Clichity - the podcast themed post

A woman in a podcast I was listening to today says this. I don't remember the context. I was listening to this story as I climbed the subway stairs and came out onto the street. I'd just passed a cafe right next to the subway when three girls came up to me. "We know you," they said. "We saw you at a club the other night. We recognize your face." I didn't recognize the girls. I hadn't been to any clubs lately. I told them this. "You were really drunk," they said. "You danced with all of us." I said "Are you sure?" They said they were sure. Somehow they knew I was American. They said that they had met some of my friends too. I couldn't tell how old they were. They looked to be in their late teens. One of them was kind of cute, also, taller than me. I stayed and waited for the situation to play out. I kept a hand near my wallet.

I made a few more efforts to get proof that they had met me. I asked if they had my phone number, and they said they did but they weren't sure who had it. It didn't really make sense but that might have just been translation troubles. I asked "Was the club in Bella Vista?" Bella Vista is a big clubbing spot. They said yes. I've only gone out clubbing three since I've been here. Twice was in Bella Vista. The other time was when I had just arrived, so I ruled that out. The first time in Bella Vista I didn't get nearly drunk enough to have a conversation with three girls and forget it. The second time, I might have. There are parts of the night I don't remember. Still, I think I'd have some recollection. The girls asked if I was a student. I said yes. I asked them if they were students. They said they were studying physical education. They pantomimed doing jumping jacks.

I talked for a little bit longer with them. I eventually gave them my e-mail address. They said we should go clubbing some time. Reggaeton. The cute one looked kind of like this one Chilean actress. She had alcohol on her breath.

I've been listening to a lot of podcasts lately. Which means I've basically given up on the idea that there's anything especially worthwhile to attend to while I'm going around. Which might be a mistake. I've long given up on the idea that the idle mental activity I achieve while walking is worth much--mostly batting around the same old worries, or making repetitive rhythmic patterns played on my legs, or strange vocal utterances, or I don't know; it's been a while since I last walked a long time without a podcast to keep me company or a specific thought to work through.

I've heard some great things though. Today I heard a story called "Cooking From Central France: Roast Boned Rolled Stuffed Shoulder of Lamb (Farce Double)" by a guy named Harry Matthews, who is the only American member of the Oulipo society. The story isn't really a story. It's a recipe, comically elaborate, ridiculously time-consuming, absurdly involved. There is also a story within the recipe, a song sung during a resting period between steps, involving the son of a blacksmith in search of his true mother, and finding instead, variously beautiful women who do to him "what mother never did for son." Also they try to kill him, but he slays them with his sword and arranges with the local priest for a Christian burial (except the witch, for whom a Christina burial is forbidden). Then he meets a shepherdess, and in the night, she wakes him.

She tells him to look up. There, she says, beyond the darkness, the souls of the dead have gathered into one blazing light. With a cry of pain the son asks, Then is my mother there? The shepherdess answers that she is; his mother lives beyond the stars and the stars themselves are chinks in the night through which the fateful light of the dead and the unborn is revealed to the world. Oh mother, mother, the young man weeps. The shepherdess then says to him, Who is now mother to your sleep and waking? Who else can be the mother of your joy and pain? I shall henceforth be the mother of every memory, and from this night I alone am your mother, even if now and tomorrow and all the days of my life I do for you what mother never did for her son.

I don't know. The story's really good.

I need to think of a story or something to write for The Claw, a Stanford student publication. I like seeing my name in print, a lot. I like people seeing what I've written and tellig me they like it. It's also nice to have "clippings." I feel like I should write something with a Chilean angle to it, but I can't think of anything good and I feel like my poor language skills would make it tough to really investigate any issue. The idea I have at the moment is to walk very far across the city and write about it. I don't want to have to make it to meta, but in the worst case maybe I'll write about the difficulty of writing. I don't want to write a touristy thing, i.e. what am I doing here? what do I expect to get out of this? etc...but maybe that will be all I have.

And that's all I have for now.