"Sky's the limit Ma, I just KNOW it!" says Dave Muller. Photo by Greg Rodenn
Growing up a poor Jewish boy in the shtetls of Springfield, Illinois, he always knew he must shake the chains that bound him to achieve his dreams. While struggling to gain entry to the cutthroat world of professional disc golf in Portland, Oregon, he passed his time writing local album and concert reviews for the Willamette Week newspaper.
After sustaining his third shoulder dislocation and realizing that skinny, whiny white guys who subsist on cigarettes, coffee, and PBR had come to dominate the music scene in which he was immersed, he knew it was time to try his luck elsewhere. The lure of steak, wine, and oh yes, the women, were too much for this 24-year-old, "free-spirited" Gringo to ignore. As a true connoisseur of these and all the finer things in life, he hopes to provide some insight into both the seedy underworld and the glamorous over-world of Buenos Aires cultural life.
Q: What is the number one reason why everyone should visit BA?
A: I repeat, though there are actually three: steak, wine, women…. and the all-night discos…. and the Recoleta Cemetery.
Q: What is your number one tip for foreigners arriving to BA?
A: Don’t bring traveler’s checks and study Spanish (Castellano) as much as possible.
Q: What is your favorite city bus line and why?
A: The 132. It’s the most reliable, the most regular and it hits all the strategic locations. And for some reason all the buses on this line are clean and new.
Q: What do you dislike about BA the most?
A: Dog feces. It’s everywhere--on the sidewalks, on the buses, in my breakfast cereal--and it smells bad and sticks in my shoes.
Q: What is the most amazing or memorable experience you’ve had thus far since arriving in Buenos Aires?
A: Watching Argentina deliver a royal 6-0 ass-whomping to Serbia and Montenegro in a Microcentro cafe. The passion collectively shared by virtually every citizen spilled over into delirious euphoria when the final whistle sounded. I went to the Obelisk in the center of Av. 9 de Julio, and sang, chanted, and jumped up and down for a good hour. There were hundreds, if not thousands, of people crowding around doing the same. A garbage truck was driving around in circles with its team of garbage men, dancing on top and waving flags. And then I shared my joy (and spittle) with a microphone-armed interviewer live on Telemundo. Dios mio!