Inception: The Review

Don't read this if you don't want to know anything about this movie.  Just don't.  And don't say I didn't warn you.

Let me start with my overall take on this film, so when I get all sorts of picky in 30 seconds, you'll remember that I actually enjoyed this film.  I walked away feeling pretty satisfied with the movie, and not just because I got to sit in a Laz-i-Boy and order my meal from my theater seat.  This is a pretty solidly entertaining film, full of pretty fantastic acting.

BUT.  This is where I get picky folks, so if you don't want to hear it, go back and re-read that last paragraph.

I expect a lot out of movies, especially ones that are trying to be so tightly designed as this one.  So when a film has everything going for it and some little flaw flaunts itself, it drives me batty and I have to say something.  Because really, where is the joy in life if it is not in criticizing other people's hard work?

So, here are the pecadillos, in no particular order:

• Ellen Page, my friends.  I shouldn't have to say anything else, but I'm going to.  You and I may have loved her in Juno, because she was basically put on this earth to play that role (where deadpan delivery was a requirement), but her generally emotionless face and wooden acting need more work.  When she is standing in the same room as Leonardo DiCaprio (who, I have to say, I am not the world's biggest fan of, but even I can admit that the man can act his ass off), I expect her to rise to the challenge.  If she's playing a character that has to scold his, she better freakin' make me believe it.  She was almost there.  Like that famous Shel Silverstein poem, "Almost perfect, but not quite."
• The laws of physics.  Okay, this film is all about the idea of people entering each other's dreams to plant or steal ideas, so there's a bit of suspension of disbelief going on to start.  But there is one scene in particular that bothers me: the one with Joseph Gordon-Levitt fighting some unknown actor in the 2nd dream level down after they have lost gravity because in the first dream level, Gordon-Levitt's sleeping body is suspended  in that zero-gravity state because he is in a van that is toppling backwards off a bridge into a river below.  The fighting men are supposed to be tossed about in the same way that Gordon-Levitt's body is being tossed about in the van as it hurtles towards the water.  However, the movements don't match up.  I know this is a really picky thing, but it's quite noticeable after you've spent over an hour in the theatre watching a film that is impeccably aligned despite what could be a very difficult plot to follow.
• Offhand commentary is NOT funny.  This is just a minor annoyance, but I think it's a sign of some poor screenwriting choices.  There are a few moments when the director allowed the actors to drop themselves into a buddy action movie, where flip comments that go for easy laughs are a dime a dozen.  Unfortunately for this film, the comments are completely out of character when they're done.  I'm not saying that they don't get the laughs (JM was sitting next to me and laughing heartily each time one of these comments was uttered), but I found them to be a bit jarring and out-of-place.
• BAD ENDING.  Okay, this is the big one for me.  So, one of the key ideas in this film is that all these dreamwalkers, for lack of a better term, have one way to remind their brains that they are in a dream or in the real world.  Each dreamwalker carries his or her own token, for which only s/he knows the real dimensions and weight of.  If something is off with the token, then the dreamwalker is still in the dream world.  For DiCaprio's character, that token is a top, which used to belong to his late wife.  If he is in the dream world, the top spins forever as the rules of gravity don't necessarily apply.  However, if the top falls over after spinning for a while, he knows he has re-entered the real world.  The movie ends with DiCaprio spinning the top and walking away before he finds out if he is the real world or the dream world, with the camera staying focused on the spinning top, fading to the credits just at the moment that it seems we, the audience, would find out which world he was in.  THIS REALLY PISSES ME OFF.  This is such an art-school ending that I cannot even begin to describe my displeasure at this type of ending.  There is nothing that indicates the sheer arrogance of a movie as much as this type of ending.  They want you, the audience, to decide what ending you think should have happened.  People will come out of this movie swearing that DiCaprio made everything right in the end and got to return to his real life in the real world because of it.  Others will come out of it swearing the exact opposite - that he lost his connection to the real world and instead chose to remain in his mind, where he could invent whatever story made him the most happy.  A movie of true quality will not let you leave the theatre wondering what happened.  Or so I say at least.  I watch movies to see stories that have closure, very much unlike real life.  I do not want to leave the theatre feeling confused, wondering, "Whatever happened to that nice boy, Leo DiCaprio?"

So, that's me being a critic.  And it's so much easier for me to be nit-picky than to be nice, but please know that the movie was a completely enjoyable experience.  You may even think it's the best thing since sliced bread.  All I know is that it was a $10 well spent, but I won't be buying the DVD or failing to voice my opinion if asked.  (Hell, even if not asked.)  Go out to the theatre and make up your own mind.

I love you, DOT

I never thought it would get any better than The Strand Theatre in my hometown.  Several years ago, someone decided to renovate an old theatre located on the main street in town and turn it into a movie theatre.  The result is this really beautiful, authentic piece of usable history.  Tickets are inexpensive as the theatre plays second-run films, but it's really quite worthwhile.  The right and left sides of the theatre have bar-like seating, while the center hosts series of seats interpersed with tables.  And in the back of the theatre is a full-service kitchen, where you go to get your burgers, fries, onion rings, beer, wine, soda, pizza, chicken fingers, popcorn... I really love this theatre! 

The only other theatre I've ever been in that I love almost as much is the series of Ritz Theaters in Philadelphia, which aren't as exciting in terms of food, but they host both blockbuster films AND independent and foreign films, which is something The Strand does not.  The Ritz Theaters are also a large part of the venue for the Philadelphia Film Festival, which will always hold a very special place in my heart as I volunteered with them for many years as they transitioned from a small nothing of a festival into such a fantastic Festival, with a capital "F."  Freakin' fantastic.

BUT.  I have finally found an equal.  For different reasons, but I am in love all the same.  There is a movie theater here in Buenos Aires that actually rivals The Strand and the Ritz Theaters.  It's the Hoyt's at the DOT mall (please don't ask me to tell you what DOT stands for, I really have no idea), which is located as far away from my apartment as humanly possible of course.

Here's why it rocks my socks off:

• You buy your tickets in advance and you PICK YOUR SEATS.  That's right, folks, assigned seating.  The only other theatre I know of that does this is that crappy theatre they built at 40th and Walnut in Philadelphia for all the rich Penn kids to go waste their parents money on.  The idea is fantastic, and helps you to avoid that really irritating "The 20" or whatever other crap they're now showing prior to the movie starting.  I am the first to admit I have an undying affection for previews, but I don't like commercials, inside the making of whatever crap show is coming out on Fox or HBO or whatever, or being forced to sit through yet another actor's senseless babble about the making-of for whatever pet film they're developing.  So yeah, assigned seating: AWESOME.
• When you arrive, you get access to a VIP room, replete with it's own set of bathrooms, a full-service bar, and a really nice lounge area, where you can order food.  Which brings me directly to...
• You can order food and HAVE IT DELIVERED DIRECTLY TO YOUR SEAT.  Did you hear me, people?  FOOD.  DELIVERED.  TO.  YOUR.  SEAT.
• Okay, so if you didn't actually order popcorn or a hamburger or that Thai stirfry wok thingy when you were in the VIP room, there is a button on your chair, very much like the button near your seat on an airplane, which you can use to call an attendant to your seat.  And then you can order your super-sized popcorn with extra butter.
• And, if that's not enough for you, all the seats in the theatre are Laz-i-Boy recliners.  I am not kidding.  There are maybe 30 seats in the whole theater.  With tables.  And buttons to call attendants for seat-side service.

It was all I could do not to giggle in glee throughout the entire movie.  Or pass out, I was so comfortable.  Whichever came first, really.

If someone in the movie theater business ever combines all these ideas together - a movie theater with Laz-i-Boys, seat-side food service, assigned seating, and shows both blockbusters and independent/foreign films - I will be the happiest customer ever.  Especially if they add full-on foot massages and mani-pedi services.

With a moo-moo here, and a moo-moo there...

One of the biggest events of the year here in Buenos Aires is the Palermo Livestock Show, which is an exhibit of livestock, agriculture, and international industry. And yes, I said "livestock show."  

I'm told that over 400 vendors come from all the different provinces of Argentina to attend and there are exhibits of  local argentine handicrafts, cooking demonstrations, local food exhibits, horse shows, agricultural equipment displays, and loads of livestock.  There are over 3,500 animals, including many different breeds of cows.

The Livestock Show also just so happens to take place in La Rural, the block-sized exposition building right next to the embassy.  When I found out that not only would there be hundreds of cows and lots of tasty food, but we could also flash our embassy badges to get in for free, I was sold on the idea. 

So I walked the twenty feet from the embassy entrance to La Rural and couldn't believe my eyes.  Such an immense space, just full of lovely, SMOOSHABLE!, doe-eyed cows with finger-length eyelashes.  Such adorable cows!  And people actually VACUME THE COWS.  To make their hair more fluffy.  Fluffy, adorable dinner, I tell you.

 There were also roosters and chickens, chinchillas (right next to chinchilla-fur coats - I see your future, guys, and it's not looking happy), bunnies!, and just about every type of livestock you could imagine. 

There was also about five bazillion people.  The later it got, the more people appeared.  It actually got to the point where I, despite having a good 6-7 inches over the majority of the attendees (apparently, country folk are a bit shorter than their bonaerense cousins), couldn't see the displays anymore.

But I couldn't leave without having a taste of the fabled choripan.  Which is basically a sausage in a bun, but you don't know what you're missing until you've finally tasted one.  However, the process is a bit of a pain the ass.  There is a separate tent just to order and pay for your food and then you take your ticket to another tent and fight with a bunch of rude Argentines for primacy before getting the attention of the people who are collecting tickets and doling out food.

When I say "rude," I mean to say that I had about 3 or 4 grandmothers physically grab me and push me out of the way, all the while yelling above the fray about what they ordered and waving their ticket in the air with the one hand that's not being used to push me out of the way.  It got to the point that I started throwing elbows and really using my height to my advantage. 

However, my friend Sandra: not so lucky.  She is petite, even by Argentine countryfolk standards.  And this is an action shot of her trying to get back out of crowd, after finally being noticed by someone controlling the issuance of choripan.  You'll note her by looking for a slightly squished person clutching desperately at a basket of fries as she emerges from the masses.

These people are animals, I tell you.  ANIMALS. 

But the choripan, it couldn't have been better if I had raised and slaughtered it myself.

Becoming bonaerense

When you join an embassy community overseas, one of the perks is being assigned a social sponsor. Usually, you’re matched to someone who is of a similar age and station in life and this person is tasked with showing you how to live like a local. I really lucked out: my sponsor, Vanna, is simply AMAZING. (And yes, I tell her this to her face.)

Although she’s 5 years younger than me, we have many similar interests, the most primary of which is an absolute adoration for all things food-kind. Better yet, she’s the only other embassy employee who lives in my building. So pajama potlucks are going to be all the rage for us.

Between her and the entry-level officer (ELO) coordinator, JM, I have had quite the busy social calendar. Actually, it’s probably more accurate to say that I’ve had the potential to have quite the busy social calendar. I haven’t taken advantage of every invitation to go out, but I haven’t said “no” much either (and I’m only doing so now because I seem to have contracted the Argentine crud; to explain, the “insert country’s name here” crud is a term da’ Momma created to describe the cold-like symptoms one develops when one is new to a place and your body acclimates to the air contamination and other environmental factors previously not experienced).

The day after I arrived, I had my first dinner invitation to join a few other ELOs (an ELO is someone who is on their first or second tour with State and has not yet become tenured) for a steak dinner. There is a lot of talk – bragging really – about Argentine steaks. I have to admit that I’m not the world’s biggest fan of red meat, so when I say that the steaks and bife de chorizo and whatever else I’ve eaten thus far taste just fine to me, please take it with a grain of salt. Clearly, if you eat nothing but steak for breakfast, lunch and dinner, you and I are not cultivating the same taste buds. That being said, I did really enjoy the plentiful guarniciones that accompany any purchase of steak in this country. On the night in question, the steaks were served with chimichurri sauce, criollo sauce, spinach, squash, mushrooms, and a whole host of other little ramekins full of tasty delights. It was like a guarnicion tapas menu!

So clearly my brain isn’t in peak form, because now I’m going to talk about another outing to a bar whose name utterly eludes me. (I will never be able to visit any of these places again, as I cannot remember a single thing!) Some colleagues got together for a happy hour on my first Friday. The caipirinha I ordered was pretty awful (Delvis, where’s Grill from Ipanema when you really need it???), but the homemade french fries and potato chips were pretty damn awesome. And, since it was my usual dinner time, I ate a LOT of them.

Since I’m not cool, I haven’t quite mastered the art of being an Argentine yet. The typical Argentine’s day goes a little something like this:

• Work
• Post-work coffee with friends at a local café – and there are at least 2-3 of them per block
• Dinner starts anywhere from 10PM to midnight – no restaurants open for dinner before 8, and most won’t even unlock their doors before 8:30 or 9
• It is downright UNCOOL to show your face at a club before midnight, and all the true club kids won’t make an appearance before 2AM
• Around 7AM, you drop into another café or confitería for un cortado y medialunas (coffee and croissants, basically), if you stop for breakfast at all, and then…
• You start another day of work.

It is highly apparent to me that I will never quite live up to the Argentine reputation. The best I can do is gaze longingly at all the beautiful Argentine men and mutter (under my breath, of course) that the Argentine women should go eat a cookie (a bag of cookies, in fact).

This is the preface to my stating that my first happy hour ended by about 9PM, when the second and third wave of colleagues and friends were just arriving at the bar, ready for happy hour. Dear lord, I am not worthy.

Despite my oft-repeated claims of lameness, I did have a busy and late Saturday. Brunch was at Tea Connection with my social sponsor and her sister, who were showing me around the neighborhood where I would be living very shortly. I mention Tea Connection because it just may be a new frequent hangout for me. First of all, it’s adorable. Second of all, it serves many different kinds of teas, an actual breakfast menu, and a whole host of other tasty, homemade treats. And perhaps most importantly, it has WiFi. Score!!!

Vanna also showed me my new building, which pretty much rocks my socks off. It’s a very modern affair, with a pool, playground, party room and grill on the ground floor, a gym on the top floor, and 2 saunas and 2 Jacuzzis on the roof (the saunas and Jacuzzis are separated by gender, which explains why they’re double-double your enjoyment). The building also has functioning heat – awesome!

Saturday night was the Marine Corp’s 70’s and 80’s party, for which I made JM be my date. And by that I meant that he would escort me so I wouldn’t have to show up alone. We had dinner at some steak house in his neighborhood (he lives in Belgrano, I live in Palermo), basically the only restaurant willing to open its doors at 8PM. Which means that we were standing at a locked door at 8PM and the staff reluctantly let us enter.

There I had my first taste of provoleta a la parrilla, which is basically a huge block of cheese fried to perfection on a grill. The best description I can give it is calling it a grilled cheese sandwich without the bread, and for which you probably should invite 3 of your closest friends to share. It’s a delicious trip to the land of heart disease.

I also had my first Argentine empanadas. In my opinion, these taste a whole lot different from their Peruvian cousins, which is largely because they include hard-boiled egg and olives. Don’t kill me for saying this, but I actually miss the Peruvian version, with its slices of lime to squeeze all over them with their citrusy goodness. (Although, to be fair, the Argentine version is very, very good – it just has a much stronger competitor in my humble opinion.)

Have I mentioned yet how little Argentines value vegetarians here? It is relatively difficult to get any kind of variety - both in restaurants and supermarkets - in vegetables, beans, and non-meat items. This place is all about their steak. (And mate, and coffee…) So when I saw grilled vegetables on the menu, I ordered them. And I was a happy girl.

So yeah, JM and I then met up with a few of his Argentine friends and we headed over to the Marine House, which is in the MIDDLE OF NOWHERE. Or at least it felt like the middle of nowhere. Even with a map, I probably couldn’t find it again.

Regardless, I spent most of the night gabbing away with new and newer friends, drinking water, and avoiding dancing. But because the Marine House is located in the boonies, I had to wait for a long time for a remesa to appear (this is basically an unmarked taxi, which you call for pick-up) and I didn’t get home until after 2:30AM. Maggie was certainly standing at the door, tapping her little furry foot in exasperation…

My first Sunday in country was an even later affair. I started the day with a group brunch at Oui Oui, a fabulous little place that actually serves a real brunch menu. It is there that I tasted my very first submarino, which is the Argentine version of hot chocolate. Basically, they serve you a cup of steaming hot milk with a side of dark chocolate chunks, which you drop into the milk and melt to your little heart’s desire. I can’t say this will become a regular drink of mine, but for you chocolate lovers out there, it’s definitely something you don’t want to miss. And it totally hit the spot, as it was a miserable rainy Sunday. (Note: although I FAILED! in packing warm weather gear, I DID manage to bring an umbrella and my spring raincoat with me. Sometimes I even surprise myself…)

From brunch, it was off to meet with some friends of mine who I met in Peru and are now on some several-month-long South America trip. These are the guys who arrived in Buenos Aires the same day I did, but I was catching them on their last night in the city before they rented a car and started their drive around the country.

Anywho, we ended up in my neighborhood, which I don’t know very well so we wandered into the first open café we saw: Gomez. There, we proceeded to eat milanesa and medialunas and drink all the wine they probably had in stock. Then we moved the party to some steakhouse (again, my memory fails me), where we continued in the wining and dining tradition that is so popular here in Argentina. My head hit the pillow some time around 4AM (and yes, I was still up at 6AM to start another week of work).

This week, I skipped the Friday night happy hour and some Saturday night house party, but I DID end up at some bar in the San Telmo neighborhood on Wednesday (or was it Thursday?) where I saw a live Cuban jazz band play, which was pretty awesome. We were joined later by some DEA folks and, even though we wanted to leave (it was midnight when they appeared), they bought us champagne and we were stuck for at least another half hour. It ended up being kind of interesting, especially considering the fact that one of the guys looked like Kevin Bacon and the 25-year-old Consular intern I was sitting next to was insisting that I was 22- or 23-years-old. Unfortunately for me, the Kevin Bacon lookalike seemed to think I knew all the acronyms and program names he was using and I could barely hear him over the band’s second set. Ah well, them’s the breaks.

But now the Argentine crud has really settled in and I’m making all these super adult decisions not to go out, drink, or stay up late this weekend. So far it’s working out for me – mostly because I set the bar low early on by telling everyone who would listen that I am lame, with a capital “L.”

This weekend has largely been about settling into my permanent apartment (I moved on Wednesday!). I still haven’t received the 250lbs of stuff I was authorized to send by air, so I’m really only working with the things I was able to shove into 2 pieces of luggage and the box of goods I mailed to myself just before departing on the 12th. I also have moved some of the furniture around and spent some quality time thinking about how I will arrange my things when they finally do arrive. Oh, the possibilities!

So I finally did some actual food shopping, which is hysterical since I’ve been eating alfahores (cookies with a dulce de leche filling covered in chocolate), breadsticks, and the occasional serving of rice for dinner, when I haven’t been wined and dined by my new coworkers. I also wandered around a 10-block radius or so of my apartment with Maggie, just to see what I could see. I think I’ll be able to find just about everything I need so when I finally have some money to spend, boy, ain’t nothing gonna hold me back…

And today, just to illustrate the café culture here, I spent about 7 hours at a table in Tea Connection. I started with breakfast with a side of online banking, beveraged my way through lunch and Blog postings, was joined by my friend Karina who Skyped her family while we ordered a round of coffee, and then ordered some shoes online while I slurped through my third and fourth pot of tea. The whole darn day cost me about US$20. And not once did anyone tell me to get my fat, lazy butt out of the chair so they could put another client there.  Money well spent, I tell ya.

I miss you already, internets…

Me, an economist?

I’d like to avoid talking about work for the most part, as our policies on what we can post on the “internets” is vague at best, and is going to come back and bite me in the ass at worst.

But I have a few things to say that shouldn’t get me in trouble. First and foremost, I work in the economic section. Those of you who know me well are busy laughing your tushies off at that one (yeah, I’m looking at you, Masshole). We all know how my eyes glaze over when people start talking finance or economics or stock marke….ZZZZzzzzzzzzz…

Hey, it’s all I can do to keep up with my Wharton graduate friends. (Don’t worry, I still love you – I just don’t know what you’re talking about!)

Regardless, the position I’m filling here in Buenos Aires is a completely new position, which meant that my bosses had to redistribute the portfolios among 3 economic officers, rather than just the 2 they had previously. Moreover, this meant that the two of us who just arrived did not find out what we are now covering until we stepped through the front door.

And all that to say that I did not meet with all my counterparts in DC prior to moving to Argentina. Because I didn’t know what I was doing. Which also means that even NOW I don’t know what I am doing.

I’ve been thrown into the deep end to cover a bunch of issues I know very little about, and my Argentine counterparts already expect me to meet with them to discuss these issues and present the U.S. position on them. It’s quite overwhelming.

At this point, I have been in the office for one complete week and three days. Each day, except for the day I moved to my permanent apartment, I staid in my office for twelve hours and ate at my desk. I spent 3 days on the embassy’s torturous check-in process, met with an Argentine government official and conducted that meeting entirely in Spanish while suffering the Argentine crud (yes, da’ Momma, be prepared for illness here, too), met with a well-placed Argentine who works for the Buenos Aires branch of Exxon and who introduced me to the President of the company as a “little girl,” met with another government official who thankfully spoke beautiful English and didn’t mind switching over every once in a while, began the process of hiring a maid/companion for Maggie, attended a number of in-house meetings, and tried really hard not to feel completely overwhelmed.

I think it’s safe to say that I will survive, but it’s going to hurt in the meantime.

I am also in temporary quarters at the office. The head guy is away on leave so somehow I have been temporarily located in his office. The idea is that, since my position is new, I am the odd man out. There were only enough cubicles and offices for the previous number of slots in that space.

There was some talk of stuffing me into the counter space behind our office manager, but I think next week I will move into the office the other new economic officer now occupies. So we’ll share. (And I can stop worrying about all the crumbs I leave behind on my boss’s desk or how many times I’ve spilt my cup of tea on his paperwork – oops!)

I have to admit that I’m just happy to have a permanent location. I’d like to start filing my things away and know where they are/belong. It’s not like I have much, but I hope to start growing a fiefdom soon.

Of course, my saving grace is that the people in my office are simply fantastic. And I mean it. Everyone is gracious and supportive and responsive. They’re also pretty patient about the millions of stupid questions that come pouring out of my mouth on a daily basis.

The Argentines are also more than patient when it comes to listening to the crap Spanish I speak. Even though they all speak English better than I speak Spanish, most seem to be shy about speaking English and are really complimentary about my Spanish. It’s all lies, but at least they’re kind.

Adventures in arrivals

After an almost completely sleepless red-eye flight from Washington, DC, to Buenos Aires, Argentina, the first thing to greet me in my new home country was a conundrum.

After picking up my bags and Mad Maggie-delicious, I had to pay a fee at customs to allow my mangy mutt entrance into the wider world of Buenos Aires (i.e. the world wider than the baggage claim and customs areas at Ezeiza Airport). However, there were no ATMs in customs and the fee can only be paid in cash. Strangely enough, I had given the last of my U.S. money to Jan at Dulles Airport, in a (clearly misguided) attempt to help pay for gas he expended on both trips to the airport on my behalf (first to pick Maggie up when she arrived from Mexico, and again to deport me to Argentina). And since Buenos Aires is a major, metropolitan city that prides itself on its European-ness, I just assumed ATMs would abound. Well, clearly we know what assuming does…

So, I asked the guards if I would be allowed back into the customs area if I left to go get some money, and they said “yes;” all I had to do was circle around to this back door and knock (maybe even say the magic words like entering a speakeasy).

So I leave customs, with all my bags and my dog sitting by the counter where I had to pay these “I love my puppy” fees, and entered the general din that is the rest of the airport. My colleagues were standing with all the other friends and family members in that pen-like area just outside the doors and were ready to run to the car. Jerry (my office sponsor) just handed me a hundred Argentine pesos (approximately equivalent to US$25) and I tried to get back to Maggie and my luggage.

Well, guess what? (You’ve probably already foreseen where this story was going, but I, in all my sleepless wonder, had no idea what the hell I was doing at the time.) When I went to this weird back door and knocked, I was told that I needed a representative of United Airlines to escort me back into the customs area. WTF?!!??

So we wander all around the ticketing area, looking for an office for the United folks. We seriously just jumped behind a counter and started walking up and down the hallways behind the ticketing stations, where the offices are located.

Eventually we found some kind United employee, who escorted us all the way back to the customs area, to again knock on the speakeasy-like door, say the magic words, and, “Voila!”: entry back into customs.

Thankfully, none of my stuff had been stolen, the people who had been helping me before allowed me to cut in front of this miles-long line that had appeared since I last left the area a half hour prior, and I paid the token fee.

So I grabbed all my stuff, very awkwardly might I add, and exited customs for the second time that day.

Of course, that’s not the end of the adventures.

We drove the hour or so from the airport to my temporary digs, deposited Maggie, completed the world’s fastest grocery run, toured the neighborhood in 20 seconds or less, and then parted ways so I could take a nap and so Jerry could return to the office.

This should have been fantastic, as I was out of energy reserves, but here’s why it was not: I nearly froze to death trying to take a nap.

Now, many of you have already told me how unsympathetic you are to my plight because, after all, I am in Buenos Aires. I know. But all the same, I haven’t lived in a Latin American country yet that is even remotely equipped to handle cold weather. And the week I arrived, Argentina just plummeted into a cold snap (yeah, the week prior it was 60 degrees F). This literally means that people and animals (sorry, Andrew, about the alpacas) have been dying because of the weather.

Moreover, Buenos Aires hadn’t experienced such cold temperatures in at least ten years. In fact, there was this article in CBS News within 2 days of my arrival:

“FRIGID TEMPERATURES, SNOW IN ARGENTINA!
A polar air mass settled in Argentina this week pushing temperatures down across the country and causing rare snowfall in the Buenos Aires province.

People in downtown Buenos Aires bundled up against the cold as temperatures ducked down near freezing, taking locals by surprise.

Street vendors ran a swift trade in hats, scarves and gloves as rumors floated around that snow might fly in the capital. A snow in 2007 in Buenos Aires, the first in 89 years, touched off euphoria amongst residents.

Meteorologist Daniel Cortes said the cold air mass pushed up from Antarctica and settled in the middle of the country.

‘The entrance of a cold front from the Antarctica into the middle of the country caused very low temperatures and snows in the province of Buenos Aires, especially on the coast,’ he said.”

Yeah, that’s right, I now live in a country that freaks out if it snows. It kind of reminds me of DC…

But I digress. So it’s cold in Buenos Aires when I arrive. Which is fine, except for the following:

• All my heavy winter sweaters, hats, scarves, gloves, and jackets are in my Unaccompanied Air Baggage (UAB), which I believe may arrive just as the temperatures start to hit 70 degrees F again. I will defend myself by stating that I packed out in early June, when the forecasts were still calling for 50-60 degree weather in July in Buenos Aires. Did I mention that it’s not normally this cold here?
• The Welcome Kit in my apartment only came with a sheet set and a blanket, which is about the equivalent of trying to keep warm by wrapping yourself in a large sheet of paper. Not very helpful.
• And the kicker? The heat in my apartment was nonfunctional.

It would end up taking 4 days until the embassy’s facility management folks could fix the heating system, but I had to survive until then so I gave up on the nap, bundled up in whatever I could find, and braved the winter weather to find the nearest mall, where I then spent far too much money buying a huge pile of blankets.

Not yet being aware that everything in Buenos Aires can be delivered (and yes, that even includes a single coke, a pint of ice cream, dog food – really, whatever you want, it’s the bonaerense way), I dragged this man-sized bag of blankets all the way back to my apartment, where I finally curled up with Mag-delicious and the new, cozy linens for a long, long nap.

Welcome to Buenos Aires to me…

The latest in a long string of homes

As many of you are already aware, I have received my housing assignment for Buenos Aires.  Not only was I extraordinarily lucky in my post assignment, I also think I was lucky in my housing assignment.  I got absolutely everything I asked for.  (Of course, I fully expect to get stuck in a mud hut outside of the Green Zone in Baghdad for my next tour, but I digress...)

On to the particulars!  My apartment will be in the Palermo neighborhood of Buenos Aires and is basically a two-block straight-shot from the embassy - well, it would be if there weren't that "pesky" park in between the embassy and my building.  So it's probably a 10-15 minute walk to work.

I still don't know what the building looks like on the outside, but other residents tell me that there is a sauna, a pool, a party room, a grill area, and a gym.  I am told that ours is one of the few buildings fully equipped to host parties.  So just keep that in mind when you're considering whether or not to come visit.

My apartment will be on the 12th floor, which I'm told offers me great views of the city.  The apartment is a 3-bedroom, 2-bathroom, ginormous space.  And guess what?  I have pictures:

Entry way, dining room

Dining room, living room, den

Half bath

Kitchen

Living room, den

Master bedroom

Guest room

Now that I can almost imagine myself there, I am getting pretty psyched.  I just need to survive the last week of paperwork, farewells, and logistics...