So I find it absolutely hilarious that just now emo is making its way through Buenos Aires and causing quite a ruckus. Seriously. Like, didn't this happen in the States about 8 years ago ? And wasn't I hoping to achieve some level of coolness and fashion sense ( what was I thinking ? ) close to those livejournal-loving, black hairdye-using, studded belt-donning angsty adolescents ?
Here, the little emo kids are called "floggers" ( find and enjoy complete explanation here if you speak the Spanish. if not, you can probably get the jist. It's not rocket science people ). All the little kiddies who have gotten their paws on a digital camera and have an internet connection post photos of their mostly mundane daily activities on the website Fotolog, and - tah-dah! - you have the "flogger" moniker. Maybe I'm just insane but I find it quite hilarious, if only because it is a reminder of my own comedic attempts to look cool and cop just a bit of the punk scene when I was 14. There was even a huge flogger gathering in Abasto that ended in something out of West Side Story: the Sharks versus the Jets - duking it out for dominance, in the middle of a public area in an always busy neighborhood. This very important drama of course took up about one hour of news time that evening and I watched as the reporters tried their hardest to garner some substantial commentary from someone, anyone, when all they got was "It's not fair ! We ( the floggers ) were here first, they're just jealous of us. Why do they ( normal kids who don't take weird self-portraits using the bathroom mirror ? ) have to meet here on Sunday nights too?"
If you think I have wasted too much time on this subject, you might be right. No problem moving on to something more interesting. As I find myself readjusting to the Buenos Aires estilo de vida, I am reminded of the things that make me so glad to be here: the lack of rush, long, drawn-out gatherings that reinforce such a strong sense of camaraderie among friends and family, the incredibly good people-watching on the Subte, and of course - empanadas and helado. On the other hand, I remember that this city is like a giant moving beast, immense and ever-changing, and that I will never be fully able to get a grasp on it. It's elusive and alluring, and I love every crazy square inch of it.
Today some women were asking me about how things were in the States, given the recent bad press and future regime change. They're all fascinated and for some reason think that what I have to say is of any value. Hm. It's funny though how I find myself more patriotic when I am actually out of the country than when I am at home and roaming around. I feel like I must defend it, no matter how obvious its faults and shortcomings. A well-meaning woman kept calling Bush a cabrón and I agreed, saying that we're all pretty much fed up with how things are going. Even though I knew she was just making conversation I couldn't help but feel a little sting in her words. I guess one needs to leave home sometimes to truly appreciate it.
Ok, I think that's enough for now. This was rather disorganized and as always, I had forgotten what I was initially hoping to write about. Last year I had a notebook full of my musings and rants and raves that I pulled out when it was time to write to my family and friends. Looks like I am going to get back on that bandwagon.
