I Won't Apologize

For buying new sandals when it's 45 degrees outside and raining. Miami, here I come.

For being called a heartbreaker. Or acting like one.

For kicking it old school.

For never taking my new immersion blender out of the box. I'll do it this weekend. I swear. 

For knowing all the words to Oops I Did It Again.  What did Britney do again? She played with your heart.

For thinking that Texts From Hillary is pretty much the best thing ever. I salute you, Madam Secretary.

For being oh so excited to make homemade pizza tomorrow. And for planning my day around making the dough.

Arguing with the British

For the most part, we spend our time drinking coffee at La Biela, wandering through the barrios, and eating late dinners at parrillas (restaurants serving grilled meat). It's dreamy and warm and life is extremely good in Recoleta.

But the political undercurrents of this place do break into our consciousness. President Kirchner has again made the claim that the Falkland Islands should be returned to Argentina. My first reaction is "Good luck with that" but I guess that every Argentinian president must give it a try, at least to maintain popular support if for no other reason.

One evening, as we hurtle through the streets in a taxi, we see a large group of noisy and emotional demonstrators -- The cab driver believes that the crowd is marching to the British Embassy.

At the U2 concert in La Plata on Sunday evening, Bono takes a break between songs to rhapsodize about the similarities between the Irish and the Argentine. He says, "When we are not arguing with God, we argue with the British." I look around, waiting for the reaction. There's a moment pause as the translators hurry and then flash up the Spanish on the Jumbotron. And then -- the crowd cheers and claps.