Here’s a street in my neighborhood from last night. Most of them were much more crowded:

So I finally start Spanish school tomorrow. I’m excited for that. I have a feeling that I’m going to be the dumbest one there, which won’t be too fun, but at least I’ll be able to start saying things that mean sense. And maybe I can learn how to say “speak more slowly, please.” In Spanish, I mean.

I went running just now, and it didn’t feel too bad. I took it pretty easy, and the only slightly miserable part was that I had various fluids running down my face most of the time. Tears, oddly, were the biggest culprit. I’ve had watery eyes since I got here, and the catarro (thanks dad) hasn’t helped much. Jeez, I complain a lot. I was actually happy to run and it helped clear me up a bit. Good for the old morale, too, although I really need to get healthy and start running in earnest if I’m actually going to do this marathon.

Last night I was walking around my neighborhood (which is, in fact, great, and, quaint, and dirty, and a little touristy), and another crazy Latin drum band came through. They make their way down these tiny little streets and the sounds they make are, well, pretty fantastic. Do you ever hear African drum music on the Putumayo (WASP alert) sampler and think, “Damn, this is what music is really supposed to be like, just rhythm”? Well, let me tell you. The Portenos have the entire continent of Africa beat. So to speak.

And Maribel told me that you don’t say buenos noches in Buenos Aires after dark, you have to wait a bit later, at least until after 8. That’s when nighttime really begins. And I’m usually going home. Waaht-waaa.