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Gashes in your Lashes

It's quite possible that you've never noticed missing patches of hair on someone where it should be. I’m not talking about receding hair lines or overestimated waxing. The Mayo Clinic describes Trichotillomania (trik-o-til-o-MAY-ne-uh) as an irresistible urge to pull out hair from your scalp, eyebrows, eyelashes or other areas of your body. It is thought that around 1% of the U.S. population experiences the disorder.

Of all the possible places from which to pluck your natural layer, one area in particular might invite the most attention. Your WOTD:

ceja [say-hah] : eyebrow Listen

What causes this strange compulsive disorder? The most trying for individuals who suffer the symptoms is the fact that those who have never experienced a similar peculiar comfort cannot come close to relating. Who on earth would want to knowingly damage his natural symmetry? Some loved ones go so far as to put tape across the cejas of their poor picking person. An unfortunate individual with this habit will often lie nonchalantly when asked. “Oh, my waxing lady messed up.” Yeah right. Or, “Oh, I accidentally shaved that part off with a razor.” That’s about as believable as a stammering 16 year old swearing that the plum-colored hickey is a curling iron burn. Come to think of it, even that’s hard to say these days as I have this notion that curling irons are not quite used by masses of women as they were 10 to 15 years ago.

Discovering this particular type of compulsive behavior makes me wonder how many of us suffer from concealed self-destructive actions. It seems as though something’s not right. Is it possible this particular disorder, even if not identified, existed a century ago? What about eating disorders, self-mutilation, etc? I’m not so sure we can blame all this on global warming.

Gauchito Gil

"How 'bout them cowboys?" Not the Dallas Cowboys (not that they resemble anything close to the real thing) or the wild west cowboy, but the:

gaucho [gow-choh] : herdsman, or cowboy of the South American pampas Listen

As in Texas, this special character is not as easily found in Argentina as in the 19th century, but their historical reputation keeps them alive and breathing. Picture a Texan cowboy, now take away the 10 gallon Stetson, replace it with a lower, broad-brimmed black hat, tuck a knife in the leather belt at the back and you’re on the right track. In case your imagination is betraying you:

Gauchito Gil (the diminutive form of gaucho used in a loving way) was an unruly Argentine gaucho in the late 1800s. In his Robin Hood adventures he served the poor by spreading the riches of the wealth. After refusing to fight his fellow brothers in one of the country's civil conflicts, he was held at knife point by a police sergeant who paid no heed to Gil's proclamation that he could cure the officer’s ailing child. With a flick of the wrist, Gauchito Gil was left dead, but the officer prayed nonetheless and the child was indeed healed. Ever since then, Gauchito Gil has been the channeled recipient of many prayers and requests from those just knowing that he can work another miracle.

On a late spring day not oh so long ago, I found myself on a road trip through the Argentine countryside. Every now and then along the two lane highway, we passed a little red, wooden, doghouse-looking structure propped against a lonely tree trunk. Red flags and banners waved outside the entrance of the little house; some big, some small. As we passed this curious scene, the driver would yell, “I’ll Cheeto here!” I wondered if the little red doghouses held sacred bags of cheesy Cheetos puffs, but that didn’t seem quite right. After the fifth “I’ll Cheeto here!” I had to ask.
“What on earth are you saying?”
“It’s Gauchito Gil! Don’t you know Gauchito Gil?”
No, at that time I didn’t. And when I asked the driver to slow down as we approached the next eye-catching banners, I saw that there was in fact a little gaucho standing inside his private shrine. He was surrounded by everything from flowers to used car parts – offerings and personal tokens from the road. There were no Cheetos in sight; perhaps that could be my contribution the next time around – a little inside joke between GG and me.

Go Go Grease Lightning

I received a random text message today from a student asking me, "How do you say 'grasa'?" If he had wanted the simple translation, it would have been the following definition of today's WOTD:

grasa [grah-sah] : grease, fat, lard (found in the kitchen) Listen

His question held my attention since I had been asked the same question by two other Argentine women while preparing dinner in the kitchen on Saturday night. Fortunately, I follow conversations well enough in Castellano to know that they were not talking about the grease. Nor the fat, nor the lard. Had the conversation taken place two years ago, I would have automatically assumed they were referring to the white stuff forming on the pile of meat leftover from lunch. But no. They wanted to know how we translate this word that in Argentina, and only in Argentina I believe, is used to describe:

-the hairy-chested man with 4 buttons left open and a gold chain dangling around his sweaty neck

-the woman with extremely overdone silicone bosoms

-the kid who flashes you a vulgar gesture in the road just because

Today, my answer to the text message was "tacky, sleazy, trashy." I've never found ONE single word to describe this idea that can be used in so many ways here. It's still one of those words I use with doubt unless I'm asking where the jar of grasa is in the kitchen.

A grasa birthday cake?

Lunching on Ice Cream

Your WOTD:

helado [ay-lah’-do] : ice cream Listen

I have a love-hate relationship with the helado in BsAs. It's some of the best I've tasted outside of Italy, although I don't think I'll ever put a winning blue ribbon on any other than my classic Blue Bell Cookies 'n Cream. So why the hate? Such a strong word, but it fits nicely with the 200% increase in helado parlor prices in the last 2 years. Today was a beautiful day. 25°C (78°F), sunny, little wind...I have 3 classes in a row at Prudential downtown and my 1:00 class decided they wanted to go get ice cream with the 12:00 class students who announced they were going to Freddo. (an helado chain) So we all went together. They said we would speak in English to make up for the lost class, but that never happens. We all spoke in Castellano.

Downtown is a stone's throw away from an area called Puerto Madero; this is the newest addition to BsAs. They revamped the old port area along with the warehouse buildings and it is now home to the big international companies and some of the most expensive restaurants in town.

Ice cream for lunch:

Strolling during the day:

A different view at night:

What I Do.

Have you ever thought about the way we ask people what their profession is? What allows them to eat and put clothes on their back? 4 simple words - What do you do? You know exactly what they mean when they say it. They're not asking you if you take showers or baths, if you grocery shop twice a week or once a month, if you spend your weekends playing or watching sports. Do you remember when people used to add (for a living?) at the end of the question? But that has been phased out. Because this definition of DO is society's most important. No specification is required.

Your WOTD is:

trabajo [trah-bah’ho] : job, work Listen

And you can also relate to the verb:
trabajar [trah-bah-har'] : to work Listen

I do many things. But as a trabajo, I teach English. Specifically to Castellano-speaking Argentines in international companies and private classes. There are a few other freelance trabajos I have been able to add to the list, but teaching is my day-to-day trabajo.

Teaching EFL (English as a Foreign Language) is not for everyone. It's the same as someone saying that teaching, in general, is not for everyone. For many years in my young(er) life, I wanted to be a 3rd grade teacher. Mrs. Burr, her 247 stuffed bears, and her compliments (with stickers!) on my creative writing had really gone to my head. Later, when I realized I despised babysitting, I had a change of heart. When I discovered the idea of traveling to another country to teach adults, I was thrilled.

http://www.baexpats.org/ is a forum for expats living here, some who used to live here, those who are daring to move here, and anyone else interested in the ins and outs of daily life in Buenos Aires for an expat. You can find everything from questions about where to find peanut butter and maple syrup (latter impossible) to the detailed explanation of the 37-step process to receive a residency permit (that is, after you qualify).

Recently, a fellow expat vented his consternation at not being able to find a job teaching English. Most responses were helpful, but the one that made me "type" up is the following:


"Stanexpat" I am sympathetic to any person having trouble finding work, but in this case I would have to say I am in agreement with steveinBsas. I assume most of the people trying this are young early to mid 20's. What on earth are they doing in Argentina? Shouldn't these people be a home getting a real job and starting their adult lives? Isn't a lot of this just people trying to extend their adolescense years. Maybe I'm old fashioned but I believe other people see this the same way.


He was hit with a lot of arguments and, I'm sure, cold shoulders. The thing is, any one trabajo has many different levels of dedication, and in TEFL the level fluctuates wildly. This guy is focusing on one end of the spectrum while I strive trabajar at the other. I'll leave you with this comment in response to his opinion:

What on earth are they doing? Heaven forbid that they are getting to know another part of the world and trying to make a peso while doing it. Shouldn't they be waiting in line back home to become a part of the rat race, you ask? Yeah, sounds thrilling. Jumping right on the bandwagon.

I also think many come to learn and/or improve their Spanish in hopes of using it in their future "real job." Some of them don't achieve that since they end up spending all their time with other English-speaking expats, but there are many exceptions. And there's no way they leave without learning something...even if that is "Sí, una copa de vino tinto por favor."

Mind you that it is possible to make a "real job" out of this ridiculous English teaching gig. One can take it as seriously or as light-heartedly as one likes. What is a "real job" anyway? A 9 to 6? With benefits? A 30 minute lunch break? A cubicle? Deadlines? Maybe even a corporate car someday?

"Real" or not, a job that pays the bills, leaves some money left over for life's simple pleasures, and allows that I do not leave my house with a "cara de culo" on Monday morning is a job for me.

When you Stand Out

Election Night 08 in Buenos Aires with fellow expats from the USofA

Your WOTD:

Destacarse: to stand out Listen

And watch us practice our foreign language skills. Bear it till the end!