I drove back from San Juan de Pirque this afternoon, and the city smelled worse than usual. It wasn´t a wave of nostalgia that brought tears to my eyes, having spent only a few nights on a mountainside in the country, but tear gas.
Actual tear gas.
It turns out I´ve missed quite the party in my neighbourhood. Students of Colegios in Santiago are protesting for more fund allocation, a story we´re all familiar with. Public education in this country isn´t very good, from what I´ve gathered, and the student´s protest headquarters is about 2 blocks from my house. The carabiñeros (military police,) with their AK-47s, are a little intimidating not to mention the bonfires in the streets.
I´m shedding a single, perfect tear for their plight... Or maybe it´s just the acrid miasma of opression.
30.5.06
22.5.06
Pedantic Semantics. (See what I did there?)
Spanish is an interesting language.
In a formal mode, when addressing someone, you use the he/she/it form of a given verb. Mira:
You, familiar friend, have: tienes. He, that guy over there with the revolutionary scarf, has: tiene. You, important man I don´t know, have: tiene. In French, you address formally with the second person plural (and the accompanying vous,) perhaps having something to do with their largesse. In Spanish, you use the third person singular.
It´s like linguistically avoiding eye contact, or the inadvertant, shoe-gazing glare of a servant.
In a formal mode, when addressing someone, you use the he/she/it form of a given verb. Mira:
You, familiar friend, have: tienes. He, that guy over there with the revolutionary scarf, has: tiene. You, important man I don´t know, have: tiene. In French, you address formally with the second person plural (and the accompanying vous,) perhaps having something to do with their largesse. In Spanish, you use the third person singular.
It´s like linguistically avoiding eye contact, or the inadvertant, shoe-gazing glare of a servant.
21.5.06
18.5.06
Rumble in the Barrio.
Enough of the maudlin posts.
I´m back in Chile. It´s good to be home. I really missed the voracious school girls, the excess of mayo, the atmosphere of magic realism mixed with bus pollution, the curious foreign glares.
Last night the sunset made the sky look like it was on fire. Then I woke up this morning to an earthquake. God, it was fun. Ragnarockin´ if you will.
You´d think it would be terrifying, your whole apartment moving around, but it felt more... ludicrous. I guess because there´s really nowhere to run, you sort of resign yourself to the futility of escape and enjoy the bumps. It was barely a big one by Ring of Fire standards, but you could definitely feel it. My bed moved, unrelated to any ouija turbulence.
It was a nice welcome. I just wish I had someone to greet me at the airport with a slow-motion clap. I´ve always felt worthy of one, but they never seem to happen.
Grumble.
I´m back in Chile. It´s good to be home. I really missed the voracious school girls, the excess of mayo, the atmosphere of magic realism mixed with bus pollution, the curious foreign glares.
Last night the sunset made the sky look like it was on fire. Then I woke up this morning to an earthquake. God, it was fun. Ragnarockin´ if you will.
You´d think it would be terrifying, your whole apartment moving around, but it felt more... ludicrous. I guess because there´s really nowhere to run, you sort of resign yourself to the futility of escape and enjoy the bumps. It was barely a big one by Ring of Fire standards, but you could definitely feel it. My bed moved, unrelated to any ouija turbulence.
It was a nice welcome. I just wish I had someone to greet me at the airport with a slow-motion clap. I´ve always felt worthy of one, but they never seem to happen.
Grumble.
5.5.06
Lahja Söderberg.
My mummo passed away last week, and I'm in Canada for the funeral.
In fact, she's sitting in a jar next to me right now in a velvet bag. I'm trying not to look at it too much.
It's funny how much you learn about a loved one when they pass. I was very proud of the life she lived and the lives she touched after her 96 years. Imagine living through countless wars, failed promises and dance crazes. Friends with welled eyes recalled stories of her wrestling in Finland, her lime green Mustang with white leather interior, her repeated marriage proposals from gruff miners, and all of her fire and brimstone in South Porcupine, Ontario. Most of the service was in Finnish, and if you think Finns are dark, check out a funeral. It felt like a David Lynch film, only harder to follow the plot.
If any good had to come of this it's that we reconnected with my mom's brother, his wife, and four kids. Losing a family member swelled our family significantly. I have cousins who look like me, who have similar tastes in wine, women and song. Cousin Carl even likes Arrested Development.
If anyone actually reads this thing, I've copied a section of the eulogy I delivered. It was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.
"Lahja Soderberg has been old as long as I can remember, but never in spirit. Though separated in these last few years by a continent, our mummo has never been far from our thoughts and our hearts.
Mummo left her native Finland at the age of 18. She arrived in this country on the day of her 19th birthday, dragging meager suitcase and new hope. She wanted a new start in the new world, a place where she could begin again and truly create something. Myself, my brother, my sister, my cousins, my entire family live as the next chapters of this beginning. She came a long way for a new life on a voyage we can't even fathom. She crossed oceans of fear, of uncertainty, and of exhaustion, with few possessions and bigger dreams.
Such voyages no longer exist in this world. But instead, live inside of us as we carry on our lives, here in Canada.
To me, Lahja Soderberg was the perpetual chaser. I was a nightmare as a child. She was the braider and baker of pulla, the matriarch with the funny accent, and the singer of hilarious Finnish children's rhymes about flatulent dogs. I used to play with the flubby skin on her arms that made her laugh and her eyes crinkle. Her eyes were always crinkly.
A little old lady with the fire of heaven, Mummo lived a truly remarkable life. I have always been proud of what she has accomplished here with us, with her works. I hope that in 75 years I can look back upon the creation of a dynasty, the generations of blondes in my wake the way I hope she did in her last days. I hope one day to have a family of my own, carrying on her voyage in their hearts.
Mummo, we love you, and you will be missed, everyday."
I really hope she's somewhere else, other than in this velvet bag in the livingroom. Tell your grandparents you love them.
In fact, she's sitting in a jar next to me right now in a velvet bag. I'm trying not to look at it too much.
It's funny how much you learn about a loved one when they pass. I was very proud of the life she lived and the lives she touched after her 96 years. Imagine living through countless wars, failed promises and dance crazes. Friends with welled eyes recalled stories of her wrestling in Finland, her lime green Mustang with white leather interior, her repeated marriage proposals from gruff miners, and all of her fire and brimstone in South Porcupine, Ontario. Most of the service was in Finnish, and if you think Finns are dark, check out a funeral. It felt like a David Lynch film, only harder to follow the plot.
If any good had to come of this it's that we reconnected with my mom's brother, his wife, and four kids. Losing a family member swelled our family significantly. I have cousins who look like me, who have similar tastes in wine, women and song. Cousin Carl even likes Arrested Development.
If anyone actually reads this thing, I've copied a section of the eulogy I delivered. It was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.
"Lahja Soderberg has been old as long as I can remember, but never in spirit. Though separated in these last few years by a continent, our mummo has never been far from our thoughts and our hearts.
Mummo left her native Finland at the age of 18. She arrived in this country on the day of her 19th birthday, dragging meager suitcase and new hope. She wanted a new start in the new world, a place where she could begin again and truly create something. Myself, my brother, my sister, my cousins, my entire family live as the next chapters of this beginning. She came a long way for a new life on a voyage we can't even fathom. She crossed oceans of fear, of uncertainty, and of exhaustion, with few possessions and bigger dreams.
Such voyages no longer exist in this world. But instead, live inside of us as we carry on our lives, here in Canada.
To me, Lahja Soderberg was the perpetual chaser. I was a nightmare as a child. She was the braider and baker of pulla, the matriarch with the funny accent, and the singer of hilarious Finnish children's rhymes about flatulent dogs. I used to play with the flubby skin on her arms that made her laugh and her eyes crinkle. Her eyes were always crinkly.
A little old lady with the fire of heaven, Mummo lived a truly remarkable life. I have always been proud of what she has accomplished here with us, with her works. I hope that in 75 years I can look back upon the creation of a dynasty, the generations of blondes in my wake the way I hope she did in her last days. I hope one day to have a family of my own, carrying on her voyage in their hearts.
Mummo, we love you, and you will be missed, everyday."
I really hope she's somewhere else, other than in this velvet bag in the livingroom. Tell your grandparents you love them.
9.4.06
Gloves, loves and Amanda Lepore.
Trying to speak a new language is like trying on a glove you find in the gutter. The reluctance, the disgust, the potential comfort of a gooey new dialect all seem to be possibilities. Secretly you want to try it but you´re afraid you´ll contract something embarassing or maybe slip your hand inside only to find it fits, it´s warm, and you like it.
I´m practicing Spanish everyday. The lovely Piña is helping me a lot, when we´re not making out. It´s just frustrating because I know I sound like an idiot. It would be nice to be oblivious, but unfortunately it´s not my style. I´ve grown accustomed to sounding eloquent and anything less is compromise.
Aside from sounding intelligent, I miss my friends, red licorice, and Tim Horton´s coffee, whose marketing engine would be pleased to find is consistently nostalgiac among the few Canadians I meet. Not because it´s particularly good, only because it´s one of the few symbols we have left to cling to.
Machu Picchu has been moved to the middle of next week. Instead, here´s something completely different.
I´m practicing Spanish everyday. The lovely Piña is helping me a lot, when we´re not making out. It´s just frustrating because I know I sound like an idiot. It would be nice to be oblivious, but unfortunately it´s not my style. I´ve grown accustomed to sounding eloquent and anything less is compromise.
Aside from sounding intelligent, I miss my friends, red licorice, and Tim Horton´s coffee, whose marketing engine would be pleased to find is consistently nostalgiac among the few Canadians I meet. Not because it´s particularly good, only because it´s one of the few symbols we have left to cling to.
Machu Picchu has been moved to the middle of next week. Instead, here´s something completely different.
1.4.06
Trippity Serendipity.
It´s funny how blondes stick together.
I´ve been making a serious effort to avoid the cynical expats living down here (they fan themselves in their linen and complain about a lack of balsamic vinegar,) but it seems unavoidable to strike up conversations with other gringos. Right now I can have noun conversations with my Chileans. ¨Glass?¨ ¨Yes, glass.¨ ¨Table?¨ ...and so on. It gets a little old. Anyway, it´s refreshing to be found somewhat interesting, and not just a linguistic charity case. But I digress.
Buying a cactus in Providencia, I was caught on some hidden camera show. Sensing a ruse, I toyed with this faux police officer who demanded my passport and to search my bag. Taking an exaggerated whiff of my backpack, he quizzically asked ¨Drugs?¨ to which I responded ¨I´ve got plenty, just take what you want.¨ Fortunately the sweet gremlin of a Señora who sold me the cactus interceded on my behalf and whacked him over the head with a palm leaf.
Who am I?
Anyway, some lovely blonde girls had seen this bizarre scene from afar, and offered to translate the release form I had to sign afterward. They invited me to a vegan barbeque. What, pray tell, does one eat at a VEGAN barbeque? Anyway. The recommended an organic restaurant near my apartment that has the sexiest serving staff I´ve ever seen. I´ve decided to become a regular.
Eating brunch there this morning some adorable German girls invited me to go to Machu Picchu. I leave on Thursday.
Jordan.
I´ve been making a serious effort to avoid the cynical expats living down here (they fan themselves in their linen and complain about a lack of balsamic vinegar,) but it seems unavoidable to strike up conversations with other gringos. Right now I can have noun conversations with my Chileans. ¨Glass?¨ ¨Yes, glass.¨ ¨Table?¨ ...and so on. It gets a little old. Anyway, it´s refreshing to be found somewhat interesting, and not just a linguistic charity case. But I digress.
Buying a cactus in Providencia, I was caught on some hidden camera show. Sensing a ruse, I toyed with this faux police officer who demanded my passport and to search my bag. Taking an exaggerated whiff of my backpack, he quizzically asked ¨Drugs?¨ to which I responded ¨I´ve got plenty, just take what you want.¨ Fortunately the sweet gremlin of a Señora who sold me the cactus interceded on my behalf and whacked him over the head with a palm leaf.
Who am I?
Anyway, some lovely blonde girls had seen this bizarre scene from afar, and offered to translate the release form I had to sign afterward. They invited me to a vegan barbeque. What, pray tell, does one eat at a VEGAN barbeque? Anyway. The recommended an organic restaurant near my apartment that has the sexiest serving staff I´ve ever seen. I´ve decided to become a regular.
Eating brunch there this morning some adorable German girls invited me to go to Machu Picchu. I leave on Thursday.
Jordan.
25.3.06
Non-sequiturs.
On the metro in the morning, when not trying to give me handjobs, the Chilean businessmen look like a Spanish Armada, their shirtsails billowing in the canned wind of the underground.
I ate a sandwich today with beef that had that pidgeon-neck iridescence, and I´m nervous. Anticipating a rumble in the bronx.
The Lucybell concert was amazing. Saiko blew me away. With each successive song, she removed another layer. Everything is sexier in South America.
The police officer frisking everyone at the entrance got overly frisky with me, told me to take off my hat, then take off my head, and took my lighter. There was this ominous prison bus/tank in the parking lot foreshadowing any bad behavior.
Looking out my window into the plaza this morning, I saw the most elegantly dressed mime, a mounted police officer challenging a stray dog, and an old couple getting caught in the crossfire of some sudden sprinklers.
The guy who owns the empanada place in my building calls me Casper now.
I seem unable to write anything with any substance on this blog.
I ate a sandwich today with beef that had that pidgeon-neck iridescence, and I´m nervous. Anticipating a rumble in the bronx.
The Lucybell concert was amazing. Saiko blew me away. With each successive song, she removed another layer. Everything is sexier in South America.
The police officer frisking everyone at the entrance got overly frisky with me, told me to take off my hat, then take off my head, and took my lighter. There was this ominous prison bus/tank in the parking lot foreshadowing any bad behavior.
Looking out my window into the plaza this morning, I saw the most elegantly dressed mime, a mounted police officer challenging a stray dog, and an old couple getting caught in the crossfire of some sudden sprinklers.
The guy who owns the empanada place in my building calls me Casper now.
I seem unable to write anything with any substance on this blog.
23.3.06
Chilean Music.
Immediately, download some Lucybell. Imagine Radiohead, Pink Floyd, a dash of RHCP and some smooth, caramel, George Fucking Clinton, combined. I´m seeing them on Friday in the same stadium where Pinochet killed a bunch of political adversaries. Hopefully they´ve mopped up a little.
Secondly, the electrolytes in Santiago put Toronto hipsters to shame. Inflate the sunglasses by about %80, cut the hair twice as asymetrically, and saturate yourself with so much A-ha, you can´t take it on me anymore. Consider Quierostar.
Sex.
Frecuentado.
On Wednesday night I phoned Alvaro. Somos vecinos y el es un medico. That night he was working in the emergency room. We chatted, he said he was busy, but I persisted, wanting to know some trivial things like how he was and what time he´d be finished work. He finally gets rid of me, reminding me he was in the emergency room.
Aaaaaand somebody died because of my phonecall.
Great.
When haunted by a ghost, according to most Hollywood movies, you´re supposed to find out what they want, or what they haven´t accomplished in life, and finish the task for them. Right? Yeah. I don´t understand Spanish.
Great.
Aaaaaand somebody died because of my phonecall.
Great.
When haunted by a ghost, according to most Hollywood movies, you´re supposed to find out what they want, or what they haven´t accomplished in life, and finish the task for them. Right? Yeah. I don´t understand Spanish.
Great.
21.3.06
Happy fucking birthday, Sally.
From me and the whole fucking gang.
You, your tiny companion, and your gentle giganto are missed terribly.
Think of me, and tonight...
...dream of unicorns.
20.3.06
Bellas Vistas.
More photos, you vultures.
The rusty gates of somewhere.
Plaza des Armas.
Evil Jungle Prince.
This little light of mine...
Quis custodiet custodiens?
Look out! Radioactive men!
Shaggamuffin.
Scrape.
Check out these maracas.
Sick & Naive.
Taza de leche.
Photoshop lucidae.
...My new home.
The rusty gates of somewhere.
Plaza des Armas.
Evil Jungle Prince.
This little light of mine...
Quis custodiet custodiens?
Look out! Radioactive men!
Shaggamuffin.
Scrape.
Check out these maracas.
Sick & Naive.
Taza de leche.
Photoshop lucidae.
...My new home.
17.3.06
Hopefully it wasn´t a porno...
Last night, there was a beautiful, beautiful sunset over the mountains. I decided to take beautiful, beautiful pictures of the beautiful sunset, the kind of beautiful pictures that bore the hell out of others but make you feel like some Adamsey photographic genius. I love how people take responsibility for the sunset, as though they had something to do with it. Granted, the amount of cigarros I smoke here may have contributed to the technicolour puke of wonder in the sky over Santiago last night.
Anyhow.
My neighbour, the filmmaker, Manuel, shared a similar sentiment, in video. We chatted. I found myself in his studio, and then, again, in his movie.
I was the token gringo friend at an art-fag party. Talk about fucking method acting. They dressed me in a ludicrous orange sombrero and a black-and-white polka dot scarf, and I had to yell at a painter who´s work disappointed me. Again, very out of my element. (Lies.)
My lines:
¨¿What the fuck is this? ¿I flew all the way for THIS? Tabernac! Est TERRIBLE! ¿¡¿¡QUE PASSA BRASSI?!?!¨
Integrating ¨tabernac?¨ My idea. Oh yes.
So it begins.
Anyhow.
My neighbour, the filmmaker, Manuel, shared a similar sentiment, in video. We chatted. I found myself in his studio, and then, again, in his movie.
I was the token gringo friend at an art-fag party. Talk about fucking method acting. They dressed me in a ludicrous orange sombrero and a black-and-white polka dot scarf, and I had to yell at a painter who´s work disappointed me. Again, very out of my element. (Lies.)
My lines:
¨¿What the fuck is this? ¿I flew all the way for THIS? Tabernac! Est TERRIBLE! ¿¡¿¡QUE PASSA BRASSI?!?!¨
Integrating ¨tabernac?¨ My idea. Oh yes.
So it begins.
14.3.06
¿Do you like my pelt?
Somebody tried to give me a handjob on the metro this morning... at 8am. It was so crowded, I had no idea who was doing it, nor could I lower my arms to stop it.
I have three suspects. Suspect the first: man in linen business suit. Reeked of Polo Sport. Distinct possibilty. Suspect the second: little old lady. Disqualified due to Our Lady of Guadalupe necklace. Unless it was a Madonna/Whore thing. Suspect the third: mamacita in schoolgirl uniform. Please god don´t be her. Case open until forensic evidence has been analyzed. My enormous beauteous pad also has a lab in it, next to the second solarium and the stockroom. As a side not, I´m pretty sure my boner poked the little old lady.
Speaking of which, I, in my imperialist extravagance, hired a maid. Carmen. She´s incredible. Limpia toda is all I can tell her to do and she vacuums inside my shoes. It´s not a wounded frog, as English would lead you to believe. She brings her 3 kids with her who are hilarious. I buy them toys. I was hoping to hold out for a Lupe, but Carmen has authenticity too (in Stefan´s words.) If I find a Lupe, Carmen´s toast. Speaking of toast, Carmen cooks. Little Lord Fauntleroy, a sus ordenes.
Also, I´m flying to Buenos Aires on Friday to buy a beaver-pelt blanket.
I have three suspects. Suspect the first: man in linen business suit. Reeked of Polo Sport. Distinct possibilty. Suspect the second: little old lady. Disqualified due to Our Lady of Guadalupe necklace. Unless it was a Madonna/Whore thing. Suspect the third: mamacita in schoolgirl uniform. Please god don´t be her. Case open until forensic evidence has been analyzed. My enormous beauteous pad also has a lab in it, next to the second solarium and the stockroom. As a side not, I´m pretty sure my boner poked the little old lady.
Speaking of which, I, in my imperialist extravagance, hired a maid. Carmen. She´s incredible. Limpia toda is all I can tell her to do and she vacuums inside my shoes. It´s not a wounded frog, as English would lead you to believe. She brings her 3 kids with her who are hilarious. I buy them toys. I was hoping to hold out for a Lupe, but Carmen has authenticity too (in Stefan´s words.) If I find a Lupe, Carmen´s toast. Speaking of toast, Carmen cooks. Little Lord Fauntleroy, a sus ordenes.
Also, I´m flying to Buenos Aires on Friday to buy a beaver-pelt blanket.
12.3.06
Close, casting and cat calls.
Billy, Leanne and I made our film debut in Santiago yesterday. Sitting at Litros, making a menagerie of grotesqueries out of olives and toothpicks, we were background extras in a short about date rape. The actress looked barefoot and pregnant (how I like my women.)
Leanne and I went to buy booze, met some random musicians in the plaza, danced a little to some Jethro Tull-inspired tunes (think pan-pipes in earnest) and got hassled by the cops (who are terrifying) for drinking rum and coke outside. We managed to escape, somehow (thinking it was Leanne´s boobs,) and had a carrete at my loft.
Went out to Bunker later that night. The club has a turnstyle. Had some intense harassment from Peruvians, met a Brazillian drag queen dressed like a scorpion, met some CANADIANS, and drank enough pisco to knock out Roseanne Barr.
Come! to! Chile!
Leanne and I went to buy booze, met some random musicians in the plaza, danced a little to some Jethro Tull-inspired tunes (think pan-pipes in earnest) and got hassled by the cops (who are terrifying) for drinking rum and coke outside. We managed to escape, somehow (thinking it was Leanne´s boobs,) and had a carrete at my loft.
Went out to Bunker later that night. The club has a turnstyle. Had some intense harassment from Peruvians, met a Brazillian drag queen dressed like a scorpion, met some CANADIANS, and drank enough pisco to knock out Roseanne Barr.
Come! to! Chile!
10.3.06
Mis vecinos.
I live in the hottest building in Santiago. Pilar and Lorena live in 809, and they´re these dyker biker babes with long black hair, eyes that just stare, and the sexiest accents in the southern hemisphere. Alvaro and Bentura live across the hall, I´m going to teach them English, they´re going to teach me Spanish, and it´s going to take every ounce of restraint not to silence our lessons with make-outs.
Today I found the supermarket. People still look at me like I´m some sort of mystical white pony in their midst, like a unicorn with a swastika tattoo, or something. It´s very weird to feel exotic and Canadian at the same time.
I bought two fruits that look like something out of Star Trek. Some kind of palm-tree melon (I think!) and another purple thing... gah... I can´t describe it. I was so tempted to buy condor eggs for an omlette but decided to hold off until I can accompany it with tiger paws, some gorilla chest, and a couple of mashed, orphaned baby seals.
Delicious.
Today I found the supermarket. People still look at me like I´m some sort of mystical white pony in their midst, like a unicorn with a swastika tattoo, or something. It´s very weird to feel exotic and Canadian at the same time.
I bought two fruits that look like something out of Star Trek. Some kind of palm-tree melon (I think!) and another purple thing... gah... I can´t describe it. I was so tempted to buy condor eggs for an omlette but decided to hold off until I can accompany it with tiger paws, some gorilla chest, and a couple of mashed, orphaned baby seals.
Delicious.
8.3.06
The Vagina Travelogues, Around the World in 80 Gays.
I won´t let Bil and Leanne leave. So, instead, I forced them to take fashion photos of me in my glory, in my glorious new place.
The sex panthers.
Bumb.
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