Carnal Pleasure

Trust your aversions the same as you do your cravings.
-Ira Levin,
Rosemary's Baby

There are some places you just never forget. This time it is a restaurant in Buenos Aires, Argentina called "Te Matare Ramirez".
Translated it literally means "I'm going to kill you, Ramirez!" It comes from playful arguments the owner would have with a friend who was a sort of Casanova, and this was a threat the friend often heard from the husbands whose wives he was carrying on affairs with.

When Alan and I dined here alone one evening in February 2008 we were quite taken by the red velvet darkness and sensual aura of the establishment. I was so in awe of the menu that the 'sweet talking' with the hostess paid off. She allowed me to take a menu home as a souvenir. I found the menu yesterday after some careful desk reorganization.

I will focus my next few blogs on the words within the menu by Isabel Allende, Franz Von Bayros, Pablo Picasso, Utagawa Kuniyasu, Salome. I will also share the delightful descriptions of their salads, starters, main courses and desserts. It's worthwhile reading.

If you should ever find yourself in Buenos Aires this is the place you must NOT miss.
http://www.frommers.com/destinations/buenosaires/D55886.html

First page of the menu at "Te Matare Ramirez":

The most intense carnal pleasure,
slowly revealed in a messy clandestine bed,
a perfect mixture of caresses,
laughter and mind games, has the taste of a baguette, of prosciutto,
of French cheese and wine of the Rhine.
I cannot dissociate food from eroticism and I see no reason to do it.
Far from it, I do intend to keep on enjoying them for as long as I have enough joy and energy to do so.
-Isabel Allende

Twenty-five years ago today:

Tuesday, March 27, 1984

I accompanied Helen to her new apartment on 7th Avenue in Oakland. She needed to accept her keys. It is an okay pad. The area is safe near the Grand Lake Theater.

I did my usual bike ride after work. I had to drop by Dad's house because I locked myself out of the house (not remembering to tie my house key to my shoelace). Mom and Dad held the spare keys at their house.

I took a drive into San Leandro later that evening. I stopped at Nadine's but she wasn't at home (again).

I did it. I went to the skating rink. Some lesbian named Maureen treated me to a beer. That's a 'first'. I saw Ned (Frank Vasconcellos' friend).
"Where have you been?" Ned asked.
"Around," I replied.
I browsed the foolish skaters as they went round and round. I recognized Jim, Don, Toni and George Jones' cousin (his name escapes me), Kevin (the one who recognized me in Alameda last Sunday), and Eddie. They all said 'hi' or 'greeted' me in some way. I consider a nod as a greeting, too.

George Jones (who I also noticed) avoided me like the plague. He ignored me. I chose to let it pass, realizing it is his loss. I am kind of glad he did not talk to me. It would be an awkward moment.

PHOTO: 1983-George Jones on the hood of my car

While at the skating rink on this night I met someone new. His name is Michael Thoennes. He was accompanied by a black girlfriend. The black girlfriend is the one who approached me.
"He thinks you are gorgeous," the black girlfriend said to me as I sipped my beer.
I smiled at Michael Thoennes, thinking he resembled George Jones in a slight way. This wasn't exactly a good thing. We started to exchange introductory words. He is a Gemini like myself, born on May 23. He is 23 years old.
"I thought for sure you were about nineteen," Thoennes said in disbelief.
I had to prove my age with my drivers license. I was twenty-four and soon-to-be a quarter of a century on May 26, 1984.

Thoennes treated me to another beer. I knocked him on his smoking habit. He agreed that it was bad, leading me to believe he might quit one day. I handed him my card. I persisted negatively about his smoking habit. I sensed that he felt disapproval of me for continuing to knock his inhaling of the poisonous smoke.
"I just hate it," I continued in reference to the smell of the smoke.

Subjects changed. Michael Thoennes suggested we visit a nude beach that he knew further south of Santa Cruz sometime in the near future.
"Sounds interesting." I said with a bit of hidden fear and curiosity over the idea.
"Maybe I can go around April 7th after my Arcata excursion," I thought silently to myself. How naughty am I?

Thoennes handed my business card back to me after I made one additional snide remark to his smoking habit. He couldn't take one more degrading remark about the disgusting smoke. I accepted my card back and shrugged nonchalantly. Before Michael Thoennes left for the evening he approached me again.
"I want that card back," he said with an apologetic shyness.
I gave it back to him hesitantly.

"I'll give you Michael Thoennes' telephone number before the night is over," Don had said earlier. I left before he gave it to me. I figured Thoennes had more than enough chances to give me his telephone number. I did not intend to stand around the rink (alone), waiting for him to come around.

I went to bed on this night wondering what turn of events will occur in my near future.

Paloma Sanchez-Guerra has not called me.

Nadine DeShera hasn't contacted me about this Saturdays' BBQ that we had tentatively planned.

Chris Cordellos is in Arcata, CA, stuck in the US Coast Guard for who knows how long.

And now Michael Thoennes of Milpitas, CA has entered the picture.
"That damn smoking," I thought.
I slept with intentions of riding my bike to work the next day. I was so "beered out" that I doubted I could wake up easily in the morning.

I still yearn to fly out of SFO Airport this Friday night. It will be fun to get away out in this unknown Northern California country setting until next Wednesday. Five days and four nights of escape and pleasures are ahead of me.