TangoSpam:La Vida Con Deby

O Sole Mio..

"Please come to Canning with me." Jane is begging me.  (Hurricane Jane is back..in full force.) "Canning," I say to her, "is against my religion."  I have been in front of the blasted computer for 2 days.  I feel like I am stuck to the screen.  I need to dance. 

"I can't go to Canning. That place is a nightmare." I tell her.  I want to go to Gricel, but they have no air conditioning these days.  With all the people and the heat it is like dancing in a Turkish sauna.  It is impossible.  I would rather not go.

"Please" Jane says.  "I just want to go watch.  I don't want to go alone."  "Watch what?" I think to myself.  I figure at least I can walk there and save on the taxi. "OK, but we walk." I tell her.  Her face lights up.  We agree to leave in a half hour.

Jane hates to walk anywhere.  I refuse to take a taxi to Canning.  Even if she pays for it.  We enter the hall and line up to pay.  Rulo, comes out the double doors.  He sees me and throws his arms around me. "Where have you been?"  He asks.  I tell him I usually go to Gricel.  "You need to come here," he tells me. "We have air conditioning."  He hugs me and tells me once again he is glad to see me.

The chico taking the money is surly.  He acts like he is doing me a favor.  He forgets to give me a ticket and then argues with me.  He looks at the number on Jane's ticket, and then the next one on his pad. No sorry, no nothing.  Just a surly look.  How welcoming.

We walk through the doors.  I survey the room.  Everything I expected.  A tap at my shoulder.  It is my friend Dany.  I greet him.  I tell Jane we should change our shoes.  We go to the bathroom.  On the way there I see several more people I know.  Once our shoes are changed, we proceed to walk around the room.

"What are we doing?"  Jane asks me.  I tell her we are walking the room.  I want to see who is here.  Find a place to sit.  As we walk I see more people I know.  Not people I would dance with.  This place is a disaster.  I see Pedro and Jorge.  I greet them.  Pedro asks the waitress if we can sit at the table across. We go there and park ourselves.

I look at the floor.  Big steps, people banging into each other. "Where am I? What am I doing here?"  I ask myself.  Jane asks me what I think about the dancing of a certain woman.  "Are you serious?"  I ask her.  "Why?"  "Well," she tells me, "In Villa Malcom, everyone thinks she is the best."  I laugh. 

A drunk guy comes to the table.  You never see drunk guys like this where I usually go to dance. Never. He grabs my shoulder.  He is slurring his words and is menacing.  He wants me to dance with him.  I decline.  He puts his face in mine and starts to yell at me that I don't know how to dance, I am this, I am that.  I say nothing, I agree with him.  I look around.  The men near me are seeing this asshole being abusive but they say or do nothing.  This would not happen either where  I go to dance.  They would throw this guy out.  Finally the jerk leaves. 

A guy across from me smiles and motions that the guy is a drunk.  No kidding, so why didn't you help me. I think.  I watch the guy make his way around the room.  It is amazing no one does anything about him. I think about talking to Rulo.

A tall man is at the table of Jorge and Pedro.  They tell me he is an American.  I introduce myself to him. He is slightly arrogant.  Attitude.  For what I am not sure.  I tell him I know many people from Seattle where he is from.  I ask him if he would please dance with Jane.  He is tall and so is she.

He takes her to dance.  I survey the floor.  It is almost laughable.  No elegance anywhere to be found. Many copy cats.  From head to toe people are copying their teachers.  They even make the same faces. You can tell who their teachers are.  There goes a Julio face with a Geraldine butt.  A Gustavo posture with a Graciela face.  Does anyone feel the music?  Is anyone even listening to the music?  Or is it more important to posture and pose?

I see two guys I met last week at Niño Bien.  I greet them.  Jane comes back to the table frowning.  She is not sure if the problems she had dancing were hers or his.  She thinks it is her because she has not danced in a long time.  "Let's see"  I tell her.  "I will ask him to dance."

I approach this guy and say "Come dance with me."  He is a little surprised and I can tell he really does not want to.  After the first song in the tanda, I know why Jane had a problem.  He does not change the weight of the woman.  He expects her to make the step but he is not leading it properly.  So I change my weight so as not to create missteps.  He says to me "Nice." as the song ends.  I laugh.

I try to make conversation between the songs, but it is impossible.  I try to recommend other milongas or places to go.  He really does not want to hear it.  Fine.  No problem.  What an attitude.

I go back to the table. "You were not the problem."  I tell Jane.  "He makes little steps but he doesn't lead the woman. That is why you could not find his lead.  He should have changed your weight to complete your steps."  She is relieved.  Women always blame themselves.  I am past that.  Thank God.

I tell Jane, "I really do not want to stay here.  There is no one to dance with.  This place is depressing." She nods.  "And I am walking home.  I am not taking a taxi."  "We are walking?" "You can take a taxi" I tell her.  "But I am going to walk."  "OK, we'll walk." she answers.

The last time I was here was 3 years ago with Roberto on his birthday.  I didn't have to worry about dancing with anyone.  Now I know why I have not been back.  It will probably be another 3 years before I return on a Monday.

I go to the table of the two men I met at Niño Bien.  They are nice dancers, but they have not been dancing all night.  I say good bye to them.  Then I add "You should try Gricel.  The dancers are much better."  One of the men nods. He says "and the music? The music here is good."  I tell him Carlos Rey is the DJ at Gricel.  He and Dany Borelli are the best DJs in Buenos Aires.  "But this place" he says, "has the reputation."  Yes, it certainly does, but not with those of us who dance.

Sunday Matinee

Buenos Aires in January.  A ghost town.  A seat on the subte, empty buses.  Streets that are quiet after 11. Everyone leaves.  Everyone but me.  Maybe not everyone, but that is what it feels like.  I dance more in January because I have less to do.  The milongas are empty.

You can see who has to work while the rest of the staff leaves, or who does not have money to leave.  Few tourists.  They leave too.  Why stay in hot, humid, BA, when you can be in crowded Mar del Plata?  I like to wait until March to go away.  Less people.  Madeleine will be back.  We are going to go on a road trip. 

As I turn the corner to go into the milonga a man grabs me.  He starts yammering away at me.  I am not scared, but he is sort of obnoxious.  "Estuvo en la tele" he exclaims.  "Te veo".  Several people look at me like I am a little crazy and not the man who grabs me.  He pulls out a paper and asks me to sign it.  It is a little bizarre.  It is a crumpled flyer for a restaurant.  I sign something impossible to read.  He is excited.

As I go up the stairs a man who was going out stops me, "Che, que paso?"  He asks me.  I explain that I had been on the TV a few months ago and people still stop me in the street.  For me it is amazing that people still remember.  My Argentine friends love it.  Sandra and I joke around about it.  She says soon I will have my own show like Mirta Legrande.  She calls me "Chiquita" Lagrande.  I call her SuSu for Susana Gimenez.  I wish she were here today.  She was too tired to go out.  The heat is getting to all of us.

I kiss Stella hello.  I come to Maipu so much now I have a great table against the wall.  Sort of a surprise. Foreigners are usually relegated to the back where no one can see them.  It is 7 pm and there are only maybe 12 people here, 7 who are women.

I am not worried.  Of the 5 men I like to dance with 3 of them.  More will come.  Usually it is a little more crowded than today.  It is January in Buenos Aires.  I listen to the music.  I do not like this DJ. DJs on Sunday that are good are vanishing.  Dany and Viviana are no longer at Celia's.  I get tired of Caning. So here I am.  Better to have good dancers.  Maybe, maybe not.  The music is so important.

I look around the room.  Juan Carlos invites me to dance.  He is a dapper older gentleman.  I don't think I have ever seen him not wear a suit.  No matter what the temperature he is always well dressed.  I like dancing with him.  (BUT)  He is smooth, he has a giro that is nice, more complicated than the average. I love doing it. (BUT) The only thing is that I always have this feeling he is trying to cop a feel.  Sigh...can't have it all.

A few more people enter the room.  I go to greet the men at the other end.  I know that if I don't go on my kissing expeditions I don't dance as much.  I don't know why,but that is how it is.  I feel like I am the only woman who goes on these kissing expeditions sometimes.  In some milongas I sit at my table and the men come to greet me.  This one is impossible.  The way the tables and chairs are placed make it difficult to greet anyone.

I am dancing.  Not many people.  I look through the tango magazine dropped on my table.  When I look up Lucia is questioning whether I will accept the woman she wants to place at my table.  I am thrilled.  It is someone I have not seen in a long time.  A teacher, a raven haired beauty, as well as a really nice person.

We throw our arms around each other.  Lucia looks relieved.  The tables are always un bolonqui (mess) in the milongas.  "I have not seen you forever"  I say to my friend.  She smiles and nods in agreement. "Where have you been?"  I ask her.  I am thinking maybe she has been touring, although I have seen nothing about that. 

She looks like she is trying to decide whether to tell me something or no.  Finally she speaks, "Sometimes I just get tired of tango."  "Me too."  I tell her.  "I get tired of the same old people.  I get tired of the histeria, I get tired of all the vueltos."  She smiles.  "That, and to be honest, it is too expensive."

I strike a chord there. My friend agrees.  "Teachers do not get in free anymore." she says to me.  "I have been teaching 20 years.  I used to be comped, not anymore."  The price of the milongas is now 12 pesos. Water is 5 pesos.  From Palermo taxis are ridiculous. Then she looks at the floor and shakes her head.

She picks up the tango magazine and starts to thumb through it.  I laugh, "New teachers everyday."  This really strikes a nerve.  "It's rediculous."  she says.  "People dance for 2 years and suddenly they are teachers.  They know nothing. They don't even know how to walk, and yet they are teaching." 

A couple dances by.  He is looking at the floor, she is looking at his feet. "Steps"  she hisses.  "They have no idea about the music or what they are doing."  I am not defending them when I tell her they are foreigners.  They are from somewhere else or maybe even Rosario.  Definitely not from here.  "It doesn't matter.  Who is teaching them to look at the floor when they dance?  ¡Que feo!" She almost spits out the words.

We look at the magazine together.  It really is incredible some of the people who teach here. It is the same everywhere.  When I lived in San Francisco it was amazing who decided to become a teacher and spew nonsense.  People who danced like the Hunchback of Norte Dame.  Somehow you expect more here. After all, this is Buenos Aires.

"Listen to this music"  my friend says to me.  "This guy has no clue.  He is mixing songs from the 30s with the 40s."  This makes it difficult to dance smoothly.  "I complain to Oscar all the time." she says to me.  Most people don't understand how important the music is.  A good DJ makes all the difference.  Now I realize why I have not been inspired to dance.

She goes to dance.  I like to watch her.  She dances simply but elegantly.  I like to look at her feet.  I look at some of the other dancers.  There are many good dancers, and then others that are not so good. A man who I have wanted to dance with for a long time invites me.

He is a small man.  Slender, about my height.  I must dance on my own axis and balance as I should.  With someone as slight as him it would be horrifying to use his balance or axis.  He would probably fall down.  For me it is validation of being able to dance on my own.  Sometimes I am still a little insecure from the accident.

In between songs the man mentions to me that we have never danced before.  I smile at him "Because you have never invited me."  I tell him.  I soften it with "I have been waiting for you."  He tells me that he has wanted to dance with me for a long time.  He says to me "You know, I tend to ask the same women.  The ones you are used to.  But today I decided I should invite you."  It is nice to dance with him.  He is very smooth and appreciates the music.  I thank him for the tanda.

My friend and I dance quite a bit.  In between we chatter about the music.  About tango.  We are both relieved that the government is going to stop promoting tango.  Another new dinner-show is opening this weekend.  This is not a part of our lives.  We don't go to these places.  Too expensive and they are not dancing tango anyway.  They are dancing modern dance with tango influences.

I want to dance again.  I love this music.  Tanturi with Castillo.  I look around.  I accept a dance with man I have not danced with.  He has always looked ok.  I think he is nervous. He says some sort of stupid things to me.  I just smile.  Better than arguing.

At the end of the tanda as he escorts me off the floor.  "Well" he says to me. "For me you were a 10." He continues, "but for you, I was probably a 4."  What do I say?  That he was more like a 5?  I smile at him. "Señor, I only dance when I want to.  I accepted your dance." He smiles back.

Sentiments of a Blogger

People write blogs for different reasons. Some write blogs to capture the moments of a summer vacation with their family. Others use them to promote services and goods. Many people have blogs that are personal diaries. They say that there are over 8 million blogs and that 26% of theU.S.population reads them.

I like to write. I always have. Before my blog I entertained friends with posts to a Yahoo group and before that via email. Friends begged me to start a blog. I started my blog about 2 years ago. Mostly it was to entertain friends about my times living here in Argentina and my tango dancing. My blog is read all over the world

 When I had my Yahoo Group and my emails, they were sent to a closed group of friends. My blog is open to the world. When you blog, you become a public figure. For this reason many bloggers want to stay anonymous. They want the right to write their feelings without being personally attacked.

I never had anything to hide. I write about me, my feelings, and my experiences. If you read my blog you notice that I never post negative or inflammatory comments against people. I may write about my feelings but never go out of my way to flame anyone.

The majority of my emails are overwhelmingly positive. I have received emails from everywhere.  It is surprising to hear from people in China,Russia, and India. People who dance tango, people who want to come to Buenos Aires, and people who want to make changes in their life read my blog. Some of my most positive comments come from Argentines. They like to hear how people like their country.

I have met some incredible people through my blog. It is delightful to meet up with them. Some are Bloggers as well. Bloggers are special people. I have met many of them when they come here to dance. Some of them have stayed with me. Others have become “pen pals”. 

There is a dark side to blogging. People send comments with fake email addresses so you cannot respond to them. Some people have numerous email accounts in order to post many inflammatory comments to a blog. I suppose to incite a blogger riot. I always wonder who has the time to sit down and do this. Others try to dictate what you should and should not write and do not hesitate to flame you when you do not comply.

 Fellow Bloggers usually stick together and support each other. Others take the opposite view. They see you as competition to their blog. I have been shredded in countless blogs and in their posts. A woman used to have a blog where she shredded all the Ex-pats living here. She re-wrote our posts in Spanish and mocked us. At best it was a hate blog. The funny thing was while she was bashing us for living here and our experiences - she was an Argentine living in the U.S! Her blog has since gone away.

I receive hate mail. People actually take time to email me some amazing comments. They attack me personally: they tell me to put a recent foto up as a “middle aged” woman could never look as good as I do.” Others tell me to stop writing about how I feel as an American living in a foreign culture “enough already” said one poster, "I am sick of reading about you."  Hello, why are you reading my blog if you are sick of it?   Others tell me what I should and should not write about. Who I should let comment and who I should delete. 

My favorite was the poster who said “all ex pats hate Debi Novitz”. Besides spelling my name wrong, I wondered if this included all the Chinese and Koreans living here, or was it just the Americans? I couldn’t find out because they used a forged email address. 

I took it all in stride until a few weeks ago. I posted a blog about two people I knew who died. One was a friend I have known for years. The other was an Australian woman I met briefly. The blog elicited maybe 13 emails from around the world and a phone call from an old friend. Friends of the Australian woman were touched. One described the post as “sweet.” 

That was all but one person. He emailed to tell me I had posted several incorrect things in the post. He told me he represented the family, that he was now embroiled in some kind of legal snafu with a person he called a squatter. One that he, not the woman who died, was the rightful owner of the apartment. He said the family had never been to Buenos Aires. That the caretaker had only worked 6 months and not 2 years for the woman.  He wanted me to change my post. He sent me the content he wanted me to use. I refused.

This started an email harassment of him to me. He harassed me through my blog, Of the 11 comments I received he posted 5 of them. He contacted me directly through my email, and told me he had my phone number and was going to call me. This over a few lines in a blog that were about a woman who died alone of liver cancer. A woman who was found dead 3 days after she died.

My blog post was not about who owned an apartment, who did not own an apartment. My blog was not about all the legal problems of this man who has accused me and many other people of many things. I wonder how her family would feel if I posted the ugly things he has written about her. He kept demanding I change my blog to suit him. I once again refused. 

He continued to harrass me. I posted a retraction. It was not good enough for him. He wanted me to change my blog. I have continued to refuse to do so. I took off the retraction. I blocked his IP address, his many email addresses. One which is from the government of Western Australia. I wonder how they would feel about an employee using his government work email to harass someone. In the U.S.they would be terminated. I have no idea how Australia feels about this. 

He has threatened me with lawsuits, then not threatened me with lawsuits, saying I was in no danger of being sued. He has told me I will be the star witness in the lawsuit he has against the person he says is squatting in his apartment. He has told me that the family will not ignore me, but I have not heard from them. He emails me telling me he is going to unmask me to the world, that I have a moral obligation to print the truth. The truth, in his words, the way he wants to read it. I have refused. 

Today I received a call from a man who declined to give me his name, he  said he was the lawyer representing the family.   He would not give me his address or any other information. He told me it was a friendly phone call asking me to change my blog. I told him that I was tired of being harassed I asked him if he read my blog post. He said yes. I asked him what was objectionable? He said it was a friendly call to change my blog post.  He went on about how his client was being blackmailed, blah blah blah. I told him again that I thought his client was crazy, and that I was tired of being harassed.  I told him under international law it is illegal to harass someone using the Internet.

I have emailed the person who has been harassing me. I asked him to please leave me alone. I do not want to be a part of his crazy life. I am sympathetic to his situation, but it has nothing to do with me. My blog post simply recounted my experience. It was not investigative journalism.  There was no malicious intent.  Although I am here in Argentina, my blog is hosted in the U.S.  I am a U.S. citizen. 

 I spoke to two lawyers in the U.S. I shared my blog and all the emails, one lawyer commented: “This guy needs to find something better to do with his time.” So John, this is my recommendation to you. Since you are so hell bent on having “the truth” out there. Instead of continuing to harass me with your emails and lawyers demanding that I change my blog to suit you. Why don’t you just start your own blog?

Roxie on the run...

People email me from time to time asking me how Roxie is.  She is amazing.  She is 12 years old and has one of the worst cancers a dog can get, and in the worst place - her nose.  The tumor is knitted into the cartilage of her nose and is eating away at the bone.  It is impossible to operate.

I have been to probably 15 vets in the last 1.5 years.  About 3 months ago we started with chemotherapy and an oncologist. This week I decided to stop the chemo and to try and find a vet who would just make her comfortable.  The chemo is expensive and it did not seem to help her much.

The oncologist Dr. M is your normal arrogant doctor.  Like many here, she resented my searches on the Internet to better understand Roxie's situation.  She would never give me definitive answers.  It was like I was annoying her by asking simple things like "How many treatments?"  When I asked her this, she wanted to know why it was so important.  Oh duh.  I told it did not seem to be helping and also that it was expensive.  Then she uttered those 6 words that really piss me off "IN YOUR COUNTRY IT COSTS MORE."

Yes, I know in the U.S. it costs more, but I do not live in the U.S.  I live here in Buenos Aires.  I work here.  I live in pesos.  I do not have this unlimited bank account or fat retirement fund.  I tell her this.  She doesn't like my rebuke.  Too bad. 

Today Rox and I went to see yet another new vet.  He is not an oncologist.  He was highly recommended to me by several people.  I wanted an opinion.  He was surprised she was 12.  She is like her mom - well preserved.  When he looked at all her tests he was even more surprised at how good she looks.

I explained all her treatments.  He kindly told me he did not agree with the chemo.  For all the same reasons that I did not want her to go through it anymore, and maybe more reasons.  He told me that the best thing I can do for her is to keep her comfortable and hope the tumor does not metastasize.   He recommended several drugs.  He gave me his cell and told me to call  him no matter what time if she starts to have problems.  He gives her 6 - 7 months more to be around.  My Rox.

We are hanging out in the kitchen Rox and I.  She sounds like a coke addict with all her sniffing.  She still eats, she still goes 3 hours a day with Juan her dog walker, and she says to tell all of you who write to ask about her....Target doggie bacon is still one of her favorite treats.

Feliz Año Nuevo...Happy New Year

Happy New Year.  Another one. It seems like I was just 18 drinking champagne and smoking doobies in the bathroom of my friend Mickey Margolies with her and my boyfriend soon to be husband.  Mickey's parents were having  a party.  We were the itinerant children on the move.  First Mickey's house then Gary's.  I don't remember whose was next.  I just know we got in trouble for staying out late.  Parents!  I was a college girl.

I have spent every new year in Buenos Aires since 2001 except maybe 1.  I think.  Maybe I have spent all of them here.  New year's in Buenos Aires is not like New Year's in Southfield Michigan (where I spent the first 18 years of life) or San Francisco where I spent the next part of my life.  There are no big bashes at the Hyatt, Four Seasons, or other big hotels.  Puerto Madero Restaurants are open, but people are not partying in the streets to live or DJ music.

New Years here, is a time for family and friends.  The streets are deserted after 4 pm.  People are home getting ready for the holiday dinner.  There is no desperate frenzy of "what is going on tonight?"  Everyone seems to have a place to go.

I compare that to my years as a single gal in California. Thank God for salsa and then later tango, because at least I could dance at some place with other people.  Thank God BART ran, because it was too scary to drive.  How many people did I know who spent the evening alone because no one invited them to share the evening?     Way, way, too many.

Buenos Aires?  Maybe people do spend the holiday alone.  I have never met anyone who has.  For the last two weeks people have asked me where I am going, if I have something to do.  Everyone wants to make sure I have a place to go.

In the past I spent my New Year's with Mimi and her family.  The last two years I had a party.  My balcony is the place to be when the fireworks go off.  People emailed me months in advance - "Are you having a party, can I come?"  These were tango people who had heard about my parties.  They planned to be in BA for New Years.

Initially I decided no party.  Too much happened to me in the last 2 months.  I was not up for a party.  In the end, it is what happened.  Not a big party.  Just a small dinner party.  Me, Sandra, Janis, Robin, and my guest Ilya.  My other guest had a family party to go to.

Something hit me.  I wanted to do this party right.  It had been a long long time since I did a formal dinner for friends.  I insisted on making everything, they could bring the champagne and dessert.  I was going to use my nani's dishes.

My nani was my father's mother.  She was a very religious woman.  She always bought a new set of china for passover - the Jewish holiday.  She said I could have my pick of whichever set I wanted after she died. I always loved the Noritake china (pre-wwII) with green and gold.  It was my favorite.  I loved it.

My mother tried to give the set to my sister.  I stood my ground.  I knew this was my china. It took me years to get it after my nani died.  I think I finally got it 12 years later.  I revered it.  It stayed packed in the shipping cartons for years.  I didn't dare to touch it.  Finally I moved it to a piece of furniture I bought.  I think I used it twice in California.  I was scared to death of breaking it.  It was one of the few things I had to remind me of her.

I brought the dishes from California.  I packed them with tons of paper and packaging.  I remember being relieved that they all made it here.  The complete set.  It was as if my nani made this journey with me.  Everyone has someone special in their family.  For me it was my nani.  She spent hours talking to me. About her life, about life.  She was a very simple woman.  Humble.  Religious.  She was the eldest of 8 sisters and brothers.

Last night I set the table with her dishes.  They looked great in my modern room.  In came Sandra, then Janis and Robin.  My apartment was filled with laughter.  We realized we were were two short haired blonds (Me and Robin) and two short haired brunettes (Janis and Sandra)  We were in hysterics talking about going to the milonga, the 4 of us entering. 

All night, gossip,. laughing, friendship, food, fireworks, more food. More laughing.  I laughed so hard at one point I was crying.  And nani's dishes?  They survived.  Beautifully.