Oil and Water

We're on a giant boat to Uruguay. Crossing mouth of the Rio de la Plata. It is said to take about 3 hours. Thankfully I have my newly purchased pipa antigua. The water is brown and looks pretty silty. Out of the wind, at the back of the ferry, we're discussing Buenos Aires.  As we watch the boat's oil leak and burble to the surface about 50 feet behind the boat, we notice that the water is not as brown as we thought. With the pudding-brown oil bubbles, the water actually seems a little more green in color. These basketball-sized orbs are bursting through the water's surface along the right wake at a rate of 4 per second. They expand to about 10ft in diameter before they join into the continual oil slick which looks to be about 50 feet in width and will no doubt span the river.

Why do I tell you this? For the countless metaphors of course!

Diego, the owner of our hostel in Buenos Aires is a very generous and helpful man. He would no doubt say these oil balls are a clear depiction of the American government and the water would be the American people. Or perhaps even the world. How do I know he would say this? Well, as he was showing us a map and drawing on it a good little walking tour of museums, green spaces, and cafes, he let slip, "I've lived in America and I've found the people to be the nicest folks in the world. That is not a lie, they are kindest and sweetest people I've ever met. However, they are incredibly uninformed and I believe brain-washed by the government. You see, the American government is the cancer of the world... no offense." We gave him the wide-eyed, head-tilted, open-mouthed smile and said, "Oh of course, none taken." We're much too uninformed and kind and sweet to agree with or contradict this statement so we just kept up with the smiling until he pointed out another museum on the map.

As we were leaving the hostel a few days later, we were trying to cut weight in our bags and I came across my copy of Allan Bloom's The Closing of the American Mind. I was hoping to re-read it on this trip, but thought it would better serve as a gift for Diego. He was very grateful and excited to read it. Perhaps it will give him a more robust argument against America... one which will span our parasitic education system and art culture as well. And he'll need that ammo, because we all know that once Herman Cain gets elected our government will become the envy of the world.

So, after this, we'd been in B.A. a few days and we know the ropes. Ropes like calling Buenos Aires, "B.A." And ropes like if your on a city bus and an old lady comes on in a wheelchair, you by no means give up your standing-room-only spot. Anyway, we'd been roaming some of the "rougher," less-touristy neighborhoods and we came across a poster for a Led Zeppelin cover band at a place called The Cavern. Images of the bar in From Dusk Till Dawn sprang to mind and being that we're hopped up on blood sausage we decide we must go. It turned out to be on the same night as this all-night block party celebrating reading and authors. They'd closed down one of the main streets for about a mile and there were literally thousands of people out. The concert was scheduled to start at midnight so we hung out at the reading party until it began. It was interesting to be there, however we still don't understand why it was so insanely packed with people. Nobody seemed to listen to the readings or buy any books... I suppose it was just another good excuse to go drink in public.

Anyway, at 12:30 we start making our way to The Cavern. We see a massive crowd milling around of a small door in between two run-down buildings. We pass through multiple steel gates with police and security everywhere. All of this was building our expectations to unattainable heights and we were getting very nervously excited. We posed questions to each other like, "what's the moshing protocol in Argentina?" And, "will they catch us when we stage dive?"

Well, we got through security and saw a strange sight. A lush, well lit courtyard with high-end shops. It was though this entire block in the ghetto was hollowed out and surrounded with fake, rough-looking projects and behind them was this huge, gringo tourist trap equipped with German pubs, Irish pubs, designer clothing stores. Amidst this nonsense we find The Cavern, which on normal nights is actually a Beatles-themed dinner theater. What?? Yeah.

We should have been tipped off that it was a theme park for people in their 60's (no offense Mom) with the bar's name being in English... or the massive security presence... but we just couldn't imagine we weren't throwing caution to the wind. We went in anyway and of course it was awful. As a rule, English-as-a-second-language Led Zeppelin must suck, but these guys weren't even trying. They were dressed like members of Metallica and the lead singer had hair like Keith Urban. The drummer was incredibly drunk and at one point they had to stop mid-song so he could offer water to the crowd? We were all nicely seated and politely listening, with all the water and beer we could ever want.

Needless to say, Tara and I spent an hour laughing hysterically and making fun of everything. We were about to leave early, when they announced it was their last song. One hour. Whoa Nelly! We know rock-n-roll is dead, but in Argentina I doubt it had ever lived. But don't judge them by this. After all, these people invented Tango and silicone butt-implants.

Anyway, in theme with the leaking-oil metaphor, you've got this tourist mall breaking it's whitehead through the working class (and/or non-working class) neighborhood's skin. One hopes the acne will not burst open and spread and join the flow of the others... but alas, there's a McDonald's... and there's a T.G.I. Friday's... and soon it will be one conjoined oil slick stretching from Alaska to Ushuaia.