mood: unsure
music: bloc party - i still remember

*just a warning. this one´s gonna be long. and the first part is going to seem unnecessarily whiny and pessimistic. i say first part, because i will undoubtedly get lazy halfway through and make this into two posts. so. yes. here we go...


at least i´ve figured it out now. i get it. my beef with buenos aires.

i was supposed to spend my entire senior year in paris, france. i was going to relive that olympianesque glory of summer 2005 - the memories of aix-en-provence still going strong and forcing me to laugh at what an incredible and incredibly ludicrous experience that was. and as one memory always leads to another, i would think of the absolutely ridiculous and most unbelievable adventures in roma and sicily with anita; the jolly good times of high tea and rogue cricket games and absinthe in oxford with bill robinson.

and certainly without fail i would have fondly remembered my first trip to paris directly following aix. how terrifying and liberating it was to be on my own in that (for lack of a better and less histronic description) magical city which has always (and very strangely) felt completely like home to me. and the excitement of finding that elise happened to be there, too. the unhurried days of meeting at random metro stops and wandering aimlessly through whichever rendissement we happened to find ourselves in. no clue as to where or how we would get from a to be -- simply trusting in the guidance of the ¨white man¨ who dictated when and in which direction we would go at each corner.

even if i had done nothing at all outside of the limits of the city it would have been intensely amazing. oh, to have perfected my mastery of the french language...it would have been lovely. and comfortingly familiar. which is precisely why i scrapped the entire plan (in addition to some family emergencies which came into play at the end of last summer). i saw that this was something which was safe for me. i wanted to push myself, to experience a culture wholly different from my own. and as such, france seemed less and less like the right choice for me in that moment.

given my interests and studies at the time, south america seemed a perfect fit for me. the only problem was that i didn´t speak any spanish. none. and buenos aires was the only program that i knew of in which i could get away with going to a place without having any discernable skills with the native language. after some careful deliberation, i thought this would be a fabulous alternative.

then came the word of mouth...buenos aires is incredible. you´ll love it there. good god i can´t believe you´re going to argentina -- it´s going to blow your mind... and then when i heard this was the paris of south america, i developed an irresistable idea of a place which blended classic european elements with the more exotic and, well, ¨sexy¨ elements we tend to believe are typical of latin american cultures. i had visions of grandeur - of streets which overflowed with culture. of new people and experiences. i imagined a tropical paradise - not in the idyllic sense which we so often see rendered in paintings or depicted in the jamaican travel agencies, but in the sense that the physical setting would at least involve a significantly larger amount of greenery than i was used to and the cultural setting would be so multifaceted and rich that every moment, nearly every breath would certainly be occupied with my attempts to take eveyrthing in.

but that is not what buenos aires is about. i know this will be almost impossible to believe, but this city is almost entirely devoid of culture with the exception of the rich culture of tango, the interesting histories of the barrios of la bocca and san telmo, and a handful of other things. porteños (those born and raised in buenos aires) spend a great deal of time chatting themselves up about how cultured they are and how much culture the city has, but fail to live up to their empty promises.

it´s terribly confusing. in the united states, the forced transculturation between slaves, european and asian immigrants, and hispanic populations (and of course others as time progressed) gave birth to a culture (and indeed an entire slew of distinct subcultures) which are peculiar to our country. argentina experienced mildly similar patterns of immigration, and yet the total opposite happened. it turns out that all of fantasies about what south america would be happen to be true in other places (especially places such as venezuela or the carribean). just not here.

turns out, in argentina´s case all of the magic is in the countryside. those porteños willing to be completely honest with me have admitted this time and time again. the charming and seductive areas near the andes mountains to the west, the sleepy and tranquil cities near the lake district to the southwest, or the simply breathtaking areas such as the waterfalls to the north or the glaciers and the (literally) end of the world in the far south. but once again, i reiterate. that is not here. and here is where i am.

unfortunately, i do not have the kind of money that some of the others in the program have access to and i have not had the ability to travel. i hear about all of these incredibly experiences people are having, and that makes me terribly jealous. i know the whole bit about being grateful to be here at all... (and i certainly hate the amount of complaining i´m indulging in at this moment -- but these are my real sentiments, my honest frustrations) but i would be lying if i said it didn´t add a touch of insult to injury when i realize that for all of my intense desire, hard work, and noble intentions (no seriously. all of that idealistic junk about wanting to experience a typically marginalized culture...you know the drill. that was me. whereas so many other people in my program have demonstrated little more than the desire to be drunk in another country and THEY are the ones who are, for lack of a better expression, having my amazing experiences) something as superficial as money is preventing me from really having an authentic argentinian experience. because if you really want to get right down to the heart of the matter -- and i know how shitty and pretentious this is going to sound -- i worked my ass off, so incredibly fucking hard, to be able to have this unforgettable experience and i truly feel like i deserve it a whole hell of a lot more than some of the other assholes here.

there. it´s been said.

so yes. there is no culture in buenos aires. those of you who have said you´re jealous -- please don´t be. you´re not missing anything. the only thing that´s different about this city is that there´s a little more spanish every once in a while.

however, lacking a true sense of culture is the only thing i can hold buenos aires accountable for. and this is only one tiny, nominal element which has made this trip so incredibly difficult for me. the rest of it comes from my own bag of tricks. my insecurities. my neuroses. my crazy. and i will own them -- own up to them. for the first time. which i can very literally equate with opening a pandora´s box of issues.


[...and this is where that aforementioned laziness kicks in.]

mood: ...
music: the magic numbers - love is just a game


right now. in this very moment.

i could have been a graduate from loyola university chicago. magna cum laude. b.a. in theatre with minors in anthropology and french. ph.d. in bs and rocking at life. i could be free. i could be done.


but instead i´m in argentina.

mood: ¨what a difference a day makes...¨
music: bloc party - blue light


unbelievable.


tuesday evening, my academic adviser took me galavanting around barrio norte. we window shopped. went to an amazing exhibit called ¨crudo y cocido¨ (raw and cooked) on subversive and political imagery in food compositions. talked politics and culture and why learning how not to care could be one of the most important and difficult lessons ever learned. not something you´ll ever dig up with your nose burried in a text book. on a whim he decided to pierce his cartilage and i held his hand through the pain (reminded me of old times with sammie in MN). obviously this is the coolest academic adviser who has ever lived.

most importantly, tuesday evening germán introduced me to project ¨no me importa¨ (it doesn´t matter to me / i don´t give a fuck) and i can hardly imagine that things will ever be the same.

mood: ...
music: bloc party - blue light / i still remember

i think it´s officially fall in argentina. walking home with sean (happy 21st champ! so glad we got you started off right!!) and liam last night, i realized that my teeth were very literally chattering. given the weather of the past 2 months, that was quite the shock.

so now comes the time for double layers, oatmeal for breakfast, and all the wonderful fashion options of the autumn season. as i´ve said time and time again, this is my favorite time of the year. i´m hoping this fact will allow the next two months to pass as quickly and as enjoyably as possible.

in other news, spring break is in full swing. everyone who was leaving is officially gone. my supply of cohorts has been more or less wiped out. essentially, i am on my own for the rest of the week. half of me is upset and wondering what the devil i´m going to do with myself. half of me is curious and excited about what sort of misadventures await me. i´ve already got plans to hit up a few museums, landmarks, and other areas of interest, and i might be hanging out with some people from other programs in the city.

mood: ¿?
music: bloc party - blue light


so i´m on spring break. theoretically. i say theoretically because i can´t go anywhere for the week. why? you might ask. what a travesty! you might screech.

i have to stay for my dance class. since i have it monday, wednesday, friday, to peace out would mean to miss all three days in a row. and that just seems irresponsible. which doesn´t really explain why i didn´t go wednesday and have no intention of going today.

usually i´m so very responsible. SO very responsible. to a painful and occasionally regrettable degree. i´m not entirely sure i know what´s going on.

something about this place is starting to get to me.

mood: it´s already may
music: ingrid michaelson - breakable

¨anyone who´s goal is 'something higher' must expect someday to suffer vertigo. what is vertigo? fear of falling? then why do we feel iteven when the observation tower comes equipped with a sturdy handrail? no, vertigo is something other than the fear of falling. it is the voice of the emptiness below us which tempts and lures us, it is the desire to fall, against which, terrified, we defend ourselves...

several hours after the decision she fell in the street and injured her knee. she began to teter as she walked, fell almost daily, bumped into things or, at the very least, dropped objects.

she was in the grip of an insuperable longing to fall. she lived in a constant state of vertigo.

'pick me up,' is the message of a person who keeps falling.¨

--milan kundera, the unbearable lightness of being



have you ever thought about what protects our hearts? / just a cage of rib bones and other various parts / so it´s fairly simple to cut right through the mess / and to stop the muscle that makes us confess

and we are so fragile / and our cracking bones make noise / and we are just breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys

and you fasten my seatbelt because it is the law / and in your 2-ton death trap i finally saw / a piece of love in your face that bathed me in regret / then you drove me to places i´ll never forget

and we are so fragile / and our cracking bones make noise / and we are just breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys

and we are so fragile / and our, our cracking bones make noise / and we are just breakable, breakable, breakable girls / breakable, breakable, breakable girls / breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys...