Do you want to make party?

Are you still with me, are you still following along?

My infrequent blog posts are not due to lack of content - trust me, there is enough material. I could write volumes on the young American students I have met and how they only re-affirm my reasons for taking a break from work. I could dedicate weeks of blogs to just food (and perhaps I will). And I am just not yet prepared to tackle some burning questions, such as why milk is sold in plastic bags here, why every Argentinian woman wears purple as a rule and what in the hell is everyone´s staring problem. I´ll get there. But for now, I´ll stick with what is most relevant...the joys and mysteries of teaching English.

Walking down the street in foreign countries often means people will spontaneously practice their English. The people that shout things out, however, usually have a limited vocabulary. In France, for example, a lady walking down the street can be serenaded by ¨Fuck You.¨ In Peru and Guatemala, you can expect ¨Hello, my friend, my friend!!¨ In Italy, they don´t speak much English, so they just grab your ass. But in Argentina, it´s ¨I loves you!¨ There is a lot of love here, apparently.

With this in mind, I have come to educate the masses on a little language we call English.

I started my TEFL course two weeks ago and have been in the throes of learning grammar, lexis, phonology, and practice teaching to a group of lovely volunteers. The course is intense, a lot of work and exhausting. School is from 9-5, then I usually spend my evenings writing lesson plans and researching grammar points. It´s not as bad as I thought it would be, but teaching is hard.

My first class consisted of teaching the past simple to our advanced class (all men over 40) by means of talking about past relationships gone wrong. Whoop dee do. Try explaining the meaning of ¨to chat up¨(for those Americans out there, that means ¨to hit on¨).

Teaching our beginner class is challenging because you have to think about every word that comes out of your mouth and be prepared to ask a million concept check questions to make sure they understand the difference between ¨I want...¨and ¨I went...¨ which sounds very similar to Argentine ears.

Graded language. Eliciting. Concept check questions. Teacher talk time. Student-centered learning. And don´t even get me started on the schwa /Ə/.

I am not a natural teacher...just because I like to talk to people doesn´t mean I have any idea how to teach future perfect progressive. But the volunteers that come to the school to learn English are amazing and make it a great environment to learn, make mistakes and have fun.

I did a listening activity using Bob Dylan and discussing how music can be revolutionary. Hugo is very adamant that punk music is a load of crap, and Claudio swears that Steve Vai is the best guitarist ever born.

I have two more weeks of classes, and then will be job hunting and interviewing to find a job.

I found an apartment for $300 a month, living with a porteña (a person from Buenos Aires) that plays the bass and teaches music. I will have to do a visa-run every 3 months to Uruguay to get my passport stamped.

And just like that, I am an English teacher. An illegal alien. One more expat in Buenos Aires.

stay tuned...

Everything´s coming up steak

Somehow, I am in heaven.

I arrived in Buenos Aires (BsAs) last Thursday and was met at the airport by Nico, a friend of a friend of a friend. Not only did he pick me up at the airport, but he came armed with my very own sign (since I´d never met him before), chocolates and a sweater (it´s winter in Argentina). He took me to my hostel and out to dinner. I honestly thought I had died and gone to heaven. But then, it just kept getting better. I spent a couple of days exploring BsAs with Lily and Chris (some friends from Guatemala) and consuming massive amounts of cazuelas, empanadas, meat and wine.

But wait, it gets better.

My anfitriona (home stay mom), Maria, picked me up on Sunday and brought me to my new home for the next 6 weeks. I have my own room, with TV, phone and dresser. Right next door is my roommate, Jodie from Australia, whose room has a desk and internet for us both to use. Beautiful, comfortable bed. White, clean sheets. Hot water. Maria is wonderful...very chatty and loves having students in her house.

Maria took me directly to a family asado (barbecue), where I met her sister, neices and nephews, and her son and daughter. Her son, Alexis, lives in London and was only visitng for a few days. Too bad, because he is so good looking I could barely contain myself. Honestly, after seeing my new digs and the promise of argentine meat on the way, I thought I was going to pass out when I saw Alexis. Oh well, plenty more argentinians where he came from.

The rest of the family is really nice...it was like being at home. TONS of meat, I mean mountains of it, and wine. We just sat around chatting, they are really funny and nice. I mostly listened ...still have a ways to go with my Spanish.

Since I arrived, I keep pinching myself because it seems like a dream. Maria makes us breakfast every morning, and every night we come home to wonderful dinners, a bottle of wine always corked and ready to go, and great chats.

Everyday is better than before. Today, I visited the Malba (Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires). I stopped for a coffee and croissant, then visited the Cementerio de la Recoleta. The cementary was like a city for dead people. Streets and alley-ways of mausoleums and tombs. Beautiful, minature buildings. It scared me; I kept picturing all the people crawling out of their tombs at night, and populating their little dead city.

Thus far, Buenos Aires seems like a European city filled with laid-back, but stylish people. Not as snooty and à la mode as Paris and not as crazy as Madrid...somewhere in between.

With a couple of friends already made, some newly purchased boots and Buenos Aires yet to be discovered, I have a good feeling...a very good feeling.