One month without sarcasm

The typical theater applause here lasts a minimum of three curtain calls. Along with the applause, there are shouts of praise, the traditional standing ovation, and occasionally tears. The passion for the players, for the stage, for the theater pours out of every porteno in el teatro.

And I sit there, applauding with respect, thinking in my oh-so-American way "give it a rest."

Daily i confronted with this culture shock; my American sensibility crashing with Argentine surreal enthusiasm for everything.

I simply can't believe it. I can't believe one person can hold that much true passion. I can't believe the standing ovation when every play ends with the audience on its feet. I don't believe Argentina really has passion for anything when it acts as if it has passion for everything. (Remember Maggie: you can't love every song.)

And yet I am starting to believe it. I am starting to believe Argentines are born with an infinite amount of passion while I was born with a definite amount that I am hoarding away for something special.

All this passion flowing around, crashing with my sensibility means, in very basic terms, I have to completely change my way of speaking, acting and living. I am learning to not make faces at cursi pick-up lines, not to sigh at yet another curtain call and to abandon my sarcasm for a language of sincere passion.

But have no fear friends, I have a feeling my sarcasm is only in temporary hibernation. I don't think even the overabundance of passion in Argentina could kill my one true passion: sarcasm.