Hello and welcome back.
This blog is ready to begin in seriousness, once again, as I am back in America of South in the country of Argentina.
This means a return to form in many ways, there will be a grand detailing of my adventures and misadventures, boring report of my success, hilarious recounting of my failure. There will be many awkward sentences that are born of a Spanish thought straying into my author´s consciousness and gumming up the flow as I awkwardly latinize words into existence that ought not to exist or throw phrasal verbs into the path of oncoming formal sentence structures, terminating in a little self-reference that hopes to excuse what is otherwise an unforgivable run-on?
But what is different? Will it be different? Or will it be just more of the same DrugstoreGaucho, that dark-hatted figure, silhouetted in the doorway of adventure? The same guy that threw himself to the rapacious lions (first writing, loins) of the gay argentine dance club? That stalwart fellow that walked countless kilometers, trombone in hand, to return and give legend of the night´s travails?
The truth is that it may or may not be. I am still who I am but I´m not who I was. No doubt my battles with public transportation will still hilariously continue, but I am no longer the college junior who happily frittered away his time in Argentina, putting every experience under the language-learning column in his mental budget. I have bathed in the unchartable waters of introspection that lap against the shores of college-land and emerged wet. Very wet. Downright soggy. I know that if I don´t focus my efforts on something that instead I will do nothing. There´s not even a course catalog to help me fill out my schedule anymore. I am both the guy in the desk and at the chalkboard.
Overblown imagery aside, I´m not here to learn Spanish anymore, I´m here to play music and live the dream. Obliterate dichotomy, I couldn´t decide if what I wanted to do was to skip through the world like a good Taoist or make something of myself like a good ambitious twenty two year old, so I´m doing both. I´m here in a foreign land, living a life unknown to some, with strange food and custom (well kind of, anyway) satisfying my itch to see the unfamiliar. But I´m not sitting in a grass hut counting the beetles on my laptop keyboard, I´m in Buenos Fucking Aires. I have one of the greatest city´s in the world at my disposal. If you can make it here, you can probably make it New York!
Here there are the resources I need for any project I undertake. If I write a chart, I can find a studio and the musicians to record it, if I make a comic, there are people to read it. For whatever reason, I´ve fallen in with a wonderfully strange and strangely wonderful group of whackos and creatives who also seem to feel a need to make something worthwhile while living the life bizarre. I feel like this is a good place for me to be right now.
Of course, this is somewhat of an explanation drawn from events that have already happened. I´m not sure if I offered this to the me from a few months ago, the guy twiddling his thumbs in dough, that he would be convinced enough to choose to go to Argentina. But this self is contented in the explanation.
Now this self will find a job and a place to stay so that he can go about being un bicho raro.
This blog is ready to begin in seriousness, once again, as I am back in America of South in the country of Argentina.
This means a return to form in many ways, there will be a grand detailing of my adventures and misadventures, boring report of my success, hilarious recounting of my failure. There will be many awkward sentences that are born of a Spanish thought straying into my author´s consciousness and gumming up the flow as I awkwardly latinize words into existence that ought not to exist or throw phrasal verbs into the path of oncoming formal sentence structures, terminating in a little self-reference that hopes to excuse what is otherwise an unforgivable run-on?
But what is different? Will it be different? Or will it be just more of the same DrugstoreGaucho, that dark-hatted figure, silhouetted in the doorway of adventure? The same guy that threw himself to the rapacious lions (first writing, loins) of the gay argentine dance club? That stalwart fellow that walked countless kilometers, trombone in hand, to return and give legend of the night´s travails?
The truth is that it may or may not be. I am still who I am but I´m not who I was. No doubt my battles with public transportation will still hilariously continue, but I am no longer the college junior who happily frittered away his time in Argentina, putting every experience under the language-learning column in his mental budget. I have bathed in the unchartable waters of introspection that lap against the shores of college-land and emerged wet. Very wet. Downright soggy. I know that if I don´t focus my efforts on something that instead I will do nothing. There´s not even a course catalog to help me fill out my schedule anymore. I am both the guy in the desk and at the chalkboard.
Overblown imagery aside, I´m not here to learn Spanish anymore, I´m here to play music and live the dream. Obliterate dichotomy, I couldn´t decide if what I wanted to do was to skip through the world like a good Taoist or make something of myself like a good ambitious twenty two year old, so I´m doing both. I´m here in a foreign land, living a life unknown to some, with strange food and custom (well kind of, anyway) satisfying my itch to see the unfamiliar. But I´m not sitting in a grass hut counting the beetles on my laptop keyboard, I´m in Buenos Fucking Aires. I have one of the greatest city´s in the world at my disposal. If you can make it here, you can probably make it New York!
Here there are the resources I need for any project I undertake. If I write a chart, I can find a studio and the musicians to record it, if I make a comic, there are people to read it. For whatever reason, I´ve fallen in with a wonderfully strange and strangely wonderful group of whackos and creatives who also seem to feel a need to make something worthwhile while living the life bizarre. I feel like this is a good place for me to be right now.
Of course, this is somewhat of an explanation drawn from events that have already happened. I´m not sure if I offered this to the me from a few months ago, the guy twiddling his thumbs in dough, that he would be convinced enough to choose to go to Argentina. But this self is contented in the explanation.
Now this self will find a job and a place to stay so that he can go about being un bicho raro.
Comments