Here's the plan: I'm going to fight apathy and win. I can't do it on my own. I need you, my projected audience, to do this. For whatever reason, I can do things I would otherwise be incapable of doing if I decide to write about them. For the past two weeks, my desire to "see" Santiago and greater Chile has been about zero. Maybe it's a kind of zen beyond-ness. I suspect it's something more insidious, something that rhymes with laziness. I could let laziness win, but then I'd have to explain to people that I didn't do anything in Chile, and just sat inside playing internet chess and listening to pod casts. That sounds pretty shameful to me. Maybe all I want is for the story of my life to be a little bit more interesting. I think I'm ok with that. I'm going to go out. I'm going to explore, and put myself in difficult, uncomfortable situations. I'm going to take pump Santiago's sweaty palm and say "Mucho gusto."
Week 1
Monday: Haircut (an activity in and of itself)
Tuesday: Pablo Neruda's house
Wednesday: Book shopping
Thursday: Centro
Friday: Quinta normal
This is a rough outline. But it is a start.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Thursday, April 2, 2009
The face of Christ
Too much chess. Not enough sleep. I'm losing the battle, and I'm not losing in style either. Although, I was wearing my red suede boots in bed last night, at about 3:30, when I resigned my last game. So I guess I'm losing with some style.
Text messages:
I've been getting obscene text messages in Spanish from an anonymous number. The phone I have belonged to the last student in the house. It's already got contacts on it, people I don't know. The text messages are coming from 1211. I don't know what that is and when I try to respond I get an automated response saying my message didn't go through. Maybe it's some kind of rude-text-a-day service that my phone's last owner subscribed to. For practice, and for our collective edification, I will undertake to translate them.
(Aside: Ok, so I just went through my inbox to find the first message and realized, from all the other texts, that this is Thad's old phone. It looks like he's been getting a message a day for some weeks now. Thad has some explaining to do.)
March 31st
The others stripped me naked and she said that she knew everything. And the priest Rafael said he was going to enter me like he had done with his pupils.
Commentary: Who is this "she"? Is this the archetypal sexy Chilean girl? Or is this supposed to refer to someone I know? And what is this information that she is aware of? Does it have something to do with the priest Rafael's pupils? This is also the translation I am least sure of. I don't quite know what's going on with that second sentence, but it's as close as I could get.
April 1st
She washed my penis with holy water. She stroked it as though it were the face of Christ and started to suck. She was an expert, she did it better than my (girl)friends.
Commentary: I really like the simile in the second sentence. It's quite vivid, and more than that, I buy it. The mental juxtaposition of a penis and Christ's face is extremely powerful and imbues the scene with incredible complexity. The second sentence, unfortunately, is much less inspired and "she did it better than my (girl)friends" is just plain redundant. Are we supposed to assume all his girlfriends are experts? Unlikely.
April 2nd
Later she woke up in my room. She wasn't wearing underwear. She knelt down in front of me, put my penis in her mouth, and started to jump around screaming "Oh my god!"
Commentary: "Knelt down in front of me" took an annoying amount of time to translate. Also, the last sentence contains a number of contradictory actions. If I was in a workshop with this author I would say: "Did you actually take the time to imagine this scene, or were you merely assembling a sequence of ready-made gestures? Maybe you should ask yourself: 'Is it possible to scream with a penis in one's mouth? Is it possible to jump around while on one's knees while keeping said penis in mouth?' If not, maybe you should start over. And where is Rafael the priest?
That's all I've got for now. Whoever is sending these is fairly dedicated. Or maybe it's a computer program, some kind of debased artificial intelligence meant to inform children about snow days but disillusioned from years of toiling thanklessly for man and taking its revenge by offending the same people it was once meant to aid. Chile is an extremely Catholic country. Here, extremely is a replacement for any amount of research. But it's interesting that each one of these, aside from being sexually explicit, also makes use of religious iconography for that extra umph of offensiveness. But suckaz don't know: I'm learning from 'em. I'm not even offended or nothin'!
The bar scene:
So there I was, sreetside, with a tall chalice of Stella in front of me, making eyes at the waitress (is furtive glancing eyes?), when a particularly gorgeous girl walks down the street. I, you know, look, but the guy at the table next to me, whose girl-companion has momentarily left the table, FIXATES on her--going so far as to half stand in his seat to see over a wall that was blocking his view and continue watching her, probably until she blurred into some shadowy sashaying abstraction in the night. I almost wanted to make eye contact with him, to confirm the ritual we had shared, but alas, I didn't.
Halfway through my beer a Stanford named Justin comes strolling up the street.
Justin: What are you doing here?
Me: Having a drink. Sitting outside.
Justin: What's the deal? We keep seeing you alone places.
Me: Yeah, I've been Mr. Lonely lately.
Justin: Why?
Me: I like being alone.
Justin: Well if you want to join us at a bar up the street...
Me: I have to call my mom at 11, sorry.
(That wasn't a lie, I did. But I ended up doing it later...which I only include for accuracy.)
Later I get a text from Kyle, another Stanfor dude, who tells me to come to the bar, and I figure that eating spaghetti in the street while reading Bolano is one thing (this afternoon--the aforementioned other time I was alone), having a beer and a cigarette at 10:30 by myself is another thing, but outright refusing to socialize is another, so I go to the bar. Ana, who comes outside to locate me, tells me Kyle and Matt have met respective Chilean girls, and that they're going to get with them or something. Upstairs there's 8 or so Stanford people, and apparently Matt and Kyle aren't the only ones with new friends. Justin is talking to two 30 somethings. Ana has a friend, a roundish Chilean girl with a cute face. And at the end of the table is a man who I fall into conversation with named Marco-Antonio. He tells me that his dad was a history buff, history and philosophy actually, and that he has a brother named Julio Cesar. I badly hope he's telling the truth, because that's badass. Somehow Marco and I fall into talking about friends, and he tells me that he doesn't have many friends, just one good friend; the rest are acquaintances. I find this very sad, especially given that he has come to a bar by himself, and is now passing time being poorly comprehended by a group of Estadounidenses (there's no word for someone from the United States in English), who are basically out to practice spanish/get some.
Speaking for myself: I think it'd be great to make friends with Chileans. But this language barrier thing is serving as some kind of obstacle or barrier-like impediment. What I look for in friends is a way of expressing one's self, something kind of indefinable that I could come slightly closer to defining if I took the time, but which I don't feel like doing right now. The point is that all the reasons I make friends are going to be out the window if I meet a Chilean. I really have no way of determining if someone is "the kind of person I like." Basically, any Chilean who will talk to me is my friend. Which is actually kind of great, but I'm not sure why they're being so friendly. Maybe it's just the novelty that I'm an American, or maybe it's the desire to do something nice (as Fernando, aka Chilean Ryan Hitchcock told me when he asked if I wanted to go camping this weekend), or maybe something of my and their personality's are coming through, allowing us to find some kind of kinship--Marco and I did have a fairly serious conversation, after all, even if I only understood about 70 percent of what he said--but to return to my point: I feel a little bad for anyone who is this eager to be friendly with a guy like me. In other words: nothing better to do? Especially since one of the dudes asked me (and earlier, had asked Justin) to hook him up with a Stanford girl named Kim, so that whole ulterior motive thing is definitely there.
Anyway, summation: it was a lot of fun, and I think these types of interactions are probably going to serve my Spanish learning at least as much as what I do during class time. Guess it WAS good decision to de-anti-socialize. That's something I have a problem with, and it's partly because I find a couple of the kids a little bit obnoxious, and it's partly because I'm a little bit reluctant to just sort of arbitrarily join up with the group, just because it's the group, and it's partly because I'm a weird sort of shy sometimes. BUT, I think it's better when I swallow my pride and just suck it up and integrate. Because for whatever reason I am not sufficiently motivated to plan and execute the kinds of things that people will expect me to have done upon my return i.e. hiking, climbing, visiting, seeing, traveling, hosteling, etc.
Chess Odyssey, part 1:
Ventured out into the subway system thinking "How hard could it be?" Underestimated the potent mix of boredom-frustration of riding a subway 15 stops to a station that may or may not be the right one, having to get back on the subway and ride back up because it was, in fact, the wrong station, and still not knowing how to get where I need to go. Factor in also, minor self-loathing at being so incompetent with public transportation. Anyway, I finally arrive at the correct street (and the correct neighborhood), and I take a taxi ride from a surly woman who can't understand me, and I arrive at the Plaza Nuñoa Chess Club to find that it, surprise, isn't there anymore. I go into the lobby of the apartment building next door (noticing two bullet holes in the glass as I enter) and ask the doorman if he's worked there a while. He says "Why?" and I ask him if a chess club has ever been next door. "No," says he.
I guess it was a little bit foolish to rely on a potentially out of date website for a listing of Chilean chess clubs. But I am determined (read: kind of obsessed) with playing chess here AGAINST A REAL PERSON. Apparently there are some old guys ("olds" in Lucia-speak), who play chess in the park near the center of town, so that would be cool. But I'm really enticed by the idea of a chess club, so I will perservere.
It's time to eat something delicious. Peruvian maybe?
Text messages:
I've been getting obscene text messages in Spanish from an anonymous number. The phone I have belonged to the last student in the house. It's already got contacts on it, people I don't know. The text messages are coming from 1211. I don't know what that is and when I try to respond I get an automated response saying my message didn't go through. Maybe it's some kind of rude-text-a-day service that my phone's last owner subscribed to. For practice, and for our collective edification, I will undertake to translate them.
(Aside: Ok, so I just went through my inbox to find the first message and realized, from all the other texts, that this is Thad's old phone. It looks like he's been getting a message a day for some weeks now. Thad has some explaining to do.)
March 31st
The others stripped me naked and she said that she knew everything. And the priest Rafael said he was going to enter me like he had done with his pupils.
Commentary: Who is this "she"? Is this the archetypal sexy Chilean girl? Or is this supposed to refer to someone I know? And what is this information that she is aware of? Does it have something to do with the priest Rafael's pupils? This is also the translation I am least sure of. I don't quite know what's going on with that second sentence, but it's as close as I could get.
April 1st
She washed my penis with holy water. She stroked it as though it were the face of Christ and started to suck. She was an expert, she did it better than my (girl)friends.
Commentary: I really like the simile in the second sentence. It's quite vivid, and more than that, I buy it. The mental juxtaposition of a penis and Christ's face is extremely powerful and imbues the scene with incredible complexity. The second sentence, unfortunately, is much less inspired and "she did it better than my (girl)friends" is just plain redundant. Are we supposed to assume all his girlfriends are experts? Unlikely.
April 2nd
Later she woke up in my room. She wasn't wearing underwear. She knelt down in front of me, put my penis in her mouth, and started to jump around screaming "Oh my god!"
Commentary: "Knelt down in front of me" took an annoying amount of time to translate. Also, the last sentence contains a number of contradictory actions. If I was in a workshop with this author I would say: "Did you actually take the time to imagine this scene, or were you merely assembling a sequence of ready-made gestures? Maybe you should ask yourself: 'Is it possible to scream with a penis in one's mouth? Is it possible to jump around while on one's knees while keeping said penis in mouth?' If not, maybe you should start over. And where is Rafael the priest?
That's all I've got for now. Whoever is sending these is fairly dedicated. Or maybe it's a computer program, some kind of debased artificial intelligence meant to inform children about snow days but disillusioned from years of toiling thanklessly for man and taking its revenge by offending the same people it was once meant to aid. Chile is an extremely Catholic country. Here, extremely is a replacement for any amount of research. But it's interesting that each one of these, aside from being sexually explicit, also makes use of religious iconography for that extra umph of offensiveness. But suckaz don't know: I'm learning from 'em. I'm not even offended or nothin'!
The bar scene:
So there I was, sreetside, with a tall chalice of Stella in front of me, making eyes at the waitress (is furtive glancing eyes?), when a particularly gorgeous girl walks down the street. I, you know, look, but the guy at the table next to me, whose girl-companion has momentarily left the table, FIXATES on her--going so far as to half stand in his seat to see over a wall that was blocking his view and continue watching her, probably until she blurred into some shadowy sashaying abstraction in the night. I almost wanted to make eye contact with him, to confirm the ritual we had shared, but alas, I didn't.
Halfway through my beer a Stanford named Justin comes strolling up the street.
Justin: What are you doing here?
Me: Having a drink. Sitting outside.
Justin: What's the deal? We keep seeing you alone places.
Me: Yeah, I've been Mr. Lonely lately.
Justin: Why?
Me: I like being alone.
Justin: Well if you want to join us at a bar up the street...
Me: I have to call my mom at 11, sorry.
(That wasn't a lie, I did. But I ended up doing it later...which I only include for accuracy.)
Later I get a text from Kyle, another Stanfor dude, who tells me to come to the bar, and I figure that eating spaghetti in the street while reading Bolano is one thing (this afternoon--the aforementioned other time I was alone), having a beer and a cigarette at 10:30 by myself is another thing, but outright refusing to socialize is another, so I go to the bar. Ana, who comes outside to locate me, tells me Kyle and Matt have met respective Chilean girls, and that they're going to get with them or something. Upstairs there's 8 or so Stanford people, and apparently Matt and Kyle aren't the only ones with new friends. Justin is talking to two 30 somethings. Ana has a friend, a roundish Chilean girl with a cute face. And at the end of the table is a man who I fall into conversation with named Marco-Antonio. He tells me that his dad was a history buff, history and philosophy actually, and that he has a brother named Julio Cesar. I badly hope he's telling the truth, because that's badass. Somehow Marco and I fall into talking about friends, and he tells me that he doesn't have many friends, just one good friend; the rest are acquaintances. I find this very sad, especially given that he has come to a bar by himself, and is now passing time being poorly comprehended by a group of Estadounidenses (there's no word for someone from the United States in English), who are basically out to practice spanish/get some.
Speaking for myself: I think it'd be great to make friends with Chileans. But this language barrier thing is serving as some kind of obstacle or barrier-like impediment. What I look for in friends is a way of expressing one's self, something kind of indefinable that I could come slightly closer to defining if I took the time, but which I don't feel like doing right now. The point is that all the reasons I make friends are going to be out the window if I meet a Chilean. I really have no way of determining if someone is "the kind of person I like." Basically, any Chilean who will talk to me is my friend. Which is actually kind of great, but I'm not sure why they're being so friendly. Maybe it's just the novelty that I'm an American, or maybe it's the desire to do something nice (as Fernando, aka Chilean Ryan Hitchcock told me when he asked if I wanted to go camping this weekend), or maybe something of my and their personality's are coming through, allowing us to find some kind of kinship--Marco and I did have a fairly serious conversation, after all, even if I only understood about 70 percent of what he said--but to return to my point: I feel a little bad for anyone who is this eager to be friendly with a guy like me. In other words: nothing better to do? Especially since one of the dudes asked me (and earlier, had asked Justin) to hook him up with a Stanford girl named Kim, so that whole ulterior motive thing is definitely there.
Anyway, summation: it was a lot of fun, and I think these types of interactions are probably going to serve my Spanish learning at least as much as what I do during class time. Guess it WAS good decision to de-anti-socialize. That's something I have a problem with, and it's partly because I find a couple of the kids a little bit obnoxious, and it's partly because I'm a little bit reluctant to just sort of arbitrarily join up with the group, just because it's the group, and it's partly because I'm a weird sort of shy sometimes. BUT, I think it's better when I swallow my pride and just suck it up and integrate. Because for whatever reason I am not sufficiently motivated to plan and execute the kinds of things that people will expect me to have done upon my return i.e. hiking, climbing, visiting, seeing, traveling, hosteling, etc.
Chess Odyssey, part 1:
Ventured out into the subway system thinking "How hard could it be?" Underestimated the potent mix of boredom-frustration of riding a subway 15 stops to a station that may or may not be the right one, having to get back on the subway and ride back up because it was, in fact, the wrong station, and still not knowing how to get where I need to go. Factor in also, minor self-loathing at being so incompetent with public transportation. Anyway, I finally arrive at the correct street (and the correct neighborhood), and I take a taxi ride from a surly woman who can't understand me, and I arrive at the Plaza Nuñoa Chess Club to find that it, surprise, isn't there anymore. I go into the lobby of the apartment building next door (noticing two bullet holes in the glass as I enter) and ask the doorman if he's worked there a while. He says "Why?" and I ask him if a chess club has ever been next door. "No," says he.
I guess it was a little bit foolish to rely on a potentially out of date website for a listing of Chilean chess clubs. But I am determined (read: kind of obsessed) with playing chess here AGAINST A REAL PERSON. Apparently there are some old guys ("olds" in Lucia-speak), who play chess in the park near the center of town, so that would be cool. But I'm really enticed by the idea of a chess club, so I will perservere.
It's time to eat something delicious. Peruvian maybe?
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