Argentina is entering campaign time for president, with the current leader, Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner, set to win a second term this October. She’s smart and knows how to maneuver politically. The opposition is bickering among themselves. I can’t vote as an American. If I could, it would be hard get myself out of bed to do so. I don’t find much attractive about any of the candidates, and no platforms to latch on to as thought provoking and stimulating.
Except one.
It is a campaigner who hasn’t yet unleashed her initiatives to the wider public, only to a few friends. It is my daughter. She has the qualifications to run for president – she’s Argentine – but not yet the age. She’s eight. Her plans are encouraging and whole-hearted and in with the times. This is an observation, of course, of a biased father. [continue reading…]
“Ah, the joy of a clean sidewalk. If only this was Buenos Aires!”
Buenos Aires is the Paris of the south. That may be true. The architecture, bustling streets and café life certainly do bear resemblance. But I have an inkling that Buenos Aires comes out on top in one thing: dog shit.
It’s everywhere.
My track record is pretty good at stepping clear. I’ve trod in shit once in my 16 years in Buenos Aires, grandly at that. It took an old toothbrush and boiling water to get it out of the treads of my running shoes. My vision of the city narrowed after that. I stopped gazing at the architectural gems and the beautiful people. I kept my eyes on the sidewalk and the paving stones to avoid the shit here, the shit there and the shit everywhere. [continue reading…]
“I know, I know. It is an uphill battle to get people to pick up their dog’s poop. But, I’m spreading the message.”
My sidewalk is full of dog poop. Walk around my block and the worst stretch is on my corner. I pick it up and throw it out, weekly. But the dogs keep coming and the pileup grows again. It is as if dogs have declared my stretch as a dumping ground. They sniff for that perfect spot until there, right in front of my house, they find it, the very patch from yesterday. And they let it go. And their owners think nothing of leaving it behind.
Fight? Maybe.
Give in? Maybe.
Educate the careless, ill-educated, moronic and self-centered owners?
That’s a thought.
I have thought of many possibilities, from passing out plastic bags with a smile and a message: Keep Our City Clean, Pick Up the Poop. Another is to shoot dog owners with paint guns as a sign of how they are marring the city streets. Maybe something a bit more press-oriented option would be like the late Harvey Milk’s dog poop campaign in San Francisco. Anything to raise awareness about the hazards of a shit-strewn street and the pleasures of smelling flowers on a sunny day or the damp on a rainy day, all without the stench of shit assailing the nostrils. [continue reading…]
