"Winter, Spring, Fall, and Hell"

The above is a common joke Argentineans will use to describe their summers. I laughed at first, but I'm not laughing anymore! Why? This last November was the hottest recorded November in Argentina's history. My friends, that's hot! Really, really hot! To give those of you who live in the Northern hemisphere a better picture, it's like having July or August temperatures in the month of May. The worst was a blistering seven-day tyranny of 100+ degree weather. The rest of the month was around a shady 92 degrees. November, I shake my fist at you.

This past month I've become acquainted with the terror of never being able to run away from your own sweat. Showers were a false sense of security. I would dry off and cheer hallelujah for five minutes, but for five minutes only. Soon the little beads of water would begin popping out on my forehead. Let me offer an illustration. It's like one of those cartoons where the guy will notice a hole in a wall with water spouting through it. He inwardly vows to correct all wrong by sticking his finger into the hole. No sooner has he done just that, the second spout of defiance shoots out. This continues until all ten fingers are stretched inhumanely across the wall. This same agony lead me to a great discovery: the joys of the swimming pool. The UAP happens to have a great outdoor pool that stays reasonably cool. Beach bum I was not. I was a pool bum. I still am a pool bum. And I have the tan to prove it.

The ACA program really does a great job of spoiling us. One of the things they do is lend out fans when the weather heats up. I'm sure this is a favorite time for the locals to get together and laugh about how lame all the Americans are--especially when they see us lugging our fans around as a desperate attempt to keep our burnt skin cool. In regards to my own sunburns, I try and tell them that my ancestors were Vikings, and that also my Celtic brothers danced around the snowy highlands in kilts in weather most locals would find foreign. Unfortunately, Vikings and Celts have never been subjects quite as popular as soccer and well...more soccer, for that matter, they don't really get my comeback.

My first fan was a good one. It was big, with big rotaries, a lot like the one I have back at home. But unfortunately it was also old. Nilde wished me luck that it wouldn't break as I checked it out. I knowingly reassured her that Brendan's fan could never break in a million years. Well, it did. About a few days later during one night, I awoke to a loud pop accompanied with brilliant white and blue sparks. My first impression was fireworks but then I remembered the fan. I climbed out of my three-story bunk and inspected the damage. It was deader than a doornail. After a sound "dammit" I climbed back up the tower (I'm sending pictures soon) and into my bed.

The next day I woke up hot. I had only one goal for the day: to get a new fan. That morning I got lucky. A new shipment of fans had arrived the day before so there were brand new ones available. After my morning classes I walked out of the ACA building with my pride and joy. A sleek new piece of plastic that could whir and sing and that I swear came from Sam Walton himself God rest his soul. My roommates were loving me by now. I wasn't a lame American anymore. They'd probably planned it all along. "Yeah, we'll ask for an ACA student to be our roommate--and then get the fan!" I perched my trophy precariously on my window ledge, leaving the heavy end to teeter against the screen. The fresh air could breeze in all night long! It also could combat my roommate’s halitosis. Double Kill! Triumph was mine for killing two birds with one stone.

However that night tragedy struck. A Brazilian wind came up out of nowhere. At about 2:00 AM, my fan blew off the window ledge, hit my desk, and then fell to the floor. When it hit the ground, it became alive. Gerson bolted up out of bed and screamed. I think Jeiel hid under the blankets and cried. I don't know what happened actually, it all happened so fast. In a state between excitement and disorientation, I stumbled out of my third story window in a drunken stupor and climbed down the fire escape to the havoc below. My fan was running around in circles. It was actually running around the room in circles! I convinced myself that something this evil could never come from Sam Walton, or any of the other Walton Dynasty for that matter (some of you may beg to differ). I leaped for the plug, suffering but a few scratches. The fan became lifeless. Only my heavy breathing could be heard. I inspected the plastic demon and found one of the rotaries to be ripped off and stuck in the skeleton frame. This enabled the fan to emit sounds only capable by harpies. This time a lot more than "dammit" came out of my mouth. In a fiery rage, I climbed up The Empire State Building (feeling somewhat like King Kong) and flopped myself back onto my bed, howling woes and curses into my pillow. My roommates’ excited Spanish didn't even phase me. I was defeated. I went back to bed that night with beads of sweat popping out all over my forehead.

I saw the rest of November without a fan.

Now it's December. I have a third (and final) fan. Apparently ACA doesn't want to keep lending me fans with my luck. I'd have to describe my third fan as a combination of the first two. It probably does a better job reminding me of the grief my first two fans put me through than actually keeping me cool. Not wanting anything elaborate this time, I carefully placed the fan on my desk. When I plugged it in, I didn't even turn it on. Why you might ask? Because that day it was raining, and I was actually cold. So November really did turn out to be the hottest November of my life. And I did it all without a fan.