Hello All,
I KNOW it´s been an age since we last chatted (and when I say chat, I mean me talking at you until you´ve had enough and end up shutting down your computer in a state of pure ire). I will give you a short rundown of things that have taken place, which I will then elaborate on during ¨dry periods¨, or the times when my life is about as exciting as a box full of hair.
To start off, me and my dear friend Julia almost burnt down a restaurant in Mendoza, Argentina. Let´s just say that the garçon was less than impressed with us. But that´s not all that happened: we went on a tour of two very different vineyards, and tasted the fruits of their labors. See what I did there? I made a punny. Oh, I mean a funny. God, sometimes I wonder just how you all can stand the genius that is expressed in this blog. I should have my own The Hills styled television show in which I center my life around well, myself (imagine a flip of long, lucious, golden hair here (because I´d totally get extensions)), going from one coffee shop and sushi bar to the other, gossiping relentlessly and buying myself things. Because people, I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but that´s kinda what I do. I have almost no responsibilities aside from the voluntary act of breathing. I mean digestion is something I don´t even have to think about. . . . . . yeah, I´d say absolutely no responsiblity. My host mother insists upon making my bed every day. If I resist and in an act of rebellion, decide to make it myself, I´ll come home to find that the womand has re-made it.
Aside from our little arson scandal, we went to a beautiful place up in the Argentinian Andes, and bathed in geyser water for about eight hours . It wasn´t half bad. That´s a lie. I´m pretty sure that my soul left my body while I was there to go be one with the mountain faries, leaving me with no conscience, and pretty much nothing to think about on the seven hour bus-ride home. Thanks, spirit. I hope you fall down a rocky cliff into a geyser and then get cooked like a piece of bread in a fondue pot. May I also mention at this juncture that the weekend in whole, including lodging at a fine hostel, food, alcohol, more food and a few more drops of the nectar of the gods, along with the bus tickets- was drummmmmroooollllllll!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
approximately $175.00. You may cry out in jealousy now. May I also mention a quick aside about the ´spa´? I thought that guys in the U.S. were pretty obvious about checking girls out (especially when they are donning their bathing suits). NO, I was sorely mistaken. In Argentina, they do all but smell you and check your joints to see if you´d be good to ¨sire¨ by. Who thought that all those meaningless hours lost to watching dogshows would finally pay off!? Mom, are you paying attention?? There is a method to my madness. And I don´t know the method, I just notice some patterns here and there- at worst, you could call it a weak case of ESP. However, between the stare-downs and kissy noises on the streets of Santiago, and the whispering of ¨rubia, rubia, mija! mi reina!¨ (PS- isn´t it so wierd that they know my name!!??). I don´t know what I´ll do when I come home. I mean, it´s come to be a bit of a thrill. I sometimes want to stop a guy and say, ¨yeah! Aren´t these pants great!? I got them at H&M on sale! I mean, go ahead and guess how much this outfit cost- no, really guess!.....less than $40!¨ Who am I kidding. It´s just nice to hear a ´looking good´once in a while, especially when you´re sweating like a horse because you had to walk all the way home because the metro was crammed with people all the way up to the street level, and your upbringing by Ken Koss wouldn´t allow you to even consider it as an option, and so you walked home in the dark, alone and it took almost two hours.
What else....OOHH! There was a riot! I got to miss school. It was a sweet day. It was also yesterday, actually. Something something about the bus system, then something about neo-liberals, a senator got it in the back of the head by a bobby-stick weilding military policeman, and then there were people protesting for education. I don´t know; I mean I think they may have even been protesting against education. Whatever, I didn´t go because I didn´t want to get beaten up by some guy who looks like the long-lost teenage mutant ninja turtle. They had this armor that went down their arms but it was like little plates stacked on top of eachother- it was funny. Trust me.
Finally, I shall leave you all with a hug and a kiss to every one of you that doesn´t have some kind of a lip-fungus. Lots of love to you!
OOOhhhh! and if you want my cell number, get in touch with my padre, he should have it.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Monday, August 13, 2007
The Case of the Disappearing Ink
Sorry for not having written, I got caught up in the search for classes. I spent most of last week flitting to and from classes without a care in the world. "Folkloric Chilean Dance"? Sounds great! I'll sign up here! Awesome! Then I regret it when I show up to class and realize that all these people can dance the Cueca, oh yes! It's like it's an in-born trait or something. Even that tubby awkward kid is tapping his heels and toes and switching feet like he was Bo Jangles Jackson. Before long, I'm red-faced and sweaty and yet so far from 'getting the hang of it', that I kinda feel like crying. Of course it's at this point that my friend Julia (the sweet pal who I so deceptively talked into coming to class with me) turns to me and between breaths says "We have to take this class! Look at them making fun of us! We're totally going to learn, and then we'll show them!". It's true. All the Chilean kids laugh and point at us. I'm pretty sure they still don't know that we understand Spanish. However, there are some merciful souls who just make pitiful faces while Julia and me jump around the dance studio like we were doing the bunny hop. There- I think I just got it- wait, nope. Next week. Next week we'll be so good. So much more prepared. We can practice! Oh yes, next week will be better.
Today I went to my sociolinguistics class that last week I was lucky enough to have caught with little time to spare. The professor was a lively speaker, filled with all kinds of facts and observations of the language that surrounds us here in Santiago. At the end of class, I went up and introduced myself to him. He was very cordial and assured me that if I had any trouble with the class, that he would do all he could to make sure I thoroughly understood the material. He had after all, studied for several years in Philadelphia- and would even be willing to receive papers written in English, if I found Spanish composition too taxing. I left the class feeling good, thinking: I'm totally going to impress this guy! He won't know what hit him! He's going to give me such a good grade! I am AWESOME! I return to the class today, expecting it to make my Monday when low and behold, I realize there's a totally different professor up there! Not only is it NOT the guy from last week, it would be sufficient to say this man is the worst orator to have ever spoken. He spoke in barely a whisper, which he projected to his own feet. Did I mention that the class is HUGE? Did I mention that I had to sit in the very last row? Did I further mention that the lecture lasted ninety minutes? To make matters worse, his white-board marker had about as much ink in it as he had enthusiasm. I could barely contain giggles of confusion: This guy is out of his tree! He keeps writing on the board, but nothing shows up! Unless everyone is wearing special 3D glasses to see the special disappearing ink, Genius up there is playing pretend with this entire lecture!. I was about ready to throw a fit by the time the guy finished his whisper-fest; the frustration was enough to make me want to tear my clothes and grind my teeth in anguish. Every time I could catch a sentence, I'd write it down. Upon reviewing my notes, most sentences lack important elements. Like verbs. It wasn't cool.
What else, folks? I think my host mom has a secret plan to make me fat because every time she goes to put food on my plate, she says things like: "Oh! This is for the SAH-LY!" Then the lady lops on twice as much food as what any other family member receives. And she keeps us on a strict diet of white bread, mashed potatoes and pasta. Hell, the woman snuck a chocolate bar the size of my head into my lunch the other day. Is it some kind of test? How quickly can the gringa gain 3o lbs? I am easily eating as many calories daily as an Olympic athlete.
Today I went to my sociolinguistics class that last week I was lucky enough to have caught with little time to spare. The professor was a lively speaker, filled with all kinds of facts and observations of the language that surrounds us here in Santiago. At the end of class, I went up and introduced myself to him. He was very cordial and assured me that if I had any trouble with the class, that he would do all he could to make sure I thoroughly understood the material. He had after all, studied for several years in Philadelphia- and would even be willing to receive papers written in English, if I found Spanish composition too taxing. I left the class feeling good, thinking: I'm totally going to impress this guy! He won't know what hit him! He's going to give me such a good grade! I am AWESOME! I return to the class today, expecting it to make my Monday when low and behold, I realize there's a totally different professor up there! Not only is it NOT the guy from last week, it would be sufficient to say this man is the worst orator to have ever spoken. He spoke in barely a whisper, which he projected to his own feet. Did I mention that the class is HUGE? Did I mention that I had to sit in the very last row? Did I further mention that the lecture lasted ninety minutes? To make matters worse, his white-board marker had about as much ink in it as he had enthusiasm. I could barely contain giggles of confusion: This guy is out of his tree! He keeps writing on the board, but nothing shows up! Unless everyone is wearing special 3D glasses to see the special disappearing ink, Genius up there is playing pretend with this entire lecture!. I was about ready to throw a fit by the time the guy finished his whisper-fest; the frustration was enough to make me want to tear my clothes and grind my teeth in anguish. Every time I could catch a sentence, I'd write it down. Upon reviewing my notes, most sentences lack important elements. Like verbs. It wasn't cool.
What else, folks? I think my host mom has a secret plan to make me fat because every time she goes to put food on my plate, she says things like: "Oh! This is for the SAH-LY!" Then the lady lops on twice as much food as what any other family member receives. And she keeps us on a strict diet of white bread, mashed potatoes and pasta. Hell, the woman snuck a chocolate bar the size of my head into my lunch the other day. Is it some kind of test? How quickly can the gringa gain 3o lbs? I am easily eating as many calories daily as an Olympic athlete.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Snow: apparently a really big deal.
It's a red letter day here in Chile. It snowed. That means that the national news hour was absolutely filled with stories of people who said nothing but: "Snow! Cool! I've never seen it falling before!". You'd think that they wouldn't be so taken with the prospect of it falling from the sky when they live at the foot of the snow capped ANDES, that you can see from any part of the city at any time. They joy of the santiaguinos reminds me of that first snowfall in late November, early December and makes you jump-out-of-your-skin excited about winter. Two weeks later, you're ready to jump off a bridge.
However, not everyone is excited about the snow. There was an old lady crying on the evening news tonight because her house is made of adobe, and she's concerned that it won't make it through the snow. If the house is in that bad of shape, a strong breeze could probably do more damage than some frozen water droplets that will melt upon hitting the roof. As an aside: the snow is barely sticking to the ground. I couldn't give it a height, because I could probably count the flakes on the ground. Then the news cuts to a video of people standing around an awning that had apparently fallen "due to the weight of the snow". It wrecked a couple cars. I have a feeling the man who owns that awning must think this is a real blizzard-because that's probably the exact story he'll fill out on his insurance report.
In other news, I went to cinema class today. Don't worry, I think there are twice as many Americans as there are Chileans. And most of the class was conducted in English, thanks to our fancy-pants "I want to show off my English skills, so you will listen!" professor. He would say a few sentences in spanish (slower than normal) and then translate it into English, and delivering it in a tone of voice that you might use with someone who has just obtained a closed-head injury. I was boiling under my skin. First of all, it takes more brain power to formulate a way to get to class then it does to learn a language. The mere fact that we had made it- and on time- should speak for itself. We are f@#$%^ geniuses. I'm surprised he didn't give us a standing ovation when we started filing back into the room after a bathroom break because after all, we did find our way back to class all by ourselves! Enough of that. I think I'm sweating with frustration. Yep, better get out the ole sweatband, because it looks like I am registered for that class, and re-doing that process would take years off of my life.
However, not everyone is excited about the snow. There was an old lady crying on the evening news tonight because her house is made of adobe, and she's concerned that it won't make it through the snow. If the house is in that bad of shape, a strong breeze could probably do more damage than some frozen water droplets that will melt upon hitting the roof. As an aside: the snow is barely sticking to the ground. I couldn't give it a height, because I could probably count the flakes on the ground. Then the news cuts to a video of people standing around an awning that had apparently fallen "due to the weight of the snow". It wrecked a couple cars. I have a feeling the man who owns that awning must think this is a real blizzard-because that's probably the exact story he'll fill out on his insurance report.
In other news, I went to cinema class today. Don't worry, I think there are twice as many Americans as there are Chileans. And most of the class was conducted in English, thanks to our fancy-pants "I want to show off my English skills, so you will listen!" professor. He would say a few sentences in spanish (slower than normal) and then translate it into English, and delivering it in a tone of voice that you might use with someone who has just obtained a closed-head injury. I was boiling under my skin. First of all, it takes more brain power to formulate a way to get to class then it does to learn a language. The mere fact that we had made it- and on time- should speak for itself. We are f@#$%^ geniuses. I'm surprised he didn't give us a standing ovation when we started filing back into the room after a bathroom break because after all, we did find our way back to class all by ourselves! Enough of that. I think I'm sweating with frustration. Yep, better get out the ole sweatband, because it looks like I am registered for that class, and re-doing that process would take years off of my life.
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
I don't even know.
I am currently lying in bed at 8:15pm. I think the Spanish broke me. I started class at 8:30 in the morning, apparently signed up for a dance class, and it took me nearly 3 hours to get home. I rolled my ankle, realized I have a negative sense of rythm, and fell asleep in the front row of my final class. Not happy, people, not happy.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
The Gods Strike Me Down Again.
Let's talk about my real first day of school, aka: the day I actually made it to class. I woke up two hours earlier than necessary to map out a route to campus. I was pretty pleased with myself. So, when I decided to leave 45 minutes before class to walk a generally 15 minute trip- I knew I had it down. About an hour later, I'm nowhere near class. I think I might actually be near the house of a friend? All those road names blur into one when you don't need to use them. So, I stop into a cafe, get directions and speed-walk off to the closest metro station. Feeling cut down to size, I descend the stairs into the station, bumping into people running to catch the bus. And as soon as I stop to grab my pass card, I realize something was missing. It was my beloved jacket of four years- I had laid it over my arm when I started overheating from the walk- and now it's nowhere to be found. I remember having switched arms in the cafe where I got directions, and I walked back to search around, fruitlessly. I checked every garbage can along the way; every bus stop bench, I even checked under hedges but it was long gone. I returned to the cafe, but the girls at the register hadn't seen it since I left.
Luckily, I had removed my wallet from the coat when I was in the cafe, in order to buy a can of sprite. If I hadn't stopped for directions at that point, I'd be out $200 and all of my identification would amount to a passport hidden in my underwear drawer.
Poor little black Columbia jacket. Why were you the one to be sacrificed? You were my rock, my safety net, a blanket on a cold night, a handkerchief for runny noses. You were windproof and stretchy, and that's pretty impressive by 2003 standards. Alas you have left my life to serve another person: a classless dirty Chilean. I hope they treat you well even though they so violently ripped you from my arms. I shan't ever forget you, little one.
Luckily, I had removed my wallet from the coat when I was in the cafe, in order to buy a can of sprite. If I hadn't stopped for directions at that point, I'd be out $200 and all of my identification would amount to a passport hidden in my underwear drawer.
Poor little black Columbia jacket. Why were you the one to be sacrificed? You were my rock, my safety net, a blanket on a cold night, a handkerchief for runny noses. You were windproof and stretchy, and that's pretty impressive by 2003 standards. Alas you have left my life to serve another person: a classless dirty Chilean. I hope they treat you well even though they so violently ripped you from my arms. I shan't ever forget you, little one.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
"Oh! You're really choking!"
I will take advantage of this spare moment to let you all know about my day today. I was all juiced up for my first day of school (and appreciate the words of encouragement) and then woke up this morning roughly 45 minutes into my first and only class of the day. To make it worse, it only meets once a week. To top that, it was ahem, (imagine me whispering here)...a...cinema class. So no matter what, it would've been the most bird class I have yet. And STILL! I think I do this every single year since I started college. It's times like these that make me afraid for my own wellbeing. If I don't even get up to go to school, that means I'm in for a bad ride. It probably means that as soon as I decide that I'm done with college, I'll move into a cardboard box, and probably end up having the wolfman's children. Then, it will get really bad because wolfboy will get made fun of at school, wolfman will lose his job with the circus and as a measure of survival, will leave me and wolfboy to look for work. That day is gonna suck. I should probably start readying myself now, so I can at least be tough about it.
In other news, as I was taking lunch with my good friends Tom and Tom, Tom said something bitingly witty, and I began to laugh. I had also decided that it would be a good time to swallow a fork full of lettuce, and what do ya know!? I'm choking. No, really, it's been a few seconds and this piece of lettuce isn't moving. It's stuck. I'm coughing, and of course as the Toms have now become accustomed to my dramatic ways, they're not really concerned. More seconds pass, and as I don't want to make a huge ruckus, I'm stifling the coughing. I can feel all the blood rushing up my neck. Finally, Tom turns to me and says "Oh, you're really choking!". The other Tom says "well I used to be certified in the Heimlich maneuver, but um...". The first Tom passes me a glass of water and says "Here, drink this; it tastes like bad breath, but you should try and drink something." This isn't the best thing to say to someone who is choking. All I wanted to do was laugh some more, but I ended up laughing even harder. Ok, now the pressure is starting to build up in my head, and I take a sip. I don't know what bad breath tastes like, (oh God, I hope I'm not one of those people with chronic halitosis-if, in fact, I am- please somebody write an anonymous note) and it tastes like water. And then of course I was fine. But it was a strange moment, because my thoughts didn't go to "ah, choking, well the protocol for this situation is:...", I actually thought "maybe I can hide this, oh it's not going anywhere...uh oh----I'm really starting to panic! And in this restaurant!". It felt like falling for the old quarter-glued-to-the-floor trick. "Damn- everybody is looking at me, and when I stand up my face will be red and I'll feel a little defeated and really embarrassed." But most of all: "I really wanted that damn quarter."
In other news, as I was taking lunch with my good friends Tom and Tom, Tom said something bitingly witty, and I began to laugh. I had also decided that it would be a good time to swallow a fork full of lettuce, and what do ya know!? I'm choking. No, really, it's been a few seconds and this piece of lettuce isn't moving. It's stuck. I'm coughing, and of course as the Toms have now become accustomed to my dramatic ways, they're not really concerned. More seconds pass, and as I don't want to make a huge ruckus, I'm stifling the coughing. I can feel all the blood rushing up my neck. Finally, Tom turns to me and says "Oh, you're really choking!". The other Tom says "well I used to be certified in the Heimlich maneuver, but um...". The first Tom passes me a glass of water and says "Here, drink this; it tastes like bad breath, but you should try and drink something." This isn't the best thing to say to someone who is choking. All I wanted to do was laugh some more, but I ended up laughing even harder. Ok, now the pressure is starting to build up in my head, and I take a sip. I don't know what bad breath tastes like, (oh God, I hope I'm not one of those people with chronic halitosis-if, in fact, I am- please somebody write an anonymous note) and it tastes like water. And then of course I was fine. But it was a strange moment, because my thoughts didn't go to "ah, choking, well the protocol for this situation is:...", I actually thought "maybe I can hide this, oh it's not going anywhere...uh oh----I'm really starting to panic! And in this restaurant!". It felt like falling for the old quarter-glued-to-the-floor trick. "Damn- everybody is looking at me, and when I stand up my face will be red and I'll feel a little defeated and really embarrassed." But most of all: "I really wanted that damn quarter."
Fotitos?
Just a quick note to see if you all got my email of the photos I have accumulated thus far. For a quick update, we got back from Valparaiso just fine- the trip was a total hit and I can't wait to do some more traveling! But, tomorrow, I start school. I'm sure I will get lost and/or walk into the wrong classroom because after all, if that happens in the States where I have "mastery" of the language, it's probably gonna happen here. There may not be a crowd involved, or a creepy old dude, but there will be a classroom full of kids and that will probably be enough to make me break out into hives. Wish me luck!
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