything new as a group since 1969. Someday someone or some group will top their achievements but (and though there are some present time artists I really love) I suspect it will not be in the very near future.

I had been a bit sick prior to my last post but I popped out of it by looking at what I had done differently in the recent past that might have accounted for my decline. Well, this week, I sidestepped all the refined sugar. Drank lots of water, lots of “Calm” (an instant magnesium drink that does wonders) and I was back in shape. I even surprised myself by my energy level, which never sagged. I sang and played for about four hours straight, no sweat.

I decided to talk to people in the crowd more, to interact, instead of being a “hey, listen me” kind of person. And people were even friendlier. They put money in my guitar case and asked me to play songs for them:

“Do you know any Who?,” asked a 30-ish rocker from Norway. Sure. Then I gave ‘em “Pinball Wizard.”

“You know anything by Jimmy Buffet?,” a teenage boy asked, after his father sent him over with a buck. “Anything in particular?,” I inquired. “Margaritaville,” said he. “Yes, I do,” I replied (it’s the only Buffett song I know). A minute later I was “Livin’ on spongecake, watchin’ the sun bake…”

A girl said, “Play ‘Layla.’” So I played “Layla.”

Oh, but I have my work cut out for me. There are some people out there with great taste, who made some requests that I really owe it to both of us to know: “Tears in Heaven” (second time in three weeks someone has requested it), “Daughters” (a great John Mayer tune worthy of McCartney); “Blackbird,” “Wish You Were Here,” “Let it Be” and songs by Elvis (both Presley and Costello).

Oh and Christmas is just around the corner, which means “Jingle Bell Rock” and a million other Xmas favorites. Homework.

Visit my website at www.stevennealwagner.com

I’d been looking forward to seeing Norman Jay at the Brick Lane Festival, but we arrived way too late, with only 20 minutes of his act left.  So instead of rocking with Norman, Dan, Kylie and I just walked around soaking up the atmosphere. 

These guys were fabulous and got the crowd going, a real ‘yay I love London’ moment.

I’m not sure if the ’stalls’ are there every weekend but there are loads of people that lay all sorts of tat out on blankets.  I really mean it when I say tat too, I know they say one man’s junk is another man’s treasure – but really – who needs a second hand action man, one boot or some forlorn teletubbies!

These guys embodied the feeling of the day.  They were stoked that we wanted their photo, happily busting out a pose.  They almost make me want to wear a hoodie and low slung jeans.

We’d left the food stalls too late and they were packing up, just as my appetite was kicking in.  Only one thing could tide me over until salt and pepper squid at the Drunken Monkey – Lip Lickers, they tasted as good as they smelt.

 Next year we’ll come earlier, so we get to see Norman AND so we get to eat all the fabulous food.