Sign Language

There are two semi-new poster campaigns around town. This one is intriguing:

("What matters to you?") I don't know what this is about, yet, but I'll be keeping my eyes open.

And this one is an anti-domestic violence campaign and is just fabulous:


("Caution! Male chauvinism kills!")

Unfortunately domestic violence is still semi-tolerated in Chile, from what people tell me. Mariticide is certainly very common in the news; this of course is also true in the states, as sensational crimes sell papers. So I have nothing but word of mouth to back this up....perhaps I'll get some after I take a closer look at this campaign.

In an absoluely unrelated matter that is not meant in the least to trivialize the subject, while double-checking the word "matricide" just now I discovered the following interesting vocabulary words:

muscacide: killing of flies

perdricide: killing of partridges

Who knew?

In a more sign-related point, last week I was walking to work a bit late and so I reached a certain point on Avenida Errazuriz at, let's say, 8:02 am. Normally I would be hitting this site at perhaps 7:57 am, to use a nice round number. Because of my delay, I had a most incredible discovery:

I cannot entirely describe just why this was so wonderful to me. I have a bit of a thing for bus signs--as you may know, I often ride buses just based on a particularly intriguing sign. And so, sleepy, late, running, I discovered this absolutely tiny closet, The Place Where The Bus Signs Come From. I've been walking past it every day without even knowing there was a store there, because it was always shuttered....until 8am, opening time. Absolute magic.

The Grand Project Launch, or How Procrastination on Facebook can Bear Fruit

So, I am now officially recruiting free labor for my pet project. I began by creating a Facebook group, the text of which is as follows:

Valparaíso is an historic port town in the central zone of Chile. It is an entirely unique city, crazily jumbled together over time, painted in bright colors, covered in murals, and electrified with a sense of life and culture in the atmosphere.

It is also a city with major economic issues, including some of the poorest urban areas in Chile. It also has a major tourism industry which is incredibly underutilized. Thousands of tourists pass through, walk through one or two hills, go to three or four cafés, visit La Sebastiana, and head on to the next destination.

There is an incredibly rich cultural life in Valparaíso, though--if you happen to stumble across it. In Spanish, there is adequate information, but spread across different blogs, email newsletters, fliers, magazines, and street posters. In English, there is just about nothing. As such, it is very easy for tourists--and even people who live here--to miss out on fabulous events of every type happening right here in the metro region. The city misses out on a better tourism industry, one that might help support a wider range of enterprises. Local artists, musicians, performers and more miss out on larger audiences for their work.

I want to start a bilingual publication of events, both as a paper magazine and as a website: Atenea Valparaíso. (Side note: the oldest Chilean newspaper is the Mercurio--the messenger god. Atenea, or Athena, is the goddess of arts and wisdom. A nice pairing--that's the logic. She was the goddess of war too, I know, but let's just leave that be.)

It is absolutely impossible for me to do this alone. So I'm recruiting anyone who would like to contribute to this project in one way or another. I cannot offer any monetary compensation (clearly....I'll be lucky to break even). I can, though, offer you full credit for your work and a "good experience," aka nice thing to put on your resume if it turns out well. Some of these functions can be fulfilled over the internet, so even if you're on another continent, you're welcome to get involved if you'd like.

I need:
1. Translators, Spanish to English and vice-versa, both for the actual event listings and for any columns/reviews we might include.
2. Writers, either in Spanish or in English, for the same as above.
3. Researchers: people who will find locations, groups, and people who put on events, and keep in contact with them about upcoming events.
4. Web designer: one or more people who can set up a blog/website that is idiot-proof enough that the rest of the as-yet-imaginary team can use it.
5. Development: People who can search out advertisers and other potential investors.
6. Layout designers for the print edition.
7. Artists who can provide interesting drawings, photographs, etc, to bring Atenea to life.

Essentially, I don't want just a bland, corporate style "Time Out"-esque publication. If I can make this happen, I want it to carry some of the individuality, texture, and frankness that characterize the city itself. So I want an artistic composition, a strong contact with the underground as well as the established scene, good writing, frank opinions, and above all else a clear dedication to making the cultural scene in Valparaíso stronger than ever.So, if you are still reading, and you think that you can contribute somehow, please get in touch. The project is pending until I can assemble enough interested contributors, but hopefully we can get in underway in the next few months.

After all, as is often noted....this city is "crawling with gringos"....let's make ourselves useful.And please--if you know people who might be interested in this project, please pass this along!

I created this group yesterday. By last night, the Incredible Chad Kulig had begun figuring out the website angle, and several other equally amazing people expressed interest in translating, content, layout design, and general help.

There are several factors to consider here:

1. I love my US network. I didn't even know I had a network....I just knew I was friends with a lot of people who like to do back-breaking artistic and civic projects for no or little compensation.

2. I am full of gratitude to the people who want to get involved in this without even having seen the city. Altruists are wonderful. I've been talking about this project in Chile for weeks, with the result (with the exception of my long-suffering close friends, who are forever having translations, ideas, and information demanded of them) of one interested party (to whom I am also very grateful). Then all of a sudden I get all this interest from people who have nothing, really, to gain from this. Love, folks, love.

3. If you are familiar with Facebook, then you are aware that by putting this on Facebook I have essentially told every person I have ever met that I am going to make this happen. So, well, I better make it happen, eh?

If you want to help, the email is atenea.valparaiso at gmail dot com. At the moment this email just goes to me, but hopefully soon it will be a team email.

Go Team! Go Valpo! Let's culture attack.

Deep Breath: De-Stressing in Chile

So, this week has been a bit of a headache. For the last 48 hours I was paralyzed by the very real concern that I was going to get fired for the first time since my 14-year-old bagel store job (an instance that still makes me cringe); then yesterday my Not-Only-But-Let's-Say-Essential-Friend became an illegal immigrant for a window of about 24 hours. When you have a friend circle the size of mine, having one of the people you see most frequently deported is not something that can be taken lightly.

In the end, I was met with a surprisingly warm reception at my meeting with my boss, and no one was deported. So everything turned out just fine. However, I am operating under a very intense stress-hangover right now. After foolishly thinking that I could go to lunch with actual people and be social, I discovered that all that I was capable of doing was stirring my chicken like a madwoman and forgetting every bit of Spanish I have learned.

Things that I do in Valparaiso when that sort of thing happens:

Overindulge:

Wear silly hats and drink beer (featuring Elisa):

Make friends with stray animals (also featuring Elisa):

Look at pelicans:

Make Allie feed me, even if we can't find a can opener and have to bludgeon the coconut milk out of the can:

Hang out with giant pirate puppets:

Et tu, Brute?

Ok. So I plan on soon adding several interesting posts about various interesting things in the near future. In the meantime, however, a student who never comes to class has taken it upon himself to complain about me to my boss. This might seem to be breaking my "no-self-centered-rambling" rule....and it is, kind of....but there's also a cultural factor here.

People here don't like to be rude....it's a well-observed cultural trait (by outsiders and Chilenos alike) that they will avoid saying "no" at all costs, even if that entails making plans and then standing people up. By the same token, it seems that discussing my lesson plans with me would be rude, but going over my head and putting my job in jeapordy is not. This is the awkward logic of Chileno Etiquette. They are extremely concered with courtesy (I've heard older people complain that this is no longer the case, but I still find that people here are far more politeness-prone than at home). (Not that anyone has every accused Northeasterners of being overly polite). However, the etiquette system here often seems to be riddled with side effects.

Case in point: I have stated multiple times throughout this course that I welcome input from students. And I do, particularly in these small classes--it is impossible to know which types of lessons work best if you receive no feedback. No one, including my 'Brutus,' has taken me up on this. If he had (during one of his brief appearances), I could have altered my class to address his concerns and emphasize his particular needs. Instead, I now have to prove to my upset boss that I am a competent teacher and do not deserve to be sacked. I also have to teach my accuser tonight without mentioning the fact that I feel capable of saying some very unkind things just at this moment.

So I am only left to conclude that in Chile, offering constructive criticism is A Very Bad Thing. Wreaking havoc in the professional life of your teacher, however, is Par For The Course.

All his faults observed,
Set in a note-book, learn’d, and conn’d by rote.
(Shakespeare, Julius Caesar, IV.III.92)

There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats;
For I am armed so strong in honesty
That they pass by me as the idle wind,
Which I respect not. (IV.III.67)

Roman tragedy, English teaching, you know, similar stuff.

La Campana

So, I did in fact go hiking on Saturday, to Cerro La Campana (excuse my anglophone keyboard). The weather looked threatening, but luckily there was no rain. Having not been outside the city in ages, the trip was a very welcome change from my slowly emerging routine.

It should be noted that a car is not necessary for this trip. It's actually quite simple by public transit, although, of course, longer than your own transport would take. However, for those of us without the option, you can still be on the trail within 2 hours. To get there, take the metro to the last stop, Limache (a pleasant excursion in and of itself). At the station, go outside and wait for a #1 bus. Double check that it is going all the way to the park. Assuming it is, hop on, and the last stop before it turns around is the park. Walk up the trail, where you pay a small entrance fee (a couple luca, I don't recall exactly because in Chile, the invited party pays for nothing---something which is rather uncomfortable for a gringa, but rather nice once I started ignoring it and just enjoyed the free ride). And you're off.

My co-hiker, who was a student of mine this past semester, wanted to walk up the dirt road used for cars. I vetoed this on the grounds that walking on a road is not a hike. So we took the trail proper. It was a good work-out--a steady incline of a not-negligible grade. Due to this, I was obliged to strike a deal that we would take the road down.

Unfortunately, the ranger was not allowing hikers to go to the summit due to the possibility of rain and fog. The views from the top are apparently very nice. I will be heading back on a nicer day to see for myself. Nonetheless, despite the clouds and the fact that we had to stop about two thirds of the way up, the views were calming and beautiful.

The coastal cordillera:

Atmospheric, eh?

I may have missed out on the summit, but I did get to do quite a bit of "flora and fauna contemplation." I couldn't practice Spanish with these friends, but I appreciated their company. They, in turn, enjoyed the idea that they might get some of my peanuts (they were not successful).

The walk down on the road was much less intense, as well as being much longer, but was more condusive to conversation. I finally learned the details of about a million things which have been confusing me, such as the exact controversy over the public education system, and the business structure of the city's micros (buses). Information which I shall share when I am not tired and looking forward to turning off my computer.

The fog closed in, and we walked down into it; by the end I was essentially walking through a cloud. It was incredibly peaceful, after the detail-crammed landscape of Valparaiso, to spend some time in a white-out. And when I got off of the train back in the city, I loved the complications even more.

Overall, a very successful day. I have, in fact, been very well occupied lately, and have quite a few things to write about. So keep checking in for more of la vida Valparaiso.

Language barrier: a two-way street

Tomorrow, unless I get stood up (a rather common occurence when befriending Chileans, unfortunately), I am meant to go hiking at a national park a bit east of the city.

I was curious about what I'm in for, since the only hiking I've done recently is up the hill to my house, and all in all I've been pretty much a computer-bound, workaholic slug as of late.

I browsed a bunch of websites that seem to agree that I'm in trouble, as this is an actual mountain of sorts that I'm dealing with. However, I found one description of the park that had this excellent itemization of possible activities:

Hiking, high mountain tours, climbing, picnic, photography, bird watch, flora and fauna contemplation.

So, maybe I'll let my compañero do the high mountain tour while I stay at the bottom for a bit of flora and fauna contemplation.

Kitschy Music or.....Certain Death?

A week or two ago, this happened outside my house:

An organ grinder. It's difficult to see in this video, but he has a parrot instead of a monkey--a disappointing choice, but nonetheless. Organ grinders are kitschy, and fun, and I was very excited to have one conveniently outside my window. Hence the video.

While I was taking this little film, people started pointing up at me and taking pictures of me. You can see this in the video a little bit.....at one point I look up to show a more panoramic view, only to remember that my "view" is actually a collection of sea-blocking buildings, and when the camera goes back to the street you can see a few people starting to notice me. At the time I thought that this was because I was a crazy gringa hanging halfway out a window with a camera. This might be true. But a few of my students, who Facebook stalked me, had another interpretation.

I am going to die.

Apparently, they were very put out when they saw a picture of this scene in one of my photo albums online. Turns out that the Chilean traditional superstition is that when an organ grinder plays outside your house, someone inside is going to die very soon.

The girls told me that they think it's silly, and just a superstition, but nonetheless they always chase them away from their houses......just in case.

I pointed out that since I live in an apartment building, there's a pretty good distribution of potential death, given the number of inhabitants. I probably won't even know the unfortunate soul. That's a relief.

However, should a piano or a potted geranium fall on my head anytime soon, well, take the lesson and chase away any organ grinders that come hanging around your house.

NOW! Read this post ABSOLUTELY FREE!

So I've picked up a new employment, which has become sort of a habit of mine. As with every other job I've been offered in Chile (claro), it is another version of Speaking English Professionally. In this case, I am writing and editing copy for a product's website.

It's a product made in Chile and sold in the US, online only. So essentially it's a direct marketing gig. Not generally my thing, but I can definitely use the web experience--lack of web design has been a bit of a roadblock so far, as I'm generally applying for jobs with a description like:

"Non-profit social services organization seeks General Literate Human Being with Opposable Thumbs. Duties include grant writing, copy writing, advertising, document production, initiative development, client outreach, community outreach, graphic design, designing and maintaining the organization's website, editing anything that manages to get written down, taking meeting minutes, filing things, helping the development guy when his workload explodes, helping the finance woman when her workload explodes, helping anyone at any time who has too much to do, answering the phone, making coffee, ordering office supplies, picking people up at the airport, watering the plants, choosing art for the hallway, and organizing disorganized things/people. Trilingual English, Spanish, and Chinese preferred. Salary minimum wage plus a train pass, and sometimes bagels in the morning."

So, that's my motivation (you can see why, I'm sure).

As a result, I am finding myself dealing with a side of the business world I really never intended to be involved with. It's kind of the opposite of educational not-for-profit....gloss-it-over-for-pure-profit. My training so far has involved reading lots of websites, articles, and books about marketing. They have me a bit baffled.

Some are schlocky as hell. Some are more refined. Some actually come off as intelligent. But there is one basic thing in common. The person who is writing is explaining their theory for how to sell a product or idea, generally through coercion, manipulation, use of very specific tactics, and very calculated packaging of information. Ok. That's sales, I expected as much. However, never having actually read anything about sales before, I've been finding one thing incredibly amusing. Even as the writer is explaining to you how to dupe people, he or she is using the exact same method to dupe you.

Shamelessly, generally. For instance, in one book they recommend using little lists to "engage your audience." "What do these words have in common: Plants, People, Our Fabulous Product, Whatever." Then, about two chapters later, the authors throw one of said lists into their spiel. Hmm.

In that case, at least, it might simply be a reinforcement tactic. Perhaps they are assuming the reader is intelligent and will pick up on it. However, there was another one that really had my eyebrows through my hairline. This was an online-purchased (no, not by me), "Special Edition Report" about some phrase that sounded business-y but upon inspection had no actual meaning. The whole thing was completely over-the-top. What was really fabulous, though, was that they spent a whole section explaining how your newsletter should be called a "service," subscribers or clients should always be "members," lectures and such are "workshops," and so on. They also had a long bit about how every single possible "benefit and gain" from your product should be listed in bullet point format so as to give the impression of being incredibly valuable.

They finish off their "absolutely free special report" by inviting you to become an actual "member" of their "valuable online service," mention some very excellent "workshops" that you can attend, and then provide a page and a half of bullet pointed "benefits and gains."

So. Now, obviously, there is some value in these schemes. I recognize that we, as consumers, are scarily susceptible. However, when you present me with a document that is packaged as breaking news, then tell me 80% common sense, 10% silliness, and 10% new information--while explaining to me in detail how exactly you are doing so--I am not going to be overly impressed. This has led me to believe that marketing may be a self-perpetuating loop. People who work in marketing have complete faith in their methods, therefore they are completely susceptible to other people's methods, and therefore they are all running around selling and buying marketing methods to and from each other.

I'm imagining walking into the multimillion dollar house of one of these "gurus," as they call themselves, to find it filled to the brim with slicer-dicers, handy-reachers, superdurapastes, indestructible lawn tools, and a general panopoly of late-night infomercial products.

"It's amazing!" they'll tell me. "It has fully 32 different benefits! It boils pasta, it boils carrots, it boils broccoli....."

"Well I want to kill this waitress......(but I believe in peace, bitch)" (tori amos)

Well. I thought I'd come have a cup of tea and finally blog about the LGE protests that have been going on in the last month. Instead, as usual, Chile had other plans for me.

I walked into Cafe con Letras, which has wireless and is a bit of a gringo-haunt. I spend a lot of time here; I like it a lot, actually. So I came in, sat down, and ordered a tea.

I am not exactly sure what happened. The waitress started to hand me a menu and I told her I already knew what I wanted, and asked for a tea, please and thank you and all normal courtesies included.

She gave me a mean look. I was puzzled. Her friend, a guy siting at a table about oh, 6 feet from me, had been looking at me mockingly since I came in. When she sat down again at his table, he leaned in and they began talking very quietly and throwing glances in my direction. Seriously. Now, let's imagine I speak no Spanish at all. Do they think that not speaking Spanish also means that one can infer nothing from body language and, oh, pointing and laughing (nearly)?

So this proceeded for several minutes. I kept throwing meaningful glances back, sending brain waves: yes, hello, please stop talking about me.....they didn't pick up. Then the waitress got up and went around behind the counter, which I am sitting next to. She started talking to the other woman working. In essence:

"I am so sick of these gringos, they only speak English. They used to come only in the summer but now it's all the time, it's such a headache. They are so irritating! And that accent! It's like an infestation, these stupid gringas with their attitudes."

But extended. The other woman talked for a bit but then noticed me listening and said, "Quiet! The customer understands you!"

"No, she doesn't," said Favorite Waitress.

Then she went back to the table and talked about gringos some more with her other buddy.

Now, in the cafe at this moment there is only one other gringa; she is a sweet older woman who is smiling and polite and clearly at ease in Spanish. Then there's myself. A rough estimate of the entire exchange I had with this woman:

"Oh, that's ok, I don't need to look--I'd like to have an African Victoria tea, please. Thank you."

I would love to know what strange and terrible gringa vibe must be emanating from this woman and I without our knowledge.

So I stewed for awhile. Then I decided to deal a passive blow. I texted Allie that I was going to call her in Spanish. So I did. We discussed our plans. I used the past tense, future tense, etc. My accent didn't suck. The conversation lasted a few minutes.

The peanut gallery is veeeeeery quiet now. Take that.

So here's the thing: Gringo Guilt. We're filled with it. We are convinced that by being in other countries we are somehow a burden; that we have to shoulder the blame for every US American who ever spoke English to someone without asking them if that was alright, or said something obnoxious about "locals," or did one of the ten thousand annoying things that tourists can do. Just today I found myself apologizing to a Chilean about the fact that not enough North Americans try to speak Spanish.

Well, wait a minute. I try to speak Spanish--a lot. I observe local rules about politeness. I try to blend in, if not physically, at least in behavior. In short, I am a very nice immigrant. Just the fact that I'm here already excludes me from at least a dozen of the most common anti-norteamericano complaints. And when it comes down to it, there is absolutely no difference between this waitress and her generalizations and the people I've met in the US who go on about "lazy latinos." There are arrogant gringos who only speak English. There are lazy people who aren't from the US. But there are also plenty of arrogant Chilenos who only speak Spanish, and lazy norteamericanos.

So let's please. just. stop. it. I believe in peace, bitch, I believe in peace.

Vanishing city

These two pictures were taken from the same mirador. The fog has crept in lately. This is winter in Valparaiso. Growing up in Boston, I was always the wimpy one who couldn't take the cold. Here I'm perceived as incredibly hardy and/or crazy. Apparently wearing a skirt on a foggy damp day is very hardcore. I'm glad that my toughness is finally getting the recognition it deserves.

Independence day--disjointed thoughts

Today is July 4th, Independence Day back in the US. I am meant to be at a barbecue at the moment but am finding it impossible to get my work done. Hmm. Blogging is not helping this issue, but so be it.

I find myself very conflicted about this day. This morning I couldn't decide whether or not to do the whole red-white-and-blue outfit thing.


We're talking about a country with which I have a very complicated relationship. Whenever I read the newspaper, I have panic attacks.....I want to undo it all, I want to fix all of the damage, I want to personally apologize to the widows and orphans and fathers of lost children, and I want to distance myself from what is happening (everywhere) all at once. I am Lady Macbeth...out damn spot; will these little hands ever be clean again. We were not listened to. I am at fault. And yet half of the population was screaming out against this most recent of egregious acts of violence, and we were ignored. It is a terrible feeling. I am a citizen of a country which, on a regular basis (in fact, more often than not), violates every belief and moral that I hold sacred. It is a violent, aggressive, murderous country that throws its weight around the world in a way that makes me cry.

But. But? I am from the US. That is my culture. I feel most comfortable within that society--the way people interact with each other. Particularly as a woman. I have issues with women's rights within the states, yes. However, it's the best I've found so far. Let's take a look at My Chilean Life, for instance. I am regularly spoken to by coworkers and students (at any one of my various gigs) in a way that could get you fired at home. And possibly sued. Even at its most harmless, everyone asks me about my marital status before anything else, even in professional circumstances. The fact that I am single is seen as a major problem, and I am constantly being told by students, coworkers, everyone, about eligible young men I might want to date/marry. It is seen as strange that I go out at night in the company of other women--this is often interpreted as a sure sign of being easy. Hmm. I thought it meant we wanted a drink, but hey, feel free to make assumptions about my level of promiscuity. And you know how I feel about the yelling in the streets.

Not to pick on Chile, though. I've lived in France and in New Zealand, and in both places I felt like my gender was a larger 'liability' than it was in the states.

However, this is a blog about Chile. And Chileans are a remarkably blunt group of people. This can be a benefit--you don't ever have to wonder what people think of you--and it can be incredibly frusturating. Politically, it can be awful. Generally, people here are incredibly nice about politics, more so than in other places. They have had personal (in the national sense) experience with a government that acted without the consent of its people. In this way they understand far better than others what it means when I say that I feel powerless against my country.

But, like everywhere, there is a widely held belief in Chile that US citizens know nothing about politics or the foreign actions of their country. People are liable to get rather agressive with you. One friend of mine was told that she needed to 'open her eyes' because of a difference in opinion (regarding the theory that the government initiated the September 11 attacks, something which I think one can see in different lights regardless of how open or closed ones eyes may be). Someone made me cry at a party awhile back by refusing to let up on personal accusations regarding my individual ignorance and culpability for Guantanamo. I almost slapped a student recently for pushing the button one too many times regarding the Kyoto Protocol.

The worst of all, for me, are the self-perceived Cassandras. They are usually older, and lived through the Pinochet years on the wrong end of the political spectrum. They corner me and tell me that my country is lapsing into authoritarianism, that the citizens are in danger, that they have seen this all before and we must stop it before it is too late. This is the most difficult situation for me. Because I agree with them, and I understand them, but they don't believe that I do. And because out of respect for what they've gone through I can't say anything. I just stand there while they run through a list of my greatest fears. They think they are initiating me. They don't understand that I've spent my formative adult years in a political climate of the type that has caused me, on a semi-regular basis, to give serious consideration to how I might get my loved ones out of the country if human rights abuses began to happen within our own borders. What if they start incarerating Arabs? I worry. What if there is a coup and I am far away from my family? What if they pull my name off of the list of attendees at one of the various protests where I was required to give my name to police? What if they take all of my friends for their political activities? What if all of this were to happen while I was overseas?

Chileans also tend to think that we have absolutely no internal issues whatsoever. I cannot even begin to explain how many people have been amazed that we have issues with poverty and violence just like anyone else. It's understandable. The films and tv shows and music that make it here from the US are not the ones that deal with these issues. They're the ones with muscled heroes, blond waifs, and California everything.

So. What does all of this add up to? I'm not sure. I have chosen Chile over the US, at least for the time being. But I can't condemn my country because of its politics. I still love the people, it is still my home. It is what is Normal for me. But it terrifies me. I am afraid of my country, and I am disgusted by my country, and I am a part of my country and always will be. And so I find myself in incredibly hard situations where I can't bring myself to defend the US, and yet I can't stand to hear it abused by people who know less about the issues than they think they do.

Finally, this morning (and here you see that you are dealing with a literature major), I did decide to wear the colors. I am wearing red and blue. Red for the blood that has touched oxygen when it never should have, all over the world, at the hands of the US or others bearing US-bought weapons. Blue for my blood, which is still safely indigo within my veins, which will always connect me to that country of my birth. Together because I understand that it is pure chance of birth that my blood has stayed blue while the blood of others has run red.

White. I could not bring myself to add white, the color that stands so frequently for purity and innocence. How could I? I thought about it. Finally I added my bone necklace, which I designed and made in New Zealand. It is meant to represent a fantail, a particular type of bird which taught me a lot in my time in that country. It is a cocky, unafraid, light-hearted little bird, and it always seemed to appear when I was going off into some spiralling mental tangent. In short, it would remind me not to take myself so seriously. In my post-NZ life, I wear the necklace to remind me of the same. So, in the interest of lightness against all of the unbearable weight that is my country, I am wearing my fantail white. Happy Fourth of July.

Thaaaaat's Chile.....

...............is just what you have to say sometimes. Explain and clarify in 500 words or less.

Both Valpo and Viña (and Santiago, for that matter) are full of street performers who jump out in front of stopped traffic at red lights. Usually, they look approximately like this:



At night, sometimes, they juggle fire. Unfortunately both you and I will have to live with the fact that my camera is not capable of taking a good picture of this, or at least so far has not proven itself able to.

Yesterday I was in a bus, riding back through Viña del Mar after making some reckless purchases at the mall (more on the mall another time). I was looking out the window and listening to a podcast from NPR's Here On Earth , which I highly recommend. Bits and pieces of everything. This week I've learned about the historical context of Edith Piaf and the history of Argentinian mate, for example. In any event, this particular podcast was on the subject of Rwanda. Specifically, an author was being interviewed about the rebirth of the country since the genocide. They discussed a number of interesting angles: the leadership role that women have taken, the use of traditional tribal law, the concerns about authoritarianism and human rights abuses, the economic growth, and what not.

As I am listening to this very interesting interview about Africa, I look out my window down Avenida San Martin, a busy street along the sea. What I saw I wish with all of my heart I had a photograph of, but unfortunately it was too late to jump off of the bus. There was a street performer. He had painted his entire body black-brown. He was wearing a grass skirt. He was waving a paddle of some sort. He was holding a spear in the other hand. He was jumping around and one can only imagine making some sort of savage-esque noises.

At noon. On a main avenue. For public entertainment.

Thaaaaaaaat's Chile!

Bellas Artes

Last night I received a real, gen-u-ine paper letter from a certain Berry Breene (take note, other friends, the bar's been raised). Ms. Breene and I met as unmotivated freshman. We were unsuccessful roommates our sophomore year. We almost missed the last train home in Koln, Germany, because I managed to deposit my wallet under a chair at a bar half a mile away. We went to Amsterdam and enjoyed the sights, and pretended not to speak English on the train to avoid backpackers. She showed up in New Zealand and we climbed a very large hill, then had to run down so we wouldn't get trapped in the woods at night with the dangerous kiwi bird about. We even survived a down-under chicken attack together:

I think they wanted their eggs back. Anyhow.

We also lived together rather successfully our senior year, most likely due to the fact that we were both in solitary confinement working on our undergraduate theses, known 'round Allegheny as the Comp. Please note, English teachers, that this can be used as a verb and adjective as well as a noun, as in: "I'm comping this semester," or "Guess who's de-comped!"

I digress. In this amazingly tangible paper letter of mine there is a photocopy of a page in the Village Voice. In said photocopy, one can see the reproduction of my girl Berry Breene's painting Viva la Revolution of my boy Sam Breene with a PBR and his hand down his pants:


Congratulations Ms. Breene, you are a bona fide artist. Check her out.

Now Berry has been working for oh, forever, on a gigantic mural that will be put up back in Meadville, our college town (which I have heard is going to be the film site for the movie version of Cormac McCarthy's The Road, which is set in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. No joke. Can someone verify or disprove this?) Here she is doing her thing:


Very soon she will be packing off, prospector-style for the west, bringing her muralistic stylings to Portland, Oregon. I am told that Kate Ickes will keep her from misplacing her bills, clients, head, and what not. Bueno suerte, chicas, I expect to see Portland covered in Berry-art whenever I manage to visit.

And so, finally, as a toast to Berry, I offer up a few of the many, many murals that cover just about every surface in this city. Maybe I'll make it a series: The Berry Breene Commemorative Mural Exhibition Series. Catchy.