Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Droga Astral

This is really for the Spanish speakers.

Every time a pharmacy is called a "drugstore" I can't help imagining the drugs sold there. Drugs as in "sex and drugs and rock-n-roll", obviously.

It's worse in Brazil. Nothing is left to the imagination. What can you expect to buy in Drogaria Pacheco?


"Pacheco" means "stoned" in Mexican Spanish.


No need to explain what the "green drug" is.


This is the best one. "Disque medicamentos" in Portugese means "Dial MEDICINE". In Spanish, with a minor change of one letter, it means "so-called medicine". Clearly, the Spanish interpretation is the right one in this case.

Only the second photo is mine. The other two are from Google Street View.

Monday, May 20, 2013

The handbag of glory


In São Paulo we saw an exhibition dedicated to the Lady Dior handbag. It consisted of dozens of interpretations of the object, made with amazing mastery. The feeling conveyed was that of ecstasy no less. I felt transported to a future where it would be possible (and desirable) to get married to your handbag, in church. (Your handbag would be able to divorce you, and leave with all the money.)

A few photos so that you get the idea:







In spite of the general spirit of obscene luxury, usually welcome in Russia, technically this exhibition would be illegal there:


Just before getting out I took a snap of myself. Too many handbags for me to stay happy, apparently.



Photos in better resolution are here.

Sunday, May 19, 2013

São Paulo graffiti

Here, in Mexico City, ads are everywhere. Our attention is valued so highly that there are adverts even on dogshit bins in the parks. I take offense at any uninvited attempt to get into my brain, and it surprises me that nobody protests the amount of lies and general bullshit that we are exposed to.

(To be fair, sometimes adverts convey important messages. As soon as Mexico signed the the Anti-Counterfeiting Trade Agreement, we were treated to a series of billboards advertising high speed internet: "wanted a song, downloaded the whole discography", "wanted one episode, downloaded the whole series" etc. In other words, not to worry, keep stealing.)  

In São Paulo outdoor adverising is prohibited. All of it, thank God. Instead, there are graffiti. Today I was backing up the memory card of my camera. Here are some of the photos that were on it. 

A space invader in Pinheiros:


Rua Cardeal Arcoverde:




Vila Madalena:


Avenida Brigadeiro Luis Antonio, I think: 




Somewhere close to the center:







In Pinheiros, next to Instituto Tomie Otake:


As everywhere, much of the graffiti is just text. In São Paulo, all the text graffiti are in a rune-like typeface. This is not the best example, but the scale is dramatic:


Graffiti is not just on walls:


Here is a huge one right on Avenida Paulista:


This one is even bigger. It is in Cracolândia, which is a place where you don't go unless you are either (a) insane (b) badly need hard drugs (c) are going to a classical music concert. (Most of the musicians and music fans arrive to Sala São Paulo by car, but from time to time you see some poor cellist hauling her instrument on foot past the prostitutes and addicts lying on the pavement unconscious.)


Finally, I should say that São Paulo is not entirely ad-free:


''Loira gostosa tarada e safada". Not quite "enjoy Coca-Cola", is it? 

More of this stuff here.

The photos on this page are available in better resolution here.




Thursday, May 16, 2013

A few holiday snaps. There being not much sense in taking pictures of the Empire State Building, took pictures of some garbage, mostly.





Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Vasily Strela has a tough job. After work, he sleeps at jazz concerts. But with friends, he is always fun. (The second photo is by Peter Gannushkin.)





Thursday, May 9, 2013

Passing the security at the airport in Mexico City. My half-empty backpack enters the X-ray machine. There's nothing of interest inside, but the man at the screen calls the lady who does the actual bag searches and shows her something: "mira esto". His face is bored, but his eyes are excited. She gives him an understanding look and nods. I have no clue what this can be about.

"Can I open your bag?". Sure. Please, go ahead. She knows what she's after. With a swift and precise movement she takes out - a book. What's wrong with Cormack McCarthy? Is this stuff really so potent as to give out some strange glow in an X-ray machine? She flips through the pages with disappointment. "Thank you, that's all."

I'm still wondering what they mistook Blood Meridian for. Probably, a wad of cash.