Shitty Week

My camera got stolen, oink was shutdown, and my house nearly burned down.

I am never going to blackout again.

I've seen the Andes mountain range from within 3 different countries. I've gotten smashed with at least 3 different cultures. Not counting the foreigners I've met along the way.

There was shitty snow in Bariloche. It was an excellent ski resort. The Argentine party schedule was not conducive for the enjoyment of both nightlife and skiing. I prioritized, but nevertheless, thumbs up to the bars we did go to. 24 hours there and 20 hours back. The Argentine countryside is not very attractive, not in the pampas, imagine a bus ride from Denver to St. Louis. Word to the wise, double check what day you are actually leaving and do not go by your instincts when you're having fun. They don't replace your tickets when you miss the bus by a day. We found that out the hard way.

Drinking with Uruguayan skinheads was a solid experience. SHARPS mind you; paradoxical nonetheless. Not that it's hectic here, but I have never seen such a relaxed metropolis as Montevideo. Nothing like any primate city I have ever visited. 3 hours from the port of Buenos Aires by ferry.

Buenos Aires is a wonderful city. The postcolonial monumentalism is completely apparent, and to the foreign, and possibly domestic eye as well, it is impressive. In contiguous juxtaposition are the graffiti and clandestine monuments which are just as awe inspiring in their audacious defiance of the demagogic symbolism. Palermo Viejo evokes a cosmopolitan hipness that can be found in the progressive neighborhoods of most major Metropolises. La Boca is cultural clusterfuck of color and touristy establishments, veiling with relative effectiveness the decrepit conditions which surround it. If you want to get a picture dancing some sidewalk tango it is just the spot. All this is just 1:15 minutes from where I live. I don't go there enough.

The partying has gotten a little old. When out of the cradled atmosphere of complicit collegiate degeneracy it doesn't seem as appealing; it becomes mundane in a sense. After all, you can't really enjoy a blackout.

The nights are not really nights, but transitions into more nights. By the way, hogs ain't shit by these standards. Here in La Plata I guess I've fallen into a routine cycle which is only broken by these few escapes into different parts of the country. Drinking with amusing friends, not great friends, losing the weekend in a blur and then reading for the rest of the week, with a few interspersed points of interest. A completely pointillist tempo as Bauman would have it. I guess that's the nature of living without a grounding element.