Really? Again?

For those of you who read my European entry on Octoberfest, you, like me, would be wondering how someone could possibly ever pull such a feat, much less repeat it. For those of you who haven't read said entry, I'd highly recommend it (see Beta blog v1.0).

My friend Tom arrived on Friday morning for a short five night stay, but I'm getting ahead of myself. The real beginning to this story goes back two weeks to when my parents were here. I took my folks out to a local brew pub, one of the few that actually makes good beer, to have a pint. On the table I noticed promos for a Oktoberfest celebration they were having the following week (Oct 23-25). With a slight longing for days of yore and phantom pains from my liver at the mere mention of said event, the promise of german food, beer, and music was too much to pass up. Before realizing what I was getting myself into I sent out an email to prepare the crew... this was going to be a big night. As Friday the 24th would be my buddy's first day, and Patrick's (my roommate) buddies last night, all we had to do was wait.

I actually ended up meeting a friend of a friend there for a pint. He was new to Argentina and i figured I'd let him in on one of the better bars, as well as scope out the scene. Much to my surprise, they were having chugging contests, my achilles heel. They were mid-contest when I arrived so all I could do was watch as argentines slowly drank and spilled beer in a terribly public manner. The mere idea of the winner that evening drinking his beer in eight seconds and spilling a quarter of it got my competitive juices flowing. I befriended the bartender and made sure I would end up competing the next evening.

Fast forward to friday evening. We arrive at the bar at 10pm as that's when the "fondo blanco" is supposed to start. Silly me for believing it would occur on time. Perhaps it was nervous energy, or excitement for Tom being in town, but I managed to be well on my way with more than a few beers and a shot of whiskey by the time the contest actually started. Two fields of 6 in the male competition and one field of six women, the winners meet for the final. Round 1: I lost. Though, as it turns out, the winner just poured his entire beer on his shirt. My entourage pointed this out with various gestures and curses in english and spanish and I made my way into the finals. The finals, of course, happened about two hours after the first round, which was the exact amount of time I needed to repeat my previous drinking mistakes. Round 2: the championship round, I won. And what did I win? ANOTHER BEER! They gave me a mug to and allowed me to choose what type I wanted. Dazed and disoriented, I just pointed to the nearest keg. Pictures actually tell this story better than words, thanks to Katie for snapping some:

OCKTOBERFEST
The beginning

the end of the contest. You'll notice a little spill on my shirt, which the other competitor had too (as well as some beer left in his glass).


Hilarity actually ensued after said event as my buddy Tom is probably in about the same shape as I. Those who don't know Tom, this guy has the kindest heart in the world and is one of the most un-assuming and un-threatening people you'd ever meet. Tom, the goofy putz that he is, was so excited about being in Argentina he began walking up to every Argentine girl and saying "hola." A little liquid courage may have helped to, but the problem was that Tom only knows five spanish words. Thus, when they replied all he could say was "bonita," shrug his shoulders, and laugh. I'd imagine there were probably about 55 girls at this bar, and Tom probably tried this technique with 49 of them.

As for me, the bartenders invited me behind the bar for some reason. I'm pretty sure it was for some announcement or something quick; however, one of the last things I remember is that I decided to stay behind the bar for at least an hour. Consequently, I don't remember much of the rest of the night and my friends (in better shape than I) don't remember paying for drinks at the end of the night.

me behind the bar, probably telling the bartender how to do his job


I'm starting to see how I ended up in the shape that I was in

me at the end of the night

In related news, I'm reconsidering my position on drinking

Random Thought of the Week
Is change (as in coinage) feminine? This actually all stems from the shortage of coins and their absolute neccesity within Buenos Aires. I can't imagine another day-to-day item more immasculinating than a coin pursue, but am open to suggestions. The more I thought about it, however, the credit I give to this argument. It may be coincidence that the word "peso" (whole monetary unit) is masculine and "moneda" (coinage) is feminine, but I think this phenominom prevades into the US culture too. How many men do you know that carry a change purse? None for me, every guy I know has a change jar or container that he puts whatever was in his pocket in at the end of the day. Women? Most all women seem to have billfolds that also carry change. What necesitates them needed change more than men? Or why can't men have change areas built into their wallets?

Perhaps this discussion isn't brought up and these questions remain unanswered for me due to the fact that their answers really would benefit almost no one.