Gringo of the Week !

by Patrick Dugan

Mark Sanford was, a few months ago, a potential contender for the Republican presidential candidate in 2012, thought now it looks like that role will fall to Ron Paul. Sanford knows how to get the most out of his vacation time, he recently took off to get-up with his Argentina liason, one Maria Belen Chapur. Mr. Sanford, you could not have picked a better city and nationality of woman with which to ruin your career and marriage. This is one politician that knows the meaning of Argenhot, and if you´re not convinced here´s a racy e-mail he wrote:

"You have a particular grace and calm that I adore. You have a level of sophistication that so fitting with your beauty. I could digress and say that you have the ability to give magnificent gentle kisses, or that I love your tan lines or that I love the curve of your hips, the erotic beauty of you holding yourself (or two magnificent parts of yourself) in the faded glow of the night's light - but hey, that would be going into sexual details ..."

If you are into conspiracies you may enjoy Cryptogon´s take on the issue, suggesting that Sanford was tagged and played, his personal desires being used as a chip for some political reason that we can only guess at. I had to do something to take this above gossip rag level.

Apetito por el Arte

por Antonia Cossia

El nombre de la exposición ya dice mucho de lo que el visitante puede encontrar. En “La mesa está servida”, los artistas plásticos Milo Lockett, Felipe Giménez y el dibujante Miguel Rep exponen no sólo sus obras, sino también el modo en que trabajan.

Durante las dos semanas previas a que abriera la exposición, Lockett, Giménez y Rep trabajaron en sus dibujos, instalaciones y pinturas en una sala del Centro Cultural Recoleta, en el barrio homónimo de la Ciudad de Buenos Aires. “Estamos abriendo la cocina”, contó el artista marplatense Felipe Giménez.

A diferencia de otras muestras, la dinámica inicial que Giménez aplicó en “La mesa…” consistió en pedirle al público su aporte: las frases que más recordaran de sus madres o padres. Aquellas palabras que los hubieran marcado, acompañado o inspirado.

“Traté de que fuera una frase que fuera lo suficientemente conmocionante”, arriesgó Giménez. El resultado fueron dos sendos murales cargados de frases, desde el imperativo “Abrigáte” hasta el refrán “A Dios rezando y con el mazo dando”.

“La idea era que yo escribiera la frase, o sea, yo soy el que hace la obra, pero con las ideas de los otros. Es mi mano lo que está sobre la obra, pero son las ideas las que me hacen escribir la obra”, explicó Giménez.

Durante las dos semanas previas a la inauguración de la exposición, cualquier visitante del CCR podía participar, ya que en ese tiempo se buscó “romper un poco la frontera” entre espectador y artista.

El resultado fue la obra “Lo que me dijo mi madre, lo que me dijo mi padre” y además, la “Éstos son los hijos de estos padres”, donde los participantes de la experiencia ponían su nombre a una de las figuras de un tercer cuadro.

“Hacer estas obras era que grotescamente se vea que la obra a uno le viene del otro, y que la gente también aprecie eso. Que ellos forman parte de la obra que uno hace”, expresó Giménez, mientras seguía trazando a mano alzada un dibujo.

Por casualidad, justo en la última semana de la “cocina abierta”, se realizó el segundo festival Ciudad Emergente en el mismo Centro, con participaciones de bandas, DJ, artistas gráficos, puestos con publicaciones y autores independientes.

El público que acudió a la muestra, organizada por el Gobierno de la ciudad, se encontró con dos silenciosos artistas sentados en una mesa de tablón, dibujando sus nuevas obras.

Eran Giménez y Lockett, dispuestos a charlar con ellos, y a demostrarles que en el taller de un artista, simplemente “no hay secretos”. Ahora, la mesa está servida, y los murales, junto a las instalaciones de Lockett y el aporte de Rep, serán exhibidas en el Centro Cultural Recoleta hasta el 12 de julio.

Buen Apetito.

Argenhot of the Week !

Just to prove that God isn't fair to the rest of us, this week's A-hot de la Semana is last week's (Agustina) lil' sister, Emilia. Imagine pool parties at that house??? Mr. and Mrs. Attias, I salute you. You know the funny thing is that there's still one more sister to go, and a 19-year-old brother, who I'm sure is the most popular kid in class and has no problem filling the house for those weekend Asados in Belgrano. Argggg, hotness ruining my writing being even remotely interesting. Just, just, enjoy the Attias family genes. I'll get back to you later....No boobie pics for this one. She's too Cheta :) Gringo. Out.

The Do's and Don'ts to Dating in Argentina

There are many ways to start a blog post, especially when it's about something you're passionate about. However, on the topic of dating in Argentina, I think the best way to do it is with an anecdote. True story.

It was around 8:30 AM on May 17th, 2009, and I had just been dumped and kicked out of my girlfriend's house after a record-setting short stay of 2 nights, and with no real explanation as to why. Confused, homeless, and heartbroken I went to go crash at a youth hostel that I had worked at some months earlier. As I sat at the wobbly, green lacker-covered table in the briskly chilly empty living room, I could barely keep it together. With my head slumped in a mix of confusion, rage, and "what the fuck now" thoughts, I barely noticed the room, the guests, or even the fact that I was wearing gym shorts in 40 degree temps.

At that moment, my friend Bob, and American who's been living in Argentina for around 6 years stopped mid-track on his way to the coffee machine and tapped me on the shoulder. "Girl trouble," he said, as if my look were a beacon of obviousness. "Argentine?," he followed. "Yup," I glumly replied. "What was it? Psychological breakdown? Ex-boyfriend fucking with her head?", he said. "Both" I replied. "Ahhh, that's nothing dude", said the svelte Nebraskan as he poured his coffee and shot me a grin, "this is Argentina, what did you expect? Now grab a cup coffee and perk up man, it's fucking Monday".

And that, in a nutshell, was the single best piece of advice I ever received on the psychological, rollercoaster-esque mind fuck that is dating in Buenos Aires. Period. The simple truth is that in a city teaming with passion, energy, anger, sadness, and beauty, nothing in the world of dating and relationships is easy. And I mean, NOTHING. The beauty of it, however, is that in an eerie way, you don't feel so bad because everyone goes through it.

In fact, until you've felt the deep love, unbridled lust, tragedy, deceit, anger, and confusion of this dating world, you truly haven't lived as a Porteño. To clarify in more specific terms, here's a list of "do's" and "don'ts" that will give you a rough guide on what to expect in your quest to find your one and only Argenhot lover, or at least get you laid a whole bunch:

(Note: I am referring to women because as a heterosexual man, that's who I date. Deal with it. And if you find it sexist, go fuck yourself. Don't read it.)

Do's and Don'ts

Do: Be aggressive when you meet an Argenhot for the first time. And I don't mean in the physically pushy or creepy way. Argenhots have an immensely powerful douche radar, and your half-hearted attempts of a little grab ass or an inappropriate comment will be met with either a harsh "no" or a swift taste of open-palmed justice. Trust me, you want neither. The trick is to be honest, confident, and charming.

If you're in a bar, buy her a drink, talk for 5 minutes, end with a compliment, and then let her get back to her friends. This shows you are interested but not desperate. Find her 15 minutes later and ask her how her night's going. Argenhots love attention, but hate being smothered. Also, if she smiles and asks you questions, compliments you in any way, or asks you to dance, you're in. Just roll with the flow and act like you knew this would happen all along.

Girls here are blunt if they aren't interested. Lean in for a kiss on the fist song after your return. Don't pussy around. This will work 90% of the time. Seriously. Then get the digits, tell her she's a good dancer (even if it's not true), and tell her you have to go. Unless she's really sending you sex vibes, don't invite her home yet. She'll feel a better sense of self worth, and the Argina will come in spades at a later date as a result of it. Trust me.

Don't: Be that guy. Buenos Aires has one of the highest douche to non-douche ratios of single men in the world. Like I said before, the women here are very in touch with this. It's also a major reason for their irrational emotional outbursts and short-term bouts with psychosis. By age 30, your typical Argenhot has weathered a pretty heavy storm of mental abuse, infidelity, feelings of physical insecurity, and worries about the future. That's some heavy shit, so be gentle. Or better yet, BE DIFFERENT ! Whistling, cat calls, ass pinching, and inappropriate suggestions are not only douchey, they're amateur, and every other ass in the city is doing it. It gets you nowhere.

Do: All the things your mother should have taught you in regards to traditional chivalry. Be a fucking gentleman, or try your best to do what you think a gentleman would do, even in the smallest of situations. Machismo is a big thing down here, and the sad thing is that men are still looked on by many from both sexes as the dominant party, or the protector. A douche uses this cultural norm to dominate or control a woman into doing whatever he wants. A gentleman uses this to show a woman that he is reliable, strong, and cares about her over himself. It's not rocket science.

Hold the door open when you enter a building or get into a cab, and let her in first. Also, speaking of cabs, use one when you go out on a date. "Let's take the bus", comes off as lame as it sounds, and shows that you don't even care enough to break your daily routine for her. If you're broke, cook for her or find something cheap, funky, and local, as to avoid the bus situation. In fact, do that even if you have Cristina Kirchner money. Once again, it shows you give a shit.

Pay for things that you invite her to. Don't fall into the trap of being Mr. Open Wallet, because Argenhots have a keen sense of how to take advantage of this. Learn how to be slick with it. Most likely, if they're in their 20's, your Argenhot lives with her family, is studying, and really doesn't have the cash to do the things they want to. Spoil her within your means, be creative, and take her out at least once a week to something she's never done before.

Think this is tough? Nope. Not in a city where 85% of the restaurants have the same menu, Brazilian music is considered "exotic", and clothing comes in 3 sizes. Be different, dick! Use the ol' google to find that percentage of the city that is over-the-rainbow different and unique. It's out there, you just need the stones to go look for it.

Don't: Tell them their friends are hot (and most likely they are). Instead, constantly tell them they are a "beautiful person", and not "you have a great ass" (they most likely do). Argenhots want to feel REAL, and want to be appreciated for who they are. The city is filled with a virtual army of hotness, so keep the "man her tits are great" conversations for you and your buddies when she's not around.

Also, when you're dating, IMMEDIATELY introduce them to all of your Platonic female friends. Argenhots are very competitive, and will constantly expect you to be cheating on them. They'll still be jealous and vindictive at the mere fact that you have ANY females friends to begin with, but at least they'll appreciate the gesture.

DO NOT show them pictures, or discuss any irrelevant info about any of your ex's either. They will automatically become insecure, jealous, and angry. Plus, they'll give it back to you 10-fold when they show you the pics of some shirtless soccer player who used to long-dick them back in the slutty days and still facebooks them from time to time. You chose to date an Argenhot, so now she's the center of your world. PERIOD.

Do: Play the gringo card whenever possible. "What's a gringo?" you say. Down here it's simple. If you are from anywhere outside of Latin America, Africa, or Asia, you are. It basically means white-skinned foreigner. But in most cases it's referring to English speakers from countries with much stronger currencies and a distinctly different way of life. Argenhots LOVE gringos, whether they admit it or not. Mostly because we're different, foreign, and they think our accent's cute.

On the accent tip, there is one key rule to follow: LEARN FUCKING SPANISH ! They love your silly gringo accent, how you can't roll your R's, and how most of the past tenses confuse the shit out of you. That being said, if you can't communicate on even a basic level, they will lose interest quickly. True, some girls will speak a decent amount of English. But these are the girls that have traveled, studied in private schools, or actually lived in a gringo country. To them, you're old news, and unless you're super rich, they pretty much could care less.

Put a little effort in to it and don't be scared. You may sound like the gringo version of Fez from that 70's show, but believe it or not they think it's cute. I have no idea why, but I don't question it. Also, lingual fumblings and flirting go better together than peanuts and beer, so ham it up a bit, it's fun.

WARNING to FELLOW GRINGOS: Do not commit to bringing a girl back to your home country, permanently staying in Argentina, or attempting a 6,000 mile long-distance relationship should you good back. This not only can be emotionally devastating to an Argenhot, but it's being dishonest with yourself. Save that "oh my God, what happens if we need to switch countries" conversation for at least 2 years into the relationship.

They know going into it that there is a good chance you'll be high-tailing it out of their currency disaster-laden city to greener financial pastures, or to get back to your family and friends. It's a tightrope you have to walk constantly as a gringo, and they know this. Just be careful, and be honest to both her and yourself. You should be cool.

Conclusion

In the end, dating in Argentina is a choice. In my opinion, Argentine women are the most beautiful, crazy, passionate, romantic, and hysterical women on earth. The truth is, I love it. True pleasure always comes with a little pain. Plus they're super hot. Google it. Have fun, and don't take life to seriously. You only have one. Gringo. Out.

Argenhot of the Week !

This week's hot of Argen-nature is Agustina Attias. Agustina is from Belgrano, and is the daughter of a famous rugby coach Carlos Attias. Who cares. More importantly, her two sisters Emilia and Maria Barbara are also uber-argenhots, models, and deserve honerable mention as well. Sorry, no boobie shots this week.

The Argencon in a Soy Shell

by Patrick Dugan

The Argentine economy is basically one big call option on soybeans, it expires sometime after the next election. A call option is a bet that the price of something (GMO soy in this case) will increase over a certain level before the option expires. It's an all or nothing bet; if you win you can win big time, but if the thing expires, well, thanks for playing.

All the people you see walking around in suits in downtown Buenos Aires, making their 5k pesos por mes, are probably living off of the exports business or international companies that operate in Argentina because the exporting foundation makes the place seem relatively stable, and thus makes the lower costs sound like a good deal. The meat, wine, fruits and so forth are all great but not enough to keep the foreign money flowing up the Rio de La Plata like so much dirt but in reverse. Soybeans are it, and for a while, soy was a hot commodity. This all changed last Summer, when commodity prices imploded along with everything else, due to enormous amounts of money suddenly no longer being pretended into existence (in finance-speak: "leveraged positions were unwound"). Should have cashed that bet Kirchners.


Bubble Gum

See, while the whole Center-Left, Menem-lite, export driven recovery was happening between 2002 and 2008, with pretty good annual growth in the Argentine economy, the government was happily suckling on those beautiful flows of cash. Nestor Kirchner had himself a sort of slushee flavored with a syrup made from billions of digital dollars and funky accounting rules in the congressional budget. That budget may have looked something like this:

2007 Argentine Federal Budget (All n pesos)

Welfare - $500,000,000

Water Infrastructure - $250,000,000

Army - $1,200,000,000

Roads Maintainence - $50,000,000

Railway - $200,000

Mas o Menos - $3,500,000,000

Not a great budget estimate, but probably more work was done in the past minute typing that than the Argentine congress does in a year. In case you missed it, the Mas o Menos part is like a blank spot on the map, its there, but it doesn't mean anything. Thats the kind of money that pays expenses on trips to Europe, that gets laundered into real estate buys in Villa Angostura, that pays back favors. Its like Looney Toons subtlety in larceny: "mirra aquella!" and then "yoink!" or whatever the Castellano equivalent of that expression is. This is in contrast to the United States where the thieves use advanced mathematics coupled with brilliant PR and slogans like "Quantative Easing" (as in: "easy, easy there... yeah, thats it.")

Paid Politics

For a while everything was great. Jobs were being conjured into existence by contracts with foreign companies and the keystrokes of bankers who seemed pretty cool about the whole corallito thing - you know, in retrospect. Lavagna, the econ guy at the time, juggled price controls to keep poor people feeling rich on steak and wine - its so much easier when their expectations are lower, in some countries they have to engineer huge credit expansions to get people SUVs and PS3s with HDTVs. Meanwhile, the Central Bank played floating-currency-peg chicken with the train of international hot money flows. There was this incident where the Kirchners made a stand about some policy to the global banking cabal and were threatened with a speculative attack, but they bent over and got even drunker on slush funds, like sovereign sorority girls. It was a time of innocence, 2005, when everthing was right. The local agriculture oligarchs were making great commodity and foreign exchange profits at the expense of national inflation, the political oligarchs kept ripping off their piece, the global oligarchs thought everything was bastante neo-liberal, and the welfare checks arrived on time by Argentine standards, mas o menos.

Gran Buenos Aires is driven by a few big sectors: tourism, government, and international companies. Patagonia has fossil fuels and minerals, though these mostly under-tapped due to being in both the middle of nowhere and Argentina. The breadbasket is all ag, mostly GMO soy. The rest of the country? Old money and welfare recipients.

Guess how the old money got to be young at one time? Agriculture and savings made from working for international companies. Guess what the welfare recipients are being payed for? You guessed it, re-electing the Kirchners! After all, they're not working for the government, the government is working for them, giving them the basic living money they deserve, manana. It is a grand pretzel, or perhaps a really twisted empanada, whose absurdity and beauty are at once awe-inspiring and sickening. Kind of like one of those microwaved, month-old empanadas so many restaurants serve over the counter because they don't want to throw it away and take a loss.

In the up years of the decade-long Argentine cycle, the country was kind of like a forward contract, the price goes up, you're worth more, simple, efficient, hold it and let it ride. You could sell and lock in that profit, or you could use your value at the moment as the basis to buy more, because you know there was plenty of borrowing behind the initial position. When you buy with leverage and the thing goes up, you don't have to bother yourself with selling, you can just double up, and why not, you're feeling lucky. The thing is, gravity, karma, probabilistic mean reversion, whatever you want to call it, if you're rolling strong year after year you're probably due for crisis, if only to take you down a peg. Its ok Argentina, most other countries fell into the same trap.

About Last Year...

In the first half of 2008 there was a premature food crisis, money was in the process of zipping all over the globe trying to chase profits, resulting in a series of bubbles (still is). Grains became expensive on paper and lethally expensive for many. Then it happened with oil, then global stock markets. It was on the news, people were getting stressed out. In the second half of 2008 the price of soybeans fell 40%, other grains fell even more. Argentina had its own little crisis-ito to deal with because, unlike its smug neighbor Chile, the Argentines were basically blowing the benefits of the good times. Instead of investing in any long-term infrastructure, like say a revamped rail system, renewable energy manufacturing, a lightened tax load to encourage small business, they spent it on European vacations, welfare and wine subsidies. I can't generalize to all Argentines, but the government fucking blew it, bottom line. So what they'd do when the bill arrived? Scrambled for a solution is what they did. They ended up cannibalizing the pension system, which is currently in process in the States via more subtle means. It bought some time. It´s the Argentine way.

So basically, the Argentine response to the crisis was to cash out the benefits of the last several years, but instead of investing those benefits into something lasting, they double down on the exact same thing. And this time around, the bet is time sensitive. The metaphorical option expiration, in this case, is the government becoming insolvent and no longer being able to maintain the living standards of millions of welfare recipients, which means 2001 all over again.

Better Luck Next Time

Why would anyone make this decision? Picture three archetypical people you're likely to see on the subway: the fourty-something in a suit, the reggeton kid with the rooster hair and the morocha girl with the small nose and the quiet eyes. Imagine a decision making entity that is a blend of all three, you've got the desperate climb toward comparative wealth, the casual fuck-all attitude and the alternatively sensible and reactive temperament. Then put this decision maker in charge of a $600 billion dollar fund with the incentive to make a bunch of money off of that fund and no real repercussions for failure. Hit me with that call option on soybeans.

What's really cool about Argentina is that it manages to not only swing between extremes but also defy probability in how it manages to spectacularly fumble and also how it happens to resurrect from the rubble. This time around, the most likely scenario that can be predicted based on available information is the China rescue, though to be fair about half of Latin America, most of Africa and all of Oceania is banking on that too. China is a whole other post, or five, but basically they've got the plata and they've got a lot of hungry people with not enough land or water to feed them. The swap line between the People's Bank and the Banco Central is a promising signal, allowing the country to tap a credit line of about 60 billion Yuan Renminbi, which would be worth even more if the Yuan starts appreciating as a reserve currency. Maybe China will start buying up soy futures, along with most other commodities, on the open markets, and that'll prop up the prices and make Argentina solvent again, in which case they'll elect a new populist cum criminal who'll keep repeating past mistakes. And the wine will keep getting better.

Argenhot of the Week !

This week's fresh scoop of Argenhotness is none other than Mariquena Cornejo. She's 20-years-old, and from Rosario, Argentina. Yeah, just like Justine last week. Big up Rosarinas. They're roomered to have the hottest women on the planet, but I think it's just hype. Although, 2 weeks in a row ain't bad. Oh, and apparently this gem of Argentasticness is the cousin of famous model and vedette, Jesica Cirio. What's a vedette, who the fuck is Cirio, you ask? How should I know, I'm a gringo. Google it. See her boobies here.

Los Pensamientos de Eduardo Nuñez

Admito que, hasta el día de hoy, nunca entendí por completo el fenómeno del blog.


Es más, ante la crisis, la pandemia y la tendencia de alza en los precios de los cigarrillos y la pizza (mí canasta básica), me pareció que lo último que necesitaba el mundo era otro mal informado delirante exponiendo su filosofía de vida por Internet. Vivimos en tiempos de escasez, pero lo único que sobra son las opiniones disparatadas y fotos de borrachas incautas en los innumerables blogs.


Por lo tanto, confundido por la oferta de un amigo de escribir para este blog, acudí a otro amigo que ha mantenido uno por varios años (al igual que una exclusiva relación amorosa con una tal Manuela Palma, condiciones que insiste son completamente irrelacionadas). En defensa del blog, mi amigo me hizo reflexionar sobre un nuevo y vergonzoso pasatiempos que desarrollé hace varios meses cuando me mudé al quinto piso de un antiguo edificio de San Telmo: mis vecinos.


Todo empezó por casualidad. En una noche de insomnio, acostado al lado de esa ventana que durante meses no había podido cerrar por completo, escuché una fiesta de cumpleaños en el 4a. Al ir a la cocina por un vaso de agua, percibí por las cañerías los ecos de una pelea en el 5b y, por las grietas en las paredes del viejo edificio, una reconciliación en el sexto piso. No fue intencional y hasta me sentí culpable esa primera noche, pero admito que la noche siguiente cené completamente en silencio, atendiendo el desenlace de la pelea del día anterior. Aunque nunca me han gustado las telenovelas, esto me parecía diferente.


Como notó mi amigo, lo que hacía interesantes a esos pequeños momentos no era un deseo de conocer o entender las vidas completas de mis vecinos, sino el hecho de participar en unos segundos, fragmentados y siempre al azar, de la intimidad ajena, cada uno como unas cuantas líneas de un blog.


Por ejemplo, ni conozco el apellido de la anciana que vive en el tercer piso, pero sé, gracias a los ductos de calefacción, exactamente que opina acerca de la novia de su hijo (empieza con 'p' y rima con ruta), las últimas iniciativas de la presidenta (ver comentario anterior) y su ex-esposo (hijo de mil 'ver comentarios anteriores'). Mi vecina es una mujer de pocas pero precisas palabras.


Regresando a casa, me di cuenta que todo Buenos Aires parecía proporcionar esos mismos momentos, el anonimato típico de una ciudad grande combinado con la brutal honestidad igualmente típica de los argentinos. La ciudad se mueve a 120 km/hora por la 9 de Julio, pero se detiene repentina y absolutamente durante una conversación en una esquina. Uno se pierde en las multitudes del subte pero se encuentra en el instante obligatorio de sinceridad al descubrir una mano extraña involuntariamente apretada contra su intimidad cuando las puertas se abren para admitir a 20 pasajeros más en un vagón lleno.


Esos momentos de honestidad completamente desvergonzada, producto de y respuesta colectiva de los porteños al anonimato de la megalópolis, le dan a Buenos Aires su carácter pujante y fascinante, su calidad de un enorme blog al que todos contribuyen.


Entendiendo eso, no me queda de otra que contribuir de alguna manera al fenómeno, aunque sea sólo para proclamar en el subte, "vamos todos apretados, pero dejá de tocarme las pelotas"

How to Fail at Business Without Really Trying

Argentines are bad at business. Period. And it's not some socio-political, deeply historical, "you wouldn't understand if you're not from here" bullshit either. It's a combination between a systemic problem based on a lack of faith in a faulty system and plain old laziness. Yes, you have to take decades of hyper-inflation, currency devaluation, military coups, and a grossly corrupt government into account. But that still doesn't account for the moronically simple mistakes made by local businesses on even the smallest types of transactions. I'll explain.

The Competition Conundrum: In Montserrat there is a restaurant called Tio Angel. It's a typical Porteño cafe selling everything from pizza, steak, pasta, and sandwiches, to coffee, booze, sweets, and salads. Tio Angel is a small business, not corporate-owned, and with a low overhead due to its location and small staff. Tio Angel is open, serving food non-stop from 9am 'til 1am. The menu never changes regardless of the hour.

Within a 3 block radius there are approximately 3 other restaurants, not counting the shady Dominican bar which is open from 8am-8pm and pretty much exclusively caters to off-duty whores and curious hostel hippies. Non of these restaurants is open all day. In fact, aside from the whore bar, you have 2 pizza places open from 12pm-2:30pm, and 8pm-11pm. That's right, roughly 5 1/2 hours daily. The staff most likely makes the same as they do in Tio's, the overhead is similar, and the clientele EXACTLY the same.

And here comes the big surprise folks......Tio Angel makes a whole shit-ton more money. Not only that, but to make up for the losses in volume-based revenue, the other restaurants constantly raise their prices. It's not a secret. When you allow your customers the freedom to choose a more convenient time for them to buy your product, you sell more. You can even charge more for the privilege, and people will pay.

Fuck You Gringo: Which is exactly what businesses are telling you when they blatantly up-charge you based on being a gringo, or non-continental foreigner. You can even see it in their eyes when you buy something. "How much for the beer (in obviously broken Spanish)?"...blank stare, blank stare, and then the pitch, "5 pesos?". Then the Argentine behind you buys it for 3, no reaction from the clerk, and likewise no more gringo business for him. So, my man just lost a potential repeat customer for a one-time gain of 2 pesos. Also, gringos know other gringos, which means he probably just lost 20 customers. But hey, enjoy your fucking 2 pesos.

You see, as much as we look like loud, bumbling, walking ATMs, we're not as dumb as you think. Sure, most gringos think in Dollars, Pounds, and Euros, but we still have a city of 14 million people vying for our business. Which means, if you fuck me over, I'll just move on to the next place who will sell to me fairly, tell all my friends about it, and skyrocket their bottom line. You don't need to go to Wharton to figure that shit out.

Here Today, Gone Tomorrow: This one has a lot to do with almost a century of economic instability. Still, it's annoying as fuck, and not completely necessary. Many Argentine businesses have a seriously hard time coping with profit gains and long-term success potential....What did he just say? Ok. I'll let that sink in. Ready?

When a small business in Argentina shows a bit of life and potential, people go into a panic and start making rash decisions. In other words, unexpected success scares them because they assume that it's either a fluke, or that it won't last. Their solution: grab as much cash as you can quickly by raising prices, slashing salaries, and then sit back and wait for the eventual crash. What this really does is sour any good will you had with your budding clientele, inspire your staff to steal, and destroy your small business.

It's like getting a wink and a smile from a sexy girl in a bar, and instead of chatting, getting her digits, or asking her out to dinner, you pinch her ass and try to drop a finger in her. What does that leave you with? A black eye and a wet finger. Boo-hoo. Sucks, when you could have had weeks, if not years with a potentially amazing woman. It's the same in business. Build on your success potential by understanding the nature of your smaller successes. The few businesses here that do that are vastly successful, and have even weathered some of the toughest times and crisis' in the country.


In conclusion, from what I've seen in my time spent here, the basic Argentine business model goes like this:

-Copy idea of some other moderately successful local business.

-Underpay your employees, assume they will steal because of this.

-Spend the excess money dressing your place up with huge glass facades and tacky signs, much like an airport lobby.

-Convert your pesos to dollars, and further drive up inflation, which also drives up your prices.

-Don't have price tags. Just make shit up as you go along.

-Pay off the cops.

-Blame your eventual failure on either Cristina Kirchner, the weather, or the 2001 economic crisis.

Happy Friday Motherfuckers.
Gringo. Out.

Argenhot of the Week: Justine Fuster

Ole, ole, ole !!! Justine Fuster just kicked her way to the top of the A-hot list. This 18-year-old stunner hails from the lovely city of Rosario, around 3 hours northwest of Buenos Aires. Besides her obvious "assets" as a model and promoter, Ms. Fuster is famous for having dated Barcelona striker and Argentine soccer icon, Leo Messi. Though her time with the long-haired goal scorer was brief, she's now kicked her way into the heart of River Plate's Christian Fabbiani. Upgrade? Not likely, but who gives a shit. Let her hot roll all over you, and try not to get caught offsides...you feel me? Oh, and see her boobies here.

Vida de Porteños: Eso no es (cualquier) Vida

por Antonia Cossio.

Éste es el primero de los pequeños secretos, leyendas urbanas y las verdades del fantasma de un cronista meditabundo y aburrido que deambula todavía por las callecitas y los bulevares de la ciudad.

Puerto acaparador y capital federal del país, Buenos Aires es dueña de un folklore propio, con trovadores y artistas que aman su ciudad, con todo y la humedad, la roña del riachuelo o los embotellamientos en “la city”, el centro financiero.

El gentilicio de Buenos Aires no es bonaerense, ya que éste término corresponde a los habitantes de la provincia que lleva el mismo nombre. El nombre correcto para un habitante de la Ciudad Autónoma de Buenos Aires es “porteño”.

A veces pareciera que el porteño habla su propio idioma. Como ayuda para el extranjero, el escritor y periodista Roberto Arlt se tomó el trabajo de descifrar el código propio de Buenos Aires: el lunfardo.

Hijo de un prusiano y una italiana llegados a fines del siglo XIX, Arlt emprendió un camino desde el barrio donde nació, llamado Flores, hasta llegar a conocer toda la ciudad. Las anécdotas de ese transitar meditabundo quedaron plasmadas en sus libros “Aguafuertes porteñas”.

En una de esas aguafuertes, Arlt ensalza con esmero “el benemérito ‘fiacún’”, el término que todo porteño tuerce y destuerce para decir “tengo fiaca” (o sea, “no tengo ganas de realizar tarea alguna”), o “hacer fiaca” (o sea, echarse a descansar y a ver pasar el tiempo muerto).

Arlt explica concienzudamente que la “fiaca” es un término del dialecto de la ciudad italiana de Génova. En realidad, la fiaca es “el desgano físico originado por la falta de alimentación momentánea”, o sea, estar demasiado débil por el hambre como para trabajar y ganarse el pan.

Inicialmente empleado por los inmigrantes genoveses del barrio de La Boca (donde se encuentra Caminito). La mayoría de estos inmigrantes, explica Arlt, eran panaderos y la palabra “cruzó la tierra nativa, es decir, La Boca y fue desparramándose con los repartos por todos los barrios”, según su aguafuerte.

El cronista explica que no es lo mismo ser un “fiacún” (sufrir la fiaca), que elegir no trabajar (hacer fiaca) o no querer hacer algo, (que es tener fiaca o pereza). Así, uno puede notar que no es lo mismo “ser fiaca, o fiacún” que “ser vago”, o sea, un perezoso.

Por decisión del autor, algunas palabras quedaron afuera de la breve aguardiente. Por ejemplo, la palabra “chamuyar”, que significa “hacer el cuento”, o confundir con el discurso cuando no se tiene algo (bueno ni malo) para decir.

Cuidado de no confundir con un “bolazo”, ya que eso sería un chamuyo evidentemente débil, falaz y poco creíble, un “cuento del tío” (una mentira) que “se cae de maduro” (es obvio) que no es honesto.

Puede que el porteño sea visto por el resto de los argentinos como un “bicho raro”, un ser particular, orgulloso, altanero y neurótico. Tienen razón, pero no es más particular que un habitante renueva York, Londres o Roma, aunque sumido en el fin del mundo.

El resto es folklore local. Colores que pintan las calles de Buenos Aires, que tiñen las banderas en la cancha de fútbol y que decoran los paredones de los potreros, los terrenos en desuso donde los pibes, los chicos, se juntan a jugar a la pelota.