OMG

The only thing my 8 year old host brother has learned from me over the course of the past 4 months is the oh-so-annoying phrase "Oh my god."

He says it all the time now no matter what the circumstance or context.

I don't think he realizes he sounds like a valley girl diva using oh my god as an adjective, noun and verb.

I don't think i ever realized how annoying it is when i say it.

Well at least part of me will always be left with my Argentine family.

Querida Buenos Aires

Tonight Angeles asked me if i wanted to go home. And i actually surprised myself by repsonding quickly no.

If circumstances were different, if i had more money, more time, less responsibilities and less plans, I would stay in Buenos Aires.

As i tried very inelegantly to explain in my still awful Spanish, Buenos Aires has grown on me. It now has a permanent place of endearment in my heart.

I feel like i have been through a traumatic experience with the city and it has brought us closer, it has created a bond that i will hold with me forever. Buenos Aires will always be a home to me.

That said, I had a dream last night i was walking through the aisles of Copps grocery store picking out things to make Christmas cookies. I am so excited to come home and see friends and family who faces are fuzzy in my memory but whose presences have been with me the entire last 4 months.

But i will be sad to leave the family i have made here. My friends and my argentine family now have their faces, the sound of their voices and their gestures permanently in my heart.

And the memories. The memories are etched into my mind like the silver workers chiseling designs into the sides of mate cups.

Today was another memory chiseled into my mind.

Today we went to the feria de mataderos and wandered through the chorizo-smelling smoke of the parilla, watched the folk dancers smile and snap and browsed the endless artisan stands. And when gustavo rolled his eyes when angeles stopped again at yet another stand and then whispered an inside joke about wives and their waiting husbands, i felt like part of the family. When Maite leaned her tired head against my hip when waiting for her parents to barter, i felt like family. When Inga honestly told me at the end of the day that he was tired of talking to me, i really felt like family.

So this is traveling: making new homes and new families knowing in the end you will only have the new memories. New families to share with old families. New experiences to mix with an old life. A new home to leave for an old. And new memories to add to the old, to help create this colorful scrapbook of experiences that is becoming my life.

Mi nombre imprimado

I love seeing my name in print. It gives me a sense of accomplishment, like this whole experience now has a tangible point.

On Wednesday, the WSJ (Wisconsin State Journal - don't get too excited david :) printed an article i wrote comparing Cristina Kirchner, Argentina's now first elected president, and Hillary Clinton, the woman Republicans love to hate.

To be honest, it is not my favorite article. I simplified the rather complex dynamic between the representation of CFK and HRC for the sake of word count and readability. I could, and probably actually will, write a 25 page paper on just the comparison between two.

But oversimplification and the writer's regret aside, it is nice to have published proof about this experience. It is nice to know it all hasn't been a long, strange hallucination.

See my name in print here:
http://www.madison.com/wsj/home/column/index.php?ntid=255422&ntpid=2

Thoughts through the sweat

I came home today to an full inbox.

My first instinct was to scream, rip the computer off the table and smash it against the wall a few times for good measure just to make sure life couldn't reach me anymore.

Luckily, i am too poor to buy a new computer and my senses returned to me quickly. Instead of destroying property, i went for a run and thought long and hard through my sweat. And i seem to see things clearer now.

It is true that stress exists everywhere although different cultures handle it differently. Argentine seems to have the "don't worry, it will get done somehow" attitude. And i am starting to think it might be a good attitude to adapt right about now.

There will always be 3 people demanding your attention at the same time. There will always 5 more essays you should read and 2 more papers you should be writing. There will always be more things to do than time you have to do it.

But i will not always be in Argentina.

I have one more month to enjoy Argentina and take in all it has to give me (and exchange what i don't like for something better.)

And today, as a ran, i decided i am going to take it all in.

During my run, I took in the slow-walking, snobby old ladies who demand half the side walk for themselves and their poodles with booties. I took in the school kids passing the soccer ball back and forth with more skill and talent than most of the pro-soccer players in the United States. I took in the old men playing chest in the park with the tattooed punk kids smoking pot next to them. I took in the annoying group of 17-year old boys at the corner saying crude piropos to passing women (and i decided to exchange them for the cute curly haired argenine boys at Ramos Mejia.)

I took them all in because they are what makes up my memory of Buenos Aires. I will not remember these articles i am reading or the paper i will present. I will remember the good, the bad and the real of the characters of Buenos Aires.

Because that is what they are; they are characters in this crazy chapter of my life titled: Oh the places you will go.

Research- not fun in any language

Just a short entry to mention I hate endless research in any country and in any language

I am wasting the most beautiful last days of my trip attached to this damn computer staring blankly at a flickering screen.

I am living a sad sad life.

OK, i have to go. I don't even have time to reflect upon my sad emotion less existence.

Good night.

Noches Lindas

Sometimes you just find beautiful nights.

Nights when the air is warm and smooth. Nights when music turns to movements which turns to love, lust and hate. Nights when you can see all emotions: everything beautiful from dolor to amor.

Tonight was a beautiful night. A night filled with conversaciones intimas, new and old friends, musica apasionante, and French cheese and wine.

Tonight started with talks of la economia over smuggled French cheese and wine.

It progressed with un espectaculo alternativo de tango, where no one danced but everyone seemed to, where the instruments came alive, the accordion seducing the violin, the cello dancing melancholy in the corner.

It ended with an enamored couple making out on my doorstep in la madrugada, that shyly moved when I told them that I needed to break up there lovely caresses to enter my house and go to bed.

Tonight was beautiful. It was lovely in the way only another world can be, a world where nothing is understood but everything is felt, a world where you can appreciate the beauty others create, a world where you know you are part of the beauty.

Tonight I felt like part of a beautiful night in Buenos Aires.

Yeah, OK, Americans are a little weird

"Feliz Halloween." That is what we told our taxi driver as if to explain why we were dressed up as a greek goddess, a gypsy, robin hood and captain underpants (definitely the hardest to explain to Argentines.)

He looked at us as if we had lost our minds. Or were just 4 more crazy Yankees.

It is clear Argentines don't understand Halloween and in all likelihood don't understand north americans.

And standing sober on the sidelines i kind of understood why: we look like fools, drunken costumed fools.

We scream about bitches and ho's while grinding up against each other all while trying to keep our power ranger swords out of the way. Yeah the United States looks weird.

I had a very enlightened conversation with an Argentine about how the United States and Argentina are different. That was the conclusion of the night: Argentina and the United States are different.

And i think that is going to be the conclusion of my trip too: Argentina and the United States are very, very different.

Clarification: We are not americans. Argentines call us norteamericanos or yankees and get very upset when we call all ourselves americanos. For them americanos are all people who live in the continental americas. However they call us norteamericanos not referring to canada or mexico. They get very upset when you point this out.