Oh the days just pass

The days are flying by here in Montevideo. I spen most of my time still working around the hostel, planning parties (good business), and trying to find that elusive job. This journal entry is from a few days back but I like it...

Today the twentysixth of September, 2009

Today was la Dia de Patrimonio here in Montevideo. The sun was shining and you could feel summer teasing you as the last of the winter winds blew futily. There was a three hour parade of candombe drums, falg wavers, and hardly dressed dancers along the 18 de Julio (the main drag) and traffic was diverted for the second night in a row. Yesterday I enjoyed the Marcha de Diversidad (Gay Parade) with Isabel and Chelsea who flew in on a whim from Chile, escaping studies and a rainy weekend in Santiago for the nicest weekend (and weather) I´m so far seen in my month in Montevideo. This place is spectacular.

Through all of this preperations for the party tomorrow (Sunday 27th) have been ongoing for nearly a week. Pepe installed a new water tank that promises to deliver more than the piss stream of warm water I´m grown to call a shower. But it is already out of order thanks to a water main burst that happened the night after I lost my key in a car full of drunk strangers. Later that night I left Emil in the street with a bum as I scaled the balcony and up into my room. I saved Emil and he and I tried to push the bum out of the house: literally pushing him as he fought back trying to get in the house. The bum had some steep demands. First Emil´s cell phone (no go) then, in obvious desperation, "cien pesos" (100 pesos). Well "no tengo cien pesos, amigo, lo siento." (Seriously, I had no money.) "Cien pesos, cien pesos, cien pesos..." After a thirty minute standoff he reluctantly fucked off, leaving me worried still that he might climb up like I had and try his hand at revenge. I sleep within an arms reach of my gaucho knife, so that helped put me to sleep.

Anyhow, back to the party prep. We have a new mural, courtesy of Alfalfa, one of the more reknowned street artists here in Montevideo. Black and white line drawing on an orange wall in the living room. Looks sick. At present a doyen new photos hang on the black stripe of the lime striked dining/family room and some paintings, and there are blacklights and plastic fruit on the wall and white stripes on the ceiling and the balcony doors are open to the fresh air and the slow traffic on the street below. And the people down there know us and I hope they like us or at least don´t give a shit. Today, the night before the Piedras de Afilar domingo fiesta, the weather is warm and the women wonderful. Today I just found the world worth wandering.

I´ve neglected you, dear journal, yet again for too long. But the days go by with so little sometimes, aside from a good meal or human touch, I hardly feel like wasting words in the present. Instead I wait to reiterate in past tense WHAT HAS GONE ON. That´s it, the shit I was there for. Now I´m on the couch by the balcony listening to some artist called Bebe with two beautifuly giggly girls who are in a most "artful" state.

(Page of inappropriate poetry in Spanish written by Eugenia who is more giggly that beautiful right now)

Eugenia, la loca poeta, writing something nice? Yes nice. Like most the people here. Like Nico the muralist and Adi the guitarest/ex-stranger on the street, no my friend. And Mariana, and Sam and the faux Canadians on load from Chile and half the German crew and more. Of course there´s always more. So when you fin yourself with a ten person dinner party with more than a few different flags at the "table," you don´t think anything of it here at home. And strangers, passersby, bums, they have all been known to frequent our humble abode.

And I do mean humble. Even before the water main burst water was an on and off issue. Like sometimes it was on and the toilets flushed. Or sometimes it was off and you conveniently couldn´t do dishes for what can only be called "un rato." Un rato, what a great word to reflect the Latin AMerican sense of time. The bus is always coming in un rato. I always nap for un rato. Appointments are sometimes held up for many a rato until you are waiting at a coffee shop about to close, hours after the agreed upon time. "When is he coming, when are we going?" "Un rato."

So it´s a house full of good guys. When something doesn´t work we fix it. When something´s dirty, though not often, you fall drunkenly to sleep only to wake not soon before noon to random girlfriends of roomates cleaning your kitchen. In less words: shit works but it aint always pretty. Except our walls of course. That I suppose is the curse of an artist´s residence.

The photos next to our room are less scandalous than those in the lime room. The black and white walled nook is the best place for pictures in the house, imho, and it´s nice to wake up and ponder them in the mornings. I often wonder when everything will come down. When new things will go up. Sebastian wants me to put up some photos I´ve taken so I´ve got to go print some and then cook some food.

Seeing the UBCers makes me wanna go back. I heard Charles was on skype and that I missed him. I always do. It looks like I still have no idea when I´m going home but it probably won´t be soon. Christmas, New Years, something like that. In the meantime here´s my address for all who care to send me a letter or a CD or something. I do miss rock and roll so hook it up. I´m bummed I won´t be back for my birthday or Dip´s or Kaely´s (yay October babies!!) but I´ll be back sooner than you know it...

Sean Mullany
Calle Andes 1261
11100 Montevideo
Uruguay


Hasta pronto,

Sean