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-Break a leg! -I can't, Pablo.
-How do you feel? -Like shit.
-Why? -I'm freaking out!
But why? It's your second Netflix special.
-It's all fine! -I don't want to do it.
I'm freaking out, bro!
It's hard! I can't.
You've been rehearsing for three months now!
Nothing will happen. It'll be fine.
-Focus. -Yeah.
Do you remember what you told Bianca when she started high school?
-"This is a waste of time!" -No, the other thing.
-"Play hooky all the time!" -No!
She refused to go in. You looked her in the eyes and said,
"Bianca, courage is not the absence of fear.
Courage is facing the challenge by overcoming your fear."
I didn't say that.
If I did, I'm a prick because I don't buy it.
Just breathe.
It's too hard.
They've already paid you.
We can't back down. We signed a contract.
Count to three.
-One… -One…
-Two… -Get in there!
It's an empty house!
Son of a bitch.
All right.
I could paint you a thousand images to show what loneliness means to me.
A little boy in a shopping mall, completely alone, looking for his parents.
He's lost, and doesn't know what to do.
A Bedouin walking through the Sahara,
surrounded by sand, and with just the sun for company.
A sailboat sinking in the high seas.
So alone.
A child in that sailboat, surrounded by sand,
with the sun for company and a Bedouin in the cabin.
But do you want to know what loneliness is for a comedian?
This is loneliness.
An absolutely empty house.
One of the most important theaters in Buenos Aires.
There are 1,300 seats here, and not one person.
Not a single one. We're in a pandemic, after all.
Just the cameras here.
Mind you, this special will have a laugh track.
Recorded laughter.
If everything goes to plan, you will outlaugh the laugh track.
A laugh track for a lonely comedian is like homeopathy.
We don't know if it works, but it makes me feel good.
You don't know what it's like to be here. It's so cold! And so drafty!
I should be used to it. I was born in Bahía Blanca.
A city that is about 437 kilometers from the capital,
where we are now.
Next to the sea. It's so cold! And so drafty!
The wind in Bahía Blanca comes out of nowhere.
Suddenly, it messes up your plans.
People of Bahía Blanca are used to walking at a 45-degree angle
just so the wind doesn't knock us on our asses.
I come from an Italian and Basque family. Very intense and passionate.
Just barely middle class.
Closer to one-quarter class. Not quite poor, but strapped.
We spent our summer vacations in Monte Hermoso.
Was it because we liked it? No. It was close. And cheap.
Off we'd go. My mother, my father, my brother and I.
Where? To the beach. That was it. We'd go to the beach.
Only the beach.
No dining out, no corn on the cob, no ice cream. Nothing!
Beach vendors could see how strapped my parents were,
they didn't even bother to offer us anything.
"Popcicles! Chocolate…
…ice cream!"
They didn't bother because it'd be pointless.
Wasted effort.
I loved the nights in Monte.
We'd go to the arcade.
A corner
with a wild horde of kids playing video games,
and they'd plant me, in the Daytona USA.
I'd grab the wheel and start the game.
First corner… Bam! I'd crash.
"What is this? I turned!"
I'd start again.
Same corner. Bam! Crash.
"Mom! I was spot on!" Start again. Same corner, crash again.
"Insert coin."
I look over to other kids.
My peers, playing The Whack-A-Mole.
The mole pops up and you whack it.
The more moles you whack within the time limit,
the more tickets you get. You take them to the kiosk
and exchange 2,000 tickets for a lollipop.
And there I was, waiting 20 minutes for a mole to pop up.
"It's broken, Mom."
"No, Agustín, it's January, it's not mole season."
"They're screwing us, Manuel."
Manuel is my brother. "They didn't insert coins."
The Worm Train game was what gave my parents away.
The Worm Train game was a fiberglass worm,
playing a Korean song.
The kid sits inside,
the worm wriggles to Korean music,
and the parents wait.
Not in our case. I got inside the worm,
the worm stayed still, but my parents went like this.
Of course, they tricked us.
They were ashamed of being broke.
We moved every two years.
The lease expired and we had to move.
We couldn't renew it, had to find a new house.
Sometimes a cheaper one. We made it work.
My parents were embarrassed. I don't know why, but they were.
They didn't want us, my brother and I, to realize we had moved.
So what did they do? It was brilliant.
They decorated the new house as an exact replica of the previous one.
"I can tell we moved, Dad. I can't not notice!"
"It's too obvious."
I went over to play with Martin, my neighbor.
I rang the doorbell, and out came a decrepit old man.
"I can tell, Dad. Either Martin is Benjamin Button,
or he's on crack, because yesterday he was fine."
After moving so much, I developed a personality that was…
chickenshit, scaredy-pants.
I used to be brave, wasn't afraid of the dark or monsters.
But each new house has so many new noises.
I'd think, "There's something here. This house is haunted."
Now I don't like horror movies.
I don't watch them. Ever. Out of the question!
No monster movies either.
I get scared. I get nightmares.
Monsters? Maybe Monsters, Inc., but that's it.
My girlfriend, Fernanda, suggested,
"Let's watch The Nun." A new horror movie
about a satanic nun that kills everyone.
"No, honey, it's scary."
"Agustín, come on. Let's watch it. It's harmless."
"I don't want to."
"Let's watch The Nun, make it a date."
"I don't want to."
I thought, "I need to grow up. At least, I'll watch the trailer."
I look it up, put in on. It starts like this.
"In a chapel, a nun…"
Enough. Pooped my pants. All the way to my ankles.
I couldn't even watch the trailer. I don't like horrors.
People go on and on about Stranger Things. "Watch it. There are three seasons…"
I don't want to, I'm scared. I get nightmares.
"Watch it."
There are ads on the highway, Stranger Things.
"Watch it. There is a bald girl that switches channels with her mind."
I won't watch Stranger Things.
They tried so hard that I went,
"I don't want to miss out. I have to watch it."
I couldn't do it alone. I asked my 12-year-old, Bianca.
And she said, "It's too scary."
"Bianca, let's watch it."
"I'll get nightmares."
"Honey, grow up, don't be silly. Let's watch it, it's fine."
"Dad, it's too scary."
"I make the rules in this house. We're watching Stranger Things."
So I put on Stranger Things. Pressed play.
One episode. We couldn't watch any more. In broad daylight, at 5 p.m.
And that night…
"It's not real. Demogorgons are made of latex. It's all fiction,"
Bianca kept saying to me until I fell asleep.
I don't like horror movies.
I was thinking about my father.
Boy, is he intense! In everything he does.
My old man is intense and antsy.
It's a ticking bomb. There's no way around it.
He's insufferable. Really, he's too intense.
Intense to the point when he'd ask a question
and answer it himself. Unbearable.
"How are you doing? Good? Looks that way."
"Yesterday, not so fine. Better today. Watched your video."
"How's Bianca? Great, right?"
"Will you tape the Netflix special?"
"You must do the horn. People love it."
"They always ask about Rada's horn!"
"Is Bianca studying medicine?"
"No, Dad, Bianca is 14. Give me a break!"
He won't let me talk. He's too intense.
He puts on his shoes before his socks. He's too much!
When he blows his nose,
he blows so hard that we've always feared
he'd have a stroke and be crippled. He goes…
His leg even kicks back. That's how hard he blows!
He's intense. Too intense.
When my dad eats ice cream, he goes…
He gets a brain freeze! Until Mom comes with a warm towel,
he won't snap out of it.
My dad is very intense.
There's an anecdote I usually tell my friends.
A story that defines Dad. Should I tell it?
Yeah? No? Should I?
Yeah, I will. It's short.
I'm going off script, but it's worth it.
My dad is a ceramicist. He likes pottery, or whatever.
He's a creative guy. Always makes stuff with wood too.
He passed that on to me. The wood stuff.
A while back, I visited him in Bahía Blanca.
I was having mate with Mom, and Dad called me and said,
"Come out here, Agustín."
"Come on, come here, it'll take a minute!"
I walked out. "What's up?"
"Listen. You know what?"
"Slow down, I can't…"
"Listen to me."
"For a while now,
I haven't had any ideas for a pot or a vase."
"You're an artist…"
"I've read somewhere
that artists usually take something to stimulate imagination."
"Do you have anything?"
"I don't follow."
"You know what I mean," he said. "Dad?"
"Are you…?"
"Are you asking me for pot?"
"No! Mom will hear you!"
"Mom smokes, Dad. She smokes with her friends in Monte."
"Don't ask me for illegal stuff."
"I don't have any, I don't use."
"Really, I don't."
"I'm mildly famous. I have a teenage daughter."
"I have to teach by example."
"I don't have pot, really."
"Luckily for you, I saw Ruter today."
"Do you know Ruter? He's an old friend of mine."
"He's a farmer, he has a garden, he likes to explore."
"He makes hybrids, experiments with grafts. Tomatoes, basil,
but a little birdie randomly brought him a Mary Jane seed."
"You wouldn't believe how much pot he has now!"
"Every strain imaginable!"
"Krippy, Kush, Sherbert, Runtz, Mimosa, Zkittlez."
"You'll get crazy high."
I said, "Dad, he brought me a jar."
"Now, please, pace yourself."
"One puff, and wait for it."
"It's like fishing. Cast the line, wait for the bite."
"You gotta be careful because you're very intense."
"No, I'm not…" "Dad, please."
I gave him the jar and returned to Buenos Aires.
Many months later, I was in the city of Cordoba,
doing a double show of a previous set, with the band.
I went to my dressing room between the shows,
took my phone,
and there were 12 missed calls from my brother who lives in the USA.
Also, 14 missed calls from my mom.
It was clear to me that Dad had died a tragic death.
Otherwise, I'd have missed calls from him too.
I called my brother, thinking,
"Did I say everything I wanted? Did I really say goodbye?"
"Manuel, what happened?"
"Call Mom, Dad is going nuts."
"What's up, Mom?"
"What did you give your father? He's high as a kite."
I went like this.
In the background, I could hear him go, "Legalize marijuana!"
I pictured my dad running around.
I said, "Mom, calm down."
She said, "Agustín, should I call 911?"
"No, Mom, there's a pound of pot there. We'll all go to jail. Even Bianca."
"Relax, Mom, please."
"What do I do then?"
"Take Dad outside." "He won't go."
"Throw out a cookie. He'll go."
"Once he does and starts running around in circles,
hose him down. And when he comes down,
give him chocolate. Or a soda. Something with lots of sugar."
"The guys in the band told me that sugar
breaks down tetrahydrocannabinol, and it'll sober him up."
"See you later."
That's how intense my dad is. Insufferable. So intense.
One time…
Once we moved to a house
that was smaller than the previous one.
Unbearable. My dad insisted we needed another room.
"Dad, you'd already seen it."
"We need another room."
"We can't have it."
"Why not? I put up a beam in the lightwell and poke some holes."
"Tin roofing, a window, a fan,
a computer, some paintings, and we have a new room."
"Dad, no way you can build a room in the lightwel."
"Watch me." Two hours later, he was hammering the wall.
He poked, he installed, he put up, he roofed.
A new room… within five hours.
Amazing. Electrical wiring, lights, all perfect.
And Mom, same as usual,
was cheering Dad on with a cup of mate in her hand, saying,
"Roberto, you're a moron."
"We're moving in the next 18 months! This is a waste of money!"
The kitchen is smaller
The bathroom is bigger
I can't do anything Without a good credit score
And all the doormen are called Ramón
Every two years, I sing him this song
Come home for dinner I'll show my gratitude
It's all still in boxes I can't find the food
I moved from the first to the sixth floor
I can't find the key Or I mixed it up again
The security deposit Is a one month's rent
One, or two, or three for the commission
The guarantee better be from Capital
I can't imagine living here
No, no!
I don't believe in runes
I don't buy into tarot
Ludovica says That in the Chinese Zodiac
I'm a tenant
The harmonica.
I had a harmonica here. I had one…
There's a box with harmonicas,
a recorder, a VHS…
Did you find…? I labeled it.
Oh, fuck off.
I travel light, like the wind
I don't really have a flat
A ukulele, the bed and the wardrobe
Every two years, I gotta move
I can't stand my neighbor
We don't talk, it's a matter of skin
I hate her shitty little dog
She hates me because I smoke pot
It's my Dad! Not my fault!
I don't believe in runes
No!
I don't buy into tarot
Ludovica says That in the Chinese Zodiac
I'm a tenant
I like this Broadway ending with an imaginary hat.
"The thing about moving with toys
is that they have to be small and portable enough
to fit in a box."
That's what my parents always told me.
I had two toys.
And I was happy with that.
I had a white ninja and a Rambo.
You remember Rambo?
They were great, right? I still have it.
A Rambo with skinny jeans.
Skinny jeans didn't even exist back then,
and Rambo had thick thighs and a crotch this size.
"What's up with that, Rambo? You're training too much, Rambo!"
Arms this big, with his bandana, all sweaty, with long hair.
That Rambo was fine.
He had a knife this long.
It was like another dick, or something.
I'd look at him and think, "Come here, Rambo."
"I'll kill you, bastard," says the Ninja.
"I'm gonna slaughter you." "Go, go, go!"
Sometimes you'd make them snog a bit, right?
Your action figures. No?
You didn't flip him over and give him some?
He was flexible, could handle all positions.
Some kama… 69? Nobody?
No?
No…
Never, man? Never shoved a Rambo up your ass?
When you were six or seven?
I did. It was…
It was a self-discovery time with action figures.
I was kind of obsessed with action figure sex.
I hid Rambo and took him everywhere.
My cousin across the street, Paula, had a different socioeconomic status.
She had an awesome expensive dollhouse.
She had 14 dolls.
I took Rambo, went to Paula's to play,
opened the door, threw him in.
"This is gonna get ugly," I thought.
I came back to find Rambo wearing makeup.
"Good, Rambo! So progressive." And I took him back.
I couldn't care less about Rambo, the dolls, and the ninja.
I just wanted my parents to buy me that thing I was dying to have.
I never got it.
It was just a simple toy. I wanted nothing else.
"I don't want a party, I'll fast for a week."
You know, I wanted…
I wanted a plastic truck.
An unbreakable one.
I don't know what they were made of. They were military-grade materials.
An unbreakable truck.
"Mom, buy me the truck. Dad. I won't ask for anything else."
"Buy me the truck. The truck."
"The truck, truck, truck…"
They never bought it.
Never bought it.
Still, I was very smart for a six-year-old.
I thought, "I'll get my own
unbreakable plastic truck."
I grabbed pen and paper, and wrote,
"Dear Santa Claus,
I'd love it if this Christmas
you brought me an unbreakable plastic truck."
"Love, Agustín Aristarán."
"P.S. Don't forget, we moved three times this year."
"Make sure it's the right house."
"Love you loads, Agustín Aristarán."
I drew a Christmas tree,
a serving of turkey with gravy, some mulled cider,
and a lot of snow, like we get every December in Argentina.
And I sent the letter on August 22nd.
I was a little anxious. And I waited.
Waited in the living room
where the Chrismas tree would normally be put up.
Two days later, Mom says,
"Agustín, your father and I talked,
and we think the unbreakable truck is a little too expensive
for Santa Claus."
Fucking parents!
"Do you go through my mail now?"
I wrote another letter.
"Dear Santa Claus,
since the confidentiality of my correspondence
has been breached in this house,
I'm sending this second letter through other means."
"Remember Mariano Brancamonte, my schoolmate?"
"The blonde simpleton that sits behind me?"
"Last year, he did not behave at all."
"You still gave him an 18-gear mountain bike and a headlight."
"I, on the other hand, was on my best behavior,
and you gave me an Incredible Hulk bubble blower."
"I hate you, Santa!"
"I expect that this year, at midnight,
I'll find an unbreakable plastic truck under the tree,
because otherwise I'm torching your sled, your reindeer
and all your other crap."
"Dick."
"Love you loads, Agustín Aristarán."
And I sent the letter.
On December 24th, I woke up a little anxious.
"Mom, where is he? When is Santa coming?"
"It's the 24th, Santa is coming."
"When is he coming? Where's Dad? Where?"
"Outside, having ice cream? Dad!"
"What's happened?"
"Stop eating ice cream, Dad, please!"
"How do we speed things up? I need Santa to arrive!"
Let's put out peanuts." And we did.
"The cider is warm."
"Put it in the freezer!" "Still warm."
"In the freezer!" "Still warm!"
"Close the door!" Done.
"Dad, did you buy firecrackers?"
"Yeah, look."
"When's Santa coming?" "Midnight." "What time is it?" "Midnight."
And there it was. The gift I've been waiting for.
The unbreakable plastic truck!
I thought it would be bigger.
Could that be it?
That's strange.
Santa's handwriting was the same as Mom's.
I unwrapped that box like it was a professional stripper.
A magician's box?
"Santa…"
"Are you illiterate or just dumb?"
"I asked for an unbreakable plastic truck."
"I don't want to be a magician. I want to drive a truck."
"A dump truck across the world."
MAGIC SHOW
"Become a magician."
"Instructions. Disappear an egg in the red cup."
"Take the red cup and look at the audience."
There's no one here.
"Open the cup, it will contain an egg."
"Remove the egg and show the empty cup."
"Cover the cup, and place the egg in your right pocket."
"Look at the audience." Still empty.
"Snap your fingers and say the magic words."
"Abraca…" Screw you, Santa.
"You'll see the egg disappeared from your pocket
and appeared in the…" No!
No way!
It appears. It disappears.
It appears It disappears
Long mustache Short mustache
Where's the egg? Here it is
In the hand And now it's gone
Where is it? Here it is
Put it in your hand, toss it Now it's in your nose
And just like that,
in Bahía Blanca, at six years of age,
a magician was born…
Rada, hey!
That's some magic.
Thanks for the applause.
I can sense the applause.
I was out of control with magic.
Look at the handkerchief go.
This was all planned, baby.
That's some magic.
Whenever a relative came over, what would Agus do?
He'd perform a marvelous magic show.
And suddenly, all the relatives stopped coming to visit.
I was obsessed with magic.
Doves, handkerchiefs, coins, all that stuff.
Cigars that appeared and disappeared.
You could always count on grandma. My grandma came down for mate.
I told her I had an amazing card trick.
"I've been rehearsing it. It'll blow your mind!"
"Grandma, look at the cards." I took them out and shuffled.
I kept on shuffling.
"Pick any card, it doesn't matter which."
"Pick it, remember it, put it back. Perfect."
I kept on shuffling.
I shuffled, a card went flying.
Picked it up, tossed behind my back, grabbed again.
"Grandma, this is your card."
"I don't remember." For fuck's sake. You old hag.
You couldn't say 7 of Clubs? Was it so hard?
Or 8 of Diamonds, 4 of Capricorn, 5 of Batman?
All the same, who cares!
I was obsessed with magic. Obsessed!
I was unstoppable. I was doing magic all day.
I did magic at school, at a friend's house,
while playing soccer.
As a teenager, I did magic at barbecues.
"You want a burger?"
"No, four of Diamonds!" "Oh, fuck off."
I was obsessed with magic. Totally obsessed.
Eventually, my friend Gonzalo said to me,
"Rada, all you do these days is magic, right?"
"Magic! I want a handkerchief. Here it is!"
A cage, a water heater.
I was out of control with my magic.
"Don't you do anything else?" "Just magic, magic!"
"Don't you like any girls? Don't you wanna get laid?"
"You're right."
I hadn't have my first time.
Never got laid before. You gotta get laid at 17.
It says it right there, in Wikipedia!
"Dad!"
"What? What's up?"
"Dad, listen, I need some advice. Man to man."
"I'm still a virgin. I need your help."
"I have an urge to get laid."
"What? You still haven't done it, Son? It's easy. Piece of cake!"
"Talk to a guy or a girl, whichever you like."
"Have a drink, touch each other…"
"Sorry, Son."
"I'm a brute. Forgive me."
"I thought I was talking to your brother. You're the younger one. The magician."
"Forget it. Magicians don't get laid."
And Dad was so right.
Magicians don't get laid.
Some would say magicians are always, like…
No.
There's no way.
There are two…
The WHO says, people of two professions have no chance of having sex.
First is magicians,
because we're morons that fool around all day.
Second is chess players,
due to their ability to smell like ass.
It's bizarre! We have no chance!
Listen to me.
If I say magician, what is the first thing that comes to mind?
A Las Vegas magician. All made up.
Styling gel. Hair straight up.
Belt buckle with four aces.
Loads of shiny black clothes.
Two panthers. Fan blowing in the face.
Las Vegas music.
Out of this world. In comes the girl, his assistant.
Always behind him, never in front of him.
Because they are sexist.
Assholes, idiots, and also sexist.
The girl does a somersault,
gets inside a box this big.
Poor thing!
She is all curled up in there.
He picks up a spear.
He stabs her with the spear.
Picks up another.
He spits on her, shits on her, sets her on fire.
The girl comes out in a new outfit. Who gets the applause?
The fucking magician.
Come on! No chance of getting laid there.
If you have coffee with a magician, pay attention.
You're having coffee and asking, "What do you do?" "I'm a magician."
Please, never go, "No way!"
Because if you go "No way!" it would trigger
a landslide of bullshit that he won't be able to control.
"Didn't you know I was a magician? I can't believe it! Look at this!"
"I got your spoon. It's in my hand."
"Where is it? It's disappeared. It's gone!"
"Here it is."
"You liked that. I have more!"
"Put it in my hand. It's gone!"
"Where is it? Here? Here? Or here?"
"No! Here! In your ear."
"Latte in your ear! How awkward."
But let's imagine…
Imagine…
that you liked him,
or you've had a dry spell,
so you go ahead and leave with the magician.
Lights dimmed. Soft music.
This will happen. I swear!
"Look, a bunch of condoms, in a variety of colors."
Shuffle, shuffle.
"Pick whichever condom you want, Grandma…"
"I mean, girl."
"Pick one. Remember it. I'm not looking."
"I'll open it. Do you like dogs? Here comes the dog."
"Do you prefer a dove? Here you are!"
"A dove."
"Something more complex? I see you like it."
"I can tell you do."
"This is the most difficult one! No, wait! Don't go!"
"I need to get laid. Sorry!"
"I won't do more magic! Please, I'm sorry."
Astronaut, firefighter
YouTuber, sailor
Nobody wants to be a magician
We need surgeons And lots of engineers
Nobody wants to be a magician
My dad told me And he knows me
Don't choose to be the magician
Because magicians don't get laid
Magicians don't get laid
And never will
Never will
I've got a disease
Worse than measles
A curse that's killing me And won't pass on
Up here, I might be the greatest
But I will never get laid, no!
Because of magic
Because magicians don't get laid
Magicians don't get laid
Because magicians don't get laid
Magicians don't get laid and never will
Two things.
One, I missed the light cue.
Three things.
Two, you forgot to open the trap for me to disappear.
Three, my ball got caught.
I crushed my balls.
For fuck's sake.
I got carried away.
Usually I protect my balls, since I was a kid.
When I was 17, something happened.
It's like a chill coming down.
It'll pass…
Crushing your balls is dreadful. No words can describe it.
I was 17 years old…
when this happened.
I was gonna take a shower. Naked. As usual.
I got into the shower, grabbed the soap, looked down and went, "What's this?"
"How did this happen?"
Listen to this. One of my balls… One of my testicles
was substantially bigger.
Not hanging lower.
Apparently, in 98% of men one ball hangs lower than the other.
But in this case, it was way bigger.
Picture a rather large tangerine. Quite a massive one.
So, one of my balls was the size of it.
Back then, the Internet did not exist. I couldn't Google it.
"My ball is the size of a tangerine. Help!"
I went to my dad, "Dad." "What it is?"
"We need to talk about your ice cream addiction. Enough!"
"Also, one of my balls is huge."
"What do you mean? Are you crazy? Show me your balls."
I showed him.
My dad went, "Inés!"
"Don't call Mom! This is man stuff!"
"I'm a teenager. Take me to a ball-ologist."
We go to the ball-ologist.
"What's up, Doc? How are you?"
"What's going on?" he asks.
"Something funny happened."
"I got up, got in the shower,
and realized one testicle was way bigger than the other."
"Don't worry. Relax. It's normal."
"One testicle always gets swollen between ages 17 and 18."
"It'll go down over time. It's hormonal."
"You don't get it, Doc. It's way bigger than the other one."
"Don't underestimate me."
"I look at balls all day. I know my thing."
"One testicle gets swollen and then shrinks back."
"It's like a tangerine, Doc." "Excuse me?"
"Like a tangerine."
"Is it orange?" "Kinda."
"Wrinkly?" "Maybe."
"Does it have seeds?"
"I dunno, man. It looks like a tangerine."
"Show me." I did. He went…
"Stay here. Take your clothes off."
He went to get a stool.
The stool all urologists use,
certified by the Urologist College,
sold exclusively at Urologists-R-Us,
on Warnes 743.
In Buenos Aires. Not sure about Mexico.
He said, "Take off your clothes."
I left the socks on. "Socks too."
I took them off. He put gloves on.
He looked at me and said, "Relax, Fabián."
"Doctor, I'm not Fabián."
"No, I'm Fabián. And I know me."
He grabbed my balls.
Oh, no!
He slightly squeezed each testicle.
Of course, I felt it more in one of them.
He said, "Flex a little.
"A little more."
"Just a bit more."
He grabbed a notebook and wrote.
"Testicular swelling. Patient: Agustín Aristarán."
"Right testicle, 120 bar."
"Left testicle, 177 bar."
He lifted my healthy testicle, and, without warning, went…
"Testicular oscillation, worrying."
That's when something very strange happened.
Something very strange!
He took my testicles.
Listen, because it gets weird.
Balls-to-the-wall weird.
He grabbed my balls, didn't look at them or me,
and he seemed to have connected to my balls telepathically.
"Is he talking to my balls with his mind?"
Picture it. I'm 17, a minor. An old guy is holding my balls
and talking to them telepathically.
I was freaking out. I needed help.
I started screaming for my dad.
I didn't understand anything.
And then he started talking to my balls.
"What's up?" "I'm good. You?"
"Good."
I don't speak Balls language.
That's when the guy started, like…
not caressing them,
but moving them around like they were castanets.
Doing it like this.
Oh, what's wrong?
What's wrong with these balls?
What's wrong with these balls
that look like a tangerine?
Oh, what's wrong?
What's wrong with these balls?
What's wrong with these balls
That look like a tangerine?
"Graciela, come see this. Take a picture."
"This is a textbook ball."
"This is great for our research. Take a picture!"
They look like a tangerine
The kiss might have not happened.
I was in shock.
I started getting dressed, and he said,
"Where do you think you're going?" "What else is there?" "Relax," he said.
"Start running on the spot." "What?" "You heard me."
"Really?" "Start running."
"Maybe if you dim the lights, get some whiskey…"
"Start running." And I started running.
"Let me see." "I'm shy."
I was shy. The guy took pictures and notes.
"Stay in the middle and jump." I jumped.
And as I was jumping,
I was trying not to think about what was happening,
but I realize that the human body
is a perfect machine designed by aliens.
It can't be.
And I realize the reason behind what was mentioned before:
that one testicle in men hangs lower than the other.
Why is that?
They couldn't be the same length.
Picture the Neanderthals.
They had to go hunting,
chasing a panther in the jungle.
They were naked, clothes hadn't been invented.
The guy was running, and maybe he had to jump.
If they were the same length, this would be happening.
They'd slap each other, like clackers.
As one is longer, they don't collide.
The human body is perfect.
I was jumping while imagining I'm chasing a panther in the forest,
and the guy said, "You need surgery."
"No other options. Your balls are a wreck."
"Hydrocele, varicocele,
some phimosis, a bilateral inguinal hernia."
Oh, for fuck's sake…
I had surgery one week after. They did…
what they could, there was a lot going on.
There I was, balls like Tetris blocks,
and I was back to normal.
Before discharging me, he went, "One more thing, Agustín."
"This takes about six months to heal internally."
"I need you to not have intercourse for…"
"Ah, you're a magician. Never mind then."
So with that in mind, me being in post-op and a magician,
I wasn't getting laid, so I focused on my work as a magician.
I committed to magic.
I did some children's parties. I earned some money.
One party lead to another, then a school, a kindergarten.
Then I did a quinceañera, a wedding,
a corporate party. I was working and making money.
All under the table, no receipts. I was a minor, so I pocketed everything.
My secret stash.
A friend wanted a go out for a beer?
Rada's treat.
"What else? Some chocolate? It's on me too."
I built an empire in Bahía Blanca.
I was popular.
We drove out the competition.
My friends beat them up.
"You want some of this?"
We killed their bunnies, messed up the cards.
"Go get your 7 of Clubs, fucker! Go home!"
I kept on working, earning some serious money.
Started helping my parents, moved to Buenos Aires.
It was hard at first, but it picked up.
Parties, kids parties, adult parties.
I was working. Magicians knew me.
I was respected in the world of magic.
"Rada. Yeah, I know him." It was okay.
Chile, Uruguay, Mexico, Colombia, I started making dollars.
I was raking it in. What?
I had it all here.
"You want dollars? Here you go."
All still under the table.
It was all going great,
I was making good money, feeling comfortable, but something…
I couldn't…
I didn't feel right.
Something in my chest
went…
"Doctor,
I don't…"
"I don't feel well, Doc."
"Out of the blue, I break into tears. I just start crying, Doc."
"I don't know what this is."
"I don't know what to call it."
"I don't know if… Sorry, I can't talk."
"Give me a minute, Doc."
"It'll pass."
"I meant, I don't know if there's a name for this."
"No idea if there's been some research, but if I walk down the street…"
"Everything is all right."
"My life is all right."
"I follow my dream. My dreams come true."
"I do what I love for a living."
"My life is just as it was depicted
in teenage flicks. It's all right."
"But walk down the street and see a dog pooping,
and I burst into tears, Doc."
"I'm such a mess."
"I've got work,
I make money,
my peers tell me, 'Good job.' They cheer me on."
"I can't enjoy it, Doc. Look at me."
"I'm under a lot of pressure. I need to earn money."
"I got into the rat race…
money, money, money."
"What do you want, a pool, a yacht?"
I could never buy a yacht. Where would I put it?
Where?
I feel…
Do you know Prince Charles?
Poor thing, have you seen him?
Every time he's on camera, he's twitching his ear, asking for help.
He's completely lost.
They tell him what to do, how to dress.
All the time.
I feel this voice inside me, telling me what to do.
They tell him what to do, how to dress.
"Who tells you that, Agustín? You're being paranoid!"
"My dad, Doc."
Right?
"What do you think, Doc?"
"Do you think that magic box from Santa was given to me for no reason?"
"They did it so I'd become a magician."
"What does the world need? Magicians."
"Be a magician. Earn money! It's obvious, Doc."
"Pardon me for saying this, Agustín…
but…
no parents would ever want their child to be a magician."
"Oh, Doc…"
"You had to throw it in my face!"
"You're right."
"I'm an idiot, Doc."
"Such an idiot."
"I'm a complete idiot, Doc."
"Sorry, I'm…
Write it down. Come on! Write."
"Agustín Aristarán is an idiot. That's the diagnosis."
"That's it, Doc."
"I don't want that. What have I done so far?"
"Worked my ass off. And I don't want it."
"I don't want a voice telling me what to do, like Charles."
"I don't want it, Doc."
"Give me some pills, because I don't know what to do."
I don't want to be Charles, no
I don't want to be more than you
I don't want to be Charles, no
I want to choose who I am
"Hi, Doc. How are you? I started taking the pills last week."
"Morning, afternoon and evening."
"Oh, Doc!"
"The morning pill gives me such energy!"
"Oh, Doc!"
"When my phone battery dies, I can just stand next to it,
and it charges right up."
"So much energy."
"I get up, 75° maximum, 70° minimum."
"Oh, Doc!"
"The birds are singing, and everything is great."
"Now, when I take the afternoon pill,
I'm doing fine and suddenly…"
"I get a little stuck."
"But when I take the evening pill…"
"Oh, Doc! The evening pill, Doc"
"Oh, Doc, the evening pill, Doc."
"Oh, Doc!"
"The next day I'm like this,
all spaced-out."
"From the corner of my eye, I see Rambo."
"Hey, Rambo. How are you doing?"
"I stroked Rambo, Doc."
"What do you want, baby?"
"Why don't I take that pill every day?"
"I feel great, Doc. Can you tell?"
"I feel great, right?"
I don't want to be Charles, no
I don't want to be more than you
I don't want to be Charles, no
I want to choose who I am
"Doc, the pills balanced me out, I'm feeling pretty well."
You won't believe what happened the other day!
I went to the Japanese dry cleaner near home.
I brought my magician suit, to get it cleaned.
"Did you clean it? I'll pay you next week."
We're friends. He cleans my suits.
I get to the party. It turns out, he mixed up the suits!
He gave me another client's suit! It was solid white.
Pants, jacket, shirt, bow tie, all white. So embarrassing.
I had to do the show, so I put it on.
Went on stage. They laughed.
"Sorry about this. White is the new black!"
"I look like a Q-Tip."
I finished the show, all humiliated. A girl came up and said,
"Hi. Do you have any popsicles, chocolate or ice cream?"
Woah!
She's my girlfriend now. We've been dating for ten days.
Cool, right?
I don't want to be Charles, no
I don't want to be more than you
I don't want to be Charles, no
I want to choose who I am
I went back to the dry cleaner.
Two weeks later, I went back.
"I don't know if I should slap you or hug you!"
"You've changed my life, man."
"You gave me the suit. I met my girlfriend."
"We moved in together three months ago. We are happy!"
You know what he said?
He said something to me.
Listen. He looked at me and said…
Do you speak Japanese? Neither do I.
But I believe he said this.
"Be careful. If you plant a quince tree, you may get a lemon tree."
I was speechless.
With the suit, the pills, the Japanese… "You know what?"
"I consider myself healed. I'm done with the pills."
"You, Freud and Deleuze can suck my balls, Doc."
"I won't take anything else. I'm free."
"Nothing's tying me down. I have a girlfriend."
I don't want to be Charles, no
I don't want to be more than you
I don't want to be Charles, no
I want to choose…
Hi, honey. How are you?
Yeah, I was singing. I'm happy. I was singing.
What happened?
I told the doctor to fuck off. Goodbye, pills! I'm healed.
What?
Positive?
Two months? Oh, shit…
Posi…
But positive…
Positive is always good, right?
How did this happen?
Right, I know how it happened.
I remember clearly.
Yes, honey.
No, I was just singing, I didn't expect…
I forgot to set the Big News reminder for today!
Yeah.
I'll be there, honey. I'm coming. I just had to sit down.
Yeah.
I'll be right there.
I'll go back to the doctor, apologize and get my pills back.
Just for a couple of months, honey.
Yeah, yeah…
Bye. One kiss for you and one for the belly.
It's weird, yeah.
Bye, bye.
So cold.
So drafty.
At 21, I was told, "You're gonna be a dad!"
I've always been very pragmatic, even as a kid.
The nine months were not that difficult.
We moved in together to a one-bedroom apartment.
In that apartment, the nine months were simple.
I was in charge of two things.
Taking care of the mother of my daughter, making sure she had everything.
And the second thing
was locking myself in the bathroom,
getting naked and crying, kneeling next to the toilet,
while taking some drugs to ignore the situation,
because I was afraid. I was gonna be a dad.
"I don't want to be Charles." "Be a dad then."
"What? Fuck off."
I was afraid.
How could I not be?
But on February 22nd, 2006, at 2:30 p.m., everything changed.
I was in the delivery room.
My daughter's mom was performing a heavenly task.
"Honey, I can't believe it."
And I was cheering her on.
"We're all gonna die!"
"I hope we fucking die, honey."
"I hope a hurricane kills us!"
"I don't know what to do!"
Suddenly, the door in the delivery room opened.
In came a blinding beam of light.
Unicorns were riding the beam of light,
followed by hummingbirds.
And the unicorns were pooping rose petals that would spell
"Happiness," "Joy,"
"Infinite love."
My daughter Bianca was born.
"Oh, my daughter!"
"We'll be so happy!"
"Everything you see will be yours."
"A one-bedroom apartment,
a lot of magic tricks and a ukulele."
"Oh, my daughter, I love you!"
Everything immediately changed.
We moved to a bigger house.
Bought our first property.
It was only slightly bigger, but we were happy.
Bianca was running around. We sorted out the house and moved quickly.
I had good teachers in the art of quick moving.
The house was smaller than we had thought.
We needed another room. "There's nowhere it can fit, Agustín."
"Why not? Just knock down a wall and…"
"Honey, forget about it. It's impossible." Two hours later, I was hammering the wall…
On it. "I'm like my dad!"
"Bring me ice cream!"
Out of control.
Five hours later, the room was finished.
"Honey, I'll hang the picture I always wanted in my first home."
"We need to talk."
"Give me a second. Put the kettle on for some mate."
"Let's not. Come on."
I put up the picture.
"What is it, honey?"
"We have to break up."
"I can take the picture down."
"What?"
"We have to break up?"
"Fine, let's break up."
"I'll just pack my bags and fuck off."
"Fine by me. I'll pack my bags now."
"You want me to? I'll pack my bags."
"I will, it's fine."
"Shall I? I'll pack my bags."
"I'll pack my bags. Going once,
going twice,
going, going…"
And Bianca says, "Gone."
"No, honey!" I had to move.
I went back to my apartment.
It's so cold. So drafty.
With my little bag.
I closed the door. The shot is panning out.
With my little bag.
Bianca was one week with me, and one with her mother.
The first week was crazy. So much responsibility.
I had to feed her every day, bathe her,
explain to her that life is beautiful, and the world is shit.
All of that was on me. Bianca was three.
What do I do? How do I…? No.
She couldn't die on me, or else it would be my fault.
No! I took care of her.
It was nice, we played a lot.
All the time.
"Here comes Bianca with her tea! How cute!"
"She dodges the night table."
"Gets past the broom, still coming."
"She made it! Goal!"
"Thanks, Mom, for making me Argentinian and coeval with Bianca!!"
We played around all the time.
Being a young dad, or being a dad in general,
reconnects you with your playful side.
We wore makeup and wigs. We played a lot!
We had a great game that Bianca and I invented.
I like talking about it, because some parent
with a kindergarten-age kids might watch this and go,
"We should try playing their game."
Bianca was four then.
She was…
four, that's right. Exactly that.
The game is very easy. Piece of cake.
You need two participants, an adult and a child.
What's interesting is you don't bring it up.
You don't say, "Let's play."
If I suggested the game, I felt she couldn't say no.
But if the game started on its own, it was more interesting.
You didn't know when it started.
It's simple.
Suddenly, a dark entity takes over my body.
The Devil. Satan. Beelzebub.
"Bianca."
I fall to the floor.
Start shaking.
A satanic attack.
Only one person in the house
knows the ritual of exorcising the Devil out of me. Bianca.
The four-year-old comes and chants,
"Begone from my father's body."
"Begone, Satan and evil archangels. Begone, Beelzebub!"
I'd stand up, hug her, she'd comfort me.
While I go to clean myself up,
Bianca would do a salt ring on the floor, and light a black candle
with an inverted cross to mark the cursed zone.
A child's game. I liked it.
"I find it nurturing," I said to Bianca's headmistress.
She told me to stop doing it.
But I liked it, and Bianca was excited about it.
She enjoyed the game.
I made her a great exorcism kit with a nice wooden box.
I put in some garlic,
a little stake, a little mallet.
Some holy water we stole from a chapel near home.
Bianca went, "The priest is with the altar boys!"
And I snatched a jar of holy water.
We split it back home.
A friend said, "You can't steal holy water from church."
"But If you steal from a thief, it's not stealing."
Damn! Rada's politically incorrect comment!
Comedy can be used to express truths too.
Asshole.
After I realized stealing holy water was kinda wrong, or whatever,
I decided to make it myself. I looked it up.
Tutorial on how to bless tap water.
Same as priests, minus the State salary.
Rada, not bothered by social criticism, strikes again.
I made her a great cross,
I'm good with wood. It was a beautiful pink cross.
I didn't add a Jesus Christ. I abhorred the image
of a nailed and bleeding man.
Instead, I glued on a plastic doll. Like this.
Naked, with tears of glitter.
Like a virgin that cries glitter.
She was charming, with fantastic hair.
And I'd written on the doll…
You know how in movies,
when something satanic is going on, they write words in reverse?
I wrote "Eye," "Reviver," "Kayak" on her body.
Bianca wore the cross. She was little. The cross was this big.
She was always carrying her exorcist suitcase.
"Are you okay, Dad?" "Yes, honey."
"Just let me know."
And once in a while she'd splash me with holy water.
Poor Bianca.
She was so excited that one day I caught her
taking the exorcism kit to kindergarten.
"Bianca, what's that for?"
"What if it happens to Fermín?"
"No, honey, leave it here."
"It's just a game. Go now."
I don't blame her.
Bianca was so innocent and naive.
I got carried away too. So stupid!
I was just fine, working on my computer,
when the Devil possessed me.
I started shaking like crazy.
And Bianca wasn't there. So I was screwed.
Luckily, the handyman was fixing the heater.
"What do I do?"
"Call Bianca!" I could barely speak.
He had to go to kindergarten, get Bianca, sign for her.
"Who's taking her?" "Handyman."
"Reason?" "Her dad is possessed."
"Just take her." They already knew me.
Bianca arrived and immediately saved me. Of course, she knew how.
The handyman didn't.
I finally realized the game wasn't all that normal,
when Bianca wanted to invite Vicky, her friend from kindergarten.
They'd have tea, play and watch cartoons.
I asked her dad, Fabián.
"Yes, of course. I'll pick her up later."
"Do the horn! I'm a fan!" "Bye."
And I went home.
We were doing great.
Bianca was drinking her milk and watching cartoons.
I decided to behave.
No Devil today, no.
No!
Not today, Vicky's here.
No Devil. We will frighten her.
"Bianca." No! Not today.
"Dad, you okay?"
"Don't worry, honey. It won't happen today."
Suddenly, it got out of hand.
I fell.
It was a full-blown exorcist scene!
Snot, shit in my pants, the whole thing.
The Devil was very angry.
Bianca went, "Begone, spirit. Begone, Satan and evil archangels.
Begone, Beelzebub!"
I stood up.
Bianca hugged me. I was in shock.
"Dad, you smell like shit." Right, I went.
I returned from the bathroom. The Devil left me, but it possessed Vicky.
Vicky was like this.
"Call…"
"Call my dad."
"Vicky, it's just a game that we…" "Call my dad."
"Dad."
"Vicky, it's a game…"
"Call my dad."
"Bianca, do something!"
"Begone, spirit! Begone, Satan and evil archangels."
She smacked her with a bay leaf branch. "No, honey, stop."
I called her dad.
"Fabián, come get your daughter, Something is wrong."
The guy came over.
They were a really Christian family. He came with a Bible.
He saw Vicky. "Look, sometimes the Devil gets me."
"That's why I'm here," said Bianca, with the cross.
"Bianca, go to your room.
This is grown up stuff. I'll handle it. Go."
"I have no idea."
Lifting Vicky was a two-man job. She was stiff as a board.
We had to wedge her onto the back seat.
Diagonally, as doors wouldn't close.
I will never erase that image from my head!
Poor Vicky.
She was like this.
Before leaving, the guy said, "You're a fucking asshole."
"Excuse me? Why is that?" "You're an asshole."
"Grow up. You've got doodles on your arms."
"You fool around all day long! Have you lost your marbles?"
"As for my girl, don't worry about her."
"We're going straight to the Pentecostal church."
"We'll dip her in a pool of holy water, she'll be saved."
"But your daughter?"
"All day like this! What's wrong with you?"
"She won't come out unscathed."
"If she wants to be a lawyer, a dentist, an agronomist, an architect,
who will be her role model? Her stupid dad?"
"What if she does become a lawyer? 'Your Honor, this is the evidence.'"
"Are you an idiot? You have to grow up."
"Grow. Up."
And he left.
"Me?"
That was my answer.
Serendipity
Hi?
Honey… Sorry, ex-honey.
Force of habit.
He called you? He's such a tattletale.
We were just playing.
Just a bit. But I always…
How could I know she would get like that?
You're right. I got carried away. Sorry.
Serendipity
It's a very fortunate find
Valuable and unexpected
That happens all of a sudden
You're very angry. Do you miss me? You don't.
It can also be a man's talent
To realize he found something important
That he wasn't looking for
Do you understand?
You're trying to explain, but some things have no explanation.
Life suggests paths, and you choose one. Or you don't.
Excuse my metaphor.
Sometimes you build a room in two hours or hang a picture,
but life foils all your plans.
It's an image I have.
Like the Japanese guy, remember him?
Remember what the dry cleaner said?
"If you plant a quince, you may get a lemon."
You didn't want lemons.
So what do you do? Get angry at the lemons?
No! You make lemonade. That's it.
When you least expect it You can find love
In the bus, next to you When you don't see it coming
The paths and shortcuts Work and yesterday
Girlfriend, drugs, money Your past or what you have
You gotta take it as it is
You gotta take it or leave it
When I open a door
All the rest open too
But Bianca has fun.
Serendipity
Bianca will be whatever she wants to be. An artist, a lawyer, you name it.
She'll figure it out, like you and I did…
Missing your stop
Getting off far from home
Maybe your life will change
In the blink of an eye
Success and failure
Fate and the unknown
Cholesterol and parties
Patience and desire
Letting go or holding on
Is losing or letting them win
Wanderer, there is no path
You make it as you go
Serendipity
I think you're the best mother Bianca could have.
Serendipity
I have to go. Bye.
Keep the painting for me.
Santa Claus, my parents, my brother
Charles and the egg trick
I didn't want to be a magician
Because magicians don't get laid
Magicians don't get laid
Magicians don't get laid and never will
My first time was at 19
Divorce and love
If there's anything I know
Is that everything is better
You gotta take it or leave it
You gotta know the best hasn't come yet
Everything gives you something
Bianca is the cutest
Bianca!
You're the best
Bianca
It's so great
To be
You dad
We've been told at a very early age
that life is a straight line.
That if you do everything right,
study, work,
fall in love, get married, have kids,
you'll get, with no trouble at all,
from point A to point B.
A straight line?
Bullshit.
To me, life is when you leave your parents' house.
When you are madly in love,
and she gives you the boot.
When you achieve your dream,
and realize it's kinda boring.
When you make money.
When you're broke.
When you become a father at 22.
When the unexpected happens.
To me, there are two ways to look at it.
You either get angry, curse, cry,
lash out at everyone because life is not what you expected,
or what they told you it would be like.
Or…
you can actually grow up.
And realize that everything, the good, the bad, the ugly,
the beautiful, the marvelous, the unpredictable,
is a chance that life gives you every day.
A chance of walking down a new path.
Growing up means doing the same things
No matter what the rest think
Growing up means doing the same things
No matter what they think
I bought it.
An unbreakable plastic truck.
Serendipity
After all, Santa, you were not so wrong.
One, two…
One, two, three, go!
It's an empty house, man.
Subtitle translation by: Ivan Cukier