The Case Against 13C

Submerged below healthcare headlines, a tattooed slu who broke Sandy's heart, and stories of priuses run amok, is the quiet, rumbling, and socially awkward debate/"underground movement" having to do with obese peeps.  Not talking Biggest Loser or the lady, who is, in fact the biggest loser of them all, who's trying to acheive great and Guiness-record-breaking fatness (emitome of appalling) -no- we're talking, my friends, about those jet-setting obesies, those flyin' fat peeps who try, to the end of their wit, to squeeeeeeeeze all of their gut n' glory into a 2x2 square of 90-degreed uncomfort.  The debate of "do they have to buy two seats?" 

As of last week, I offcially assume myself to the campaign, and say an emphatic HELL YES.

The thing is, amigos, is that before this last week, I was apathetic towards this issue.  Yeah, I'd been dealt the occasional unfortuante seat lottery, but this last time takes the cake (and devours it as well).  And when flying internationally, and, say, on a 10 hour overnight flight, you cross your little fingers with all your might, praying, hoping you don't get dealt a bad card in the roulette of plane seating.  Feverishly purchasing the ticket a week before the voyage probably didn't improve my odds, but still, I walked down the tarmac optimistic.  Get on the plane, head to row 13.  Damn.  Already hit with poor odds when I see my row is the last in that particular cabin.  Know what happens in that case?  There is an inter-cabin divider.  Which means... no reclining.  SEVERE.  Clearly my hand couldn't get worse.  I fold.  Already bored, I kneel on my 2x2 seat, facing said wall, and make a semi-irritated call to LL.  "Me toco un asiento que no reclina weon!!"  He was not amused. 

We chat for a while, le digo que lo voy a echar de menos (obvio), and I semi-relax.  Until I hang up the phone and see, to my left, a massive blob-of-a-human who'd somehow wiggled his way into the seat beside mine.  Are you kidding me?  I mean, are you KIDDING ME.  Not to be rude, but 13C was prob one of the most giant, obese humans I have ever laid eyes on.  Really. And he was wearing a MUSCLE SHIRT and SHORTS.  And was already sweating.  ARE.  YOU.  KIDDING.  ME.  This is the equivalent of gambling your life savings, losing, your wife divorcing you, getting evicted, and becoming homeless (in the gambling world of plane seating).  My semi-relaxed state exploded into an internal rage that had to be kept 100% discreet because, really, wtf am I gonna do???  "Stewardess, ahem, ahem, stewardess.  Please reseat me as I would like to not be siamesed to this sweaty mass-of-a-man for 10 hours.  THX!"  Notsomuch.  Really, you cant do anything and plus the flight was booked, so just fml big time. 

So I resigned to sulking in my now 1x2 half-sized seat and pouting.  It really, lightbulb!, brought to my attention the acutal need to mediate this sort of "issue."  Yeah it's hella uncomfortable, and people are gonna get uber pissed and offended, but, honestly, in my opinion, it's only fair for them to pay for two seats if they are actually, ahem, taking up two seats.  Which 13C was.  He was now 13CE.  Unfair!!!  This giant, and not giant because he was muscly and naturally big, obese dude was touching the whole left side of my body for 10 hours straight.  NOT SEXY!!  And let me remind you of the MUSCLE SHIRT.  Then a few hours into the flight, he had the lovely idea of further reducing my halved space and lifting up the arm-rest.  Spilling out ON TO me, I had to curl up awkwardly next to guywithheadphones to avoid his full consumption of my being.  Barf.

So whine if you will people, but for the comfort of the whole (what? the US is becoming more and more socialist as we speak) it's only fair that people weighing above a certain number be obligated to buy two seats.  Maybe it will motivate you to get in shape.  Save a few bucks.  Now, I realize that this sounds wildly ass-ish, but maybe you'll share my opinion the next time your roulette deals you the same hand.  And obviously I know there are "special circumstances" blahblahblah, but come on people.  Being healthy is a good thing.  And maybe having to fork up (hehe) mo' cash for mo' space will cause some people to realize their unhealthy habits and make a change for the better.  For the good of the people, people.

COMM 401: Cross Cultural Communication

It really is highly entertaining living in another culture, sharing various idiosyncrasies that you've never stumbled upon, being kept on your toes in attempts to maneuver across, in-between, among the lines of cross-cultural snafus/awkwardness/unexpectedness.  Never ceases to surprise.  This is obvious people, I mean, what are we, in Sophomore year of college in Dr. Caputo's International and Intercultural COMM 401 class??  Come on.  But despite having taken this incredibly worthless and 100% self-teachable class, I still find myself surprised by cultural differences that just really aren't that noticeable but call my attention. 

EXAMPLE (duh)


I'm skipping out on Santiago starting Friday and about 96% of the people I tell respond with the following, shocked, inquiry:

AWW ESTÁS DEJANDO TU POLOLO SOLO?????  VA ESTAR BOTADO SOLITO POBRECITO POR UNA SEMANA????
(Awwww you're leaving your boyfriend alone???? He is gonna be ALL alone for ONE week????  How could you (gasp)?!?! )

The amount of surprise with which is question is appallingly asked is, to be honest, off-putting.  Yes- I loooove my BF, yes- I'll miss him and his adorable little face, yes- I'm coming back... BUT I THINK HE'LL SURVIVE. Really.  I think he'll live to tell the story at the end of the 7 days I so coldly and heartlessly left him alone.  Like really?  Is this level of drama necessary?  Are we the only freaks in this country who have our own lives but are able to share them with one another?  Hmm.  I don't know.  It's weird. 

Just caught my attention.  Definitely not a big deal.  I'm just so bored that mundane things excite me in to blogging.  My apologies.  Gonna go back to perfecting the art of sleeping with my eyes open...........

Life Goal: Take 1

When my rents came and visited moi here in Chilito, I had a long soggy (in the hot tub) convo with my mom about my life and all the things that plague my mind and thus turn me into an unstoppable thinking machine on the fastest path to self-destruction. 

She was sooo chill about it.  Cuz she was in Chile?  I don't know, but I just remember her telling me to "chillax" and to "stop and smell the roses."  Which she so effortlessly reminded my of when she sent me the ever-so-middle-aged-listener Mac Davis CD with, u guessed it, the song "stop and smell the roses."  Ca-ching.

Turns out I've done a crap, craptastic job of taking her advice and have subsequently allowed the bren-brain-destroyer to whack it's way into my most whack area of consciousness.  Not an ideal recipe my friends.  The crazy lady in question finally flew the coop yesterday and allowed impulsiveness to submerge her most rational capacities and POW!  Wont go into detail, but def took a dive off da deep end.  (And yes, speaking in 3rd person makes me feel less accountable...)

The point of the story is that I can no longer allow myself to live in the future, worrying about shit that is so far-fetched and obscure that I think myself crazy and into a day-to-day tailspin in which I lose sight of the awesomeness that is my life, and the lucky chick that I actually am.  It's just silly.  So- NO MÁS!!!! 

If you know me and catch me breaking my new rule- MANDAME A LA CRESTA!!!!

PS- Do you have ANY IDEA how many AWFUL "stop and smell the roses cartoons" there are???  About 130,000 according to Google.  Anyway, the only reason I posted this is because it has a Bee and duh it's kinda key to this blog.

But not that Bee.

Cuz that Bee isn't the new Me.

True Life: I'm a DJ

So, with the free will that this blog permits, I'm gonna oblige myself and do a lil shameless and bragadocious self-promoting.  I'm not usually one to be a spotlight"whore" but tonight I think I'm kind of a badass, to be frank.  The thing is---- is that I'm a radio star.  Maybe you didn't know that about me.  At least I like to think that I am... although really only like 2 people listen, but tonight I am playing frakking awesome music and am stoked to be sharing my love of beatz and tunez with those clicking in to my show.  Famous, my friends, famous.  Haha!  Not at all acutally, but I dream, I dream...

Being completely honest though, doing this show (every Tuesday, 8-10 Chile time.. tune in peeps!!) is always one of my favorite parts of the monotonous week of blahness.  I always leave on such a high, and the two hours FLY.  Never feel like I can fit enough songs in the short span.  Dance.  Grin.  Sing along.  How can that not be awesome??  For yours truly it's quite the release.  Hard to have a bad day on air.

So, taking a gander, I'm assuming that this is the feeling that you're supposed to have when you're "working but not working."  Can't say I get this sensation in the office.  No way Josè.  Yeck.  The only other time I am blessed with this time-flying, no-concept-whatsoever of the hour is when I sit and paint.  Could do it for 9 hours and have no idea that 45 minutes have slipped through my brushes.  Clueless.  Something to aspire towards in a career related perspective for sure.  Can I be a DJ-ing artist?? Not likely, unless I'm in the market of vagabonding.  But-- I'm gonna take a sip from my fleeting half full glass and presume that somehow I'll find the path that leads to this sort of hourless bliss. 

But for now, I'll delight you peeps with the playlist from this evening's show.  I can't help but say it rules.  Enjoy-

Metric - Collect Call
Matt & Kim - Good Ol' Fashion Nightmare
Interpol- All Fired up
Au Revoir Simone - Anywhere You Looked
Lykke Li - Breaking it Up
Of Montreal - Bunny Ain't No Kind of Rider
Matt & Kim - Cutdown
Regina Spektor - Dance Anthem of the 80s
Animal Collective - Derek
Wolf Parade - Disco Sheets
Arctic Monkeys - Do Me a Favor
Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Down Boy
The New Pornographers - The Fake Headlines
Matt & Kim - Ginders
Wolf Parade - Grounds for Divorce
Tapes n' Tapes - The Iliad
New Young Pony Club - Jerk Me
The Dodos - Longform
Fleet Foxes - Quiet Houses
Metric - Satellite Mind
The Unicorns - Sea Ghost
Of Montreal - Sink in the Seine
Wolf Parade - Soldier's Grin
TV on the Radio - Stork and Owl
Shocking Pinks - This Aching Deal
Pixies - Vamos
Yeah Yeah Yeahs - y Control

And, as a special request... One eskimO - Kandi

The After Shock- Thoughts and Reflections

I have been meaning to write this blog for about a week or 2 now. Some how it kept slipping away from me. Not because I'm not up to analyzing and facing catastrophic and jarring events; to be frank, it takes time to reflect. And get real folks, it's not like I'm facing a deficit of spare hours these days but you gotta catch my drift when I say that it's been something easy and convenient to put off. Reliving and reminiscing about a tragedy is not ringin´my bell. --- Especially after the three, THREE, aftershocks (7.2, 6.7, 6.0 mf's) that rocked my office, and re-jolted those memories of the night of the 27th right into plain, unobstructed and tear-inducing leg-quivering consciousness. Because, from my frame of reference and life experience with EQ's, every time the earth moves, there's gonna be a 8.8 Richter- sized explosion. Not sure if I can ever "get used" to the temblores. And, people, plz stop cooing "tranquila" to me for Christ's sake.

Essentially, I have run the complete gamut of human emotions in one week-- profound sorrow, a fear for my life, heartache, pride, anger, helplessness, empowerment... No wonder I could barely concentrate enough to put on socks. Never have I felt so zombie-like even after the world's sloppiest night of binge drinking. I simply could not function. Paralyzed with a heart wrenching tembl-over.

Getting to work on Monday the 1st, I was literally SHOCKED at how cavalier everyone was acting. Like, yeah, something kinda strange happened over the weekend but it was like no biggie. So some of the roof fell down. So there are cracks in the walls all over the place. NBD bitches. Well, yours truly on the other hand-- emo wreck. Emo frakking wrek. Could barely speak. As a result, I started to get hella pissed at all my peeps for being so blah-nonchalant about it. COME ON PEOPLE GIVE A SHIT. It was the classic: "oh- yeah that sucks but nothing happened to me, so it doesn't affect my life." Sparked quite the rage in my guata. Here I am the rando gringa-- heartbroken, sob-prone, and devastated for this country and these people, and my coworkers who are, um, actually Chilean are acting SO NORMAL. Cue freak-out. It didn't compute.

But- come Friday, the country was awash in ways to help, cuentas corrientes in which to donate money, groups of students building techos para Chile, the country mobilizing itself to repair all damage in 48 hours. "Chile Ayuda Chile" the campaign was dubbed and, people, Chile really did help Chile. It was amazing how the whole country simultaneously opened their wallets, sacked their pantries and flooded volunteer centers. Together with some amigos, we pooled together a modest fund of $$, bought food and supplies for 10 family boxes, tossed 'em in the camioneta and valiantly drove to the campo-- we were gonna save the day. Riding in on our 4-wheeled white horse, it was almost impossible to pass through the streets because SO many people had congregated to bring supplies, rebuild homes, and fork over their weekend. Bypassing the masses, we drove around looking eagerly to dispense our little boxes made-with-care to families in dire straits. We were totally box-blocked, though, and found that of all the homes we went to, ZERO families took us up on our offer. They denied, with overwhelming kindness and gratitude, our goods, stating that they really weren't in need. Shockingly enough, no one took advantage of us. I couldn't believe it. Despite all the unnecessary looting in Concepción and the cultural undercurrent of stealing and entitlement, we were shied away and told to give to those facing true desperation. Consequently, after a day of literally driving around in circles (how cranky was I to be honest), we packed the truck bed with more than what we'd arrived with, and brought all the goodies to a house in Santiago, to a family taking everything to the Isla Juan Fernández (Robinson Crusoe Island.. read link, amazing story)-- hit horrifically by a raging tsunami. So, after a day of what felt like doing nothing, we finally we able to do something.

Not to mention the fact that, during the last minute Telethon, the goal of raising a quick $15million USD was more than DOUBLED. More than doubled people. Amazing. I was so surprised by these donors because on a day-to-day basis Santiaguinos can be seriously unpleasant. Walking down the street, in supermarkets, etc- if your walking in anonymity, you have the Chilean free reign to be an absolute asshole. Cue the Santiago-stink-eye. I've seen countless old peeps get pushed outta the way on the metro, people cutting you in line left & right, violent fights for absolutely no reason, and let's not forget about the nastygrosssickeningflaite "men" piropo-ing the women like we're carne... Por eso, I was so surprised at the instantaneous solidarity. Which made me think: what if Chileans (slash people in general) were like this all the time?? What if this spirit of service, one-worldedness, selflessness hung around long after the rubble is trucked away and normality restored?? How cool would that be?? Improbable but something to consider.

Anyway, hopefully this will be my last EQ related post. Hopefully things will return to semi-normality (hmm, country wide power outage this evening isn't a good sign) and we can rebuild, repair, restore the South, those who lost everything, those who need new homes. There is so much work to be done, but if the airs of the Teleton blow away the pre-EQ smog, I think we'll be as good as new in no time. Fuerza Chile...

The Earth Parts, II

We left off on the corner of Antonio Varas and Providencia. The cupulo of the Cathedral strewn to pieces, shattered as if a dismayed wrecking ball had snuck up upon it and smashed its bells into silence. Oh my god... Now, if this were any normal moment, there's no chance in hell a person could stand in the middle of Avenida Providencia and survive- it is one of the busiest thoroughfares in Santiago, a loud mess of cars, buses, drumb-bangers, prostitutes (at night, and of course, on my street corner), motorcycles, etc. But that night, this particular night the earth parted, there were what seemed to be hundreds of people wandering, shocked, scared, dazed in the middle of the street. Cars were halted, everyone gaping at the fallen idol-- my first sign of the gravity of what had shaken us.

But we have to keep moving. How are we going to get home?? For those of you who are interested in cartographic evidence, this is the distance we transversed in our attempt to get from A to B ASAP. It was not a short (or pleasant) walk (in sand filled ballet flats). Essentially from the metro Manuel Montt to the Estadio Nacional. Totally different comunas. What would normally be about a half an hour bus ride. We walked. Walked so fast. Did not stop. Slowed down, yes, attempting to overhear the news on various portable radios. Yes, to rubber-neck at damaged homes, buildings, restaurants, walls. Damaged people.

Nothing physical, no, but people of all ages-- most in pajamas, sitting, standing, pacing on the lawn of their apartment buildings, shaken, battered by what had just occurred. Grandmas, babies, mothers with children in their arms. Fear in everyone's eyes. Concern and uncertainty emanating from every face we hurriedly passed. At one point, I hear someone running behind us. Usually, on a normal non-quaked evening, that spells danger. Someone is going to rob you. Run up behind you and grab your purse. That was probably the most asustada I felt all night. Nearly broke poor LL's hand/wrist/arm. But the young guy sprinted past us, didn't look back. The robberies hadn't yet begun...

For the sizable distance, we arrived in (personal estimation) about 45 minutes to LL's house as the sun was forcing its first rays upon us-- lifting up the comforting curtain of darkness and ocular oblivion. Without the sun, the cracks and breaks are less noticeable...

LL tears open the gate, opens the front door and immediate starts yelling his brother's name. Tom and I stand, tired, exhausted. His yells start to get more and more desperate as he begins to realize that his brother is no where to be found. Yelling, running through every room in the house- LL is panicked. We begin to notice that the insides of the home appear as if it has been robbed. Furniture displaced. Drawers opened, dishes fallen, broken. LL's brother appears... walks unphased through the front gate. Poor kid was alone sleeping, the EQ stuck, and subsequently left the house to check damage. But was OK. Walk to the upstairs bathroom-- everything on the floor. A million little nail polish bottles strewn about the tiles-- a rare sight in what is usually a freakishly tidy house (in comparison to mine).

Turn on the TV. The destruction floods our eyes. The information, facts are overwhelming. It was almost 6 in the morning. Had to sleep. Exhausted.

Wake up often. Wake up to the news. Wake up to the worry of what my parents must be thinking. Wake up to more tremors that leave me nearly in tears, rushing out of the bed and downstairs-- where I come to see LL's pool half empty. Backyard tsunami.

Sleep, contact family, sleep. Eventually we get Chinese food. I eventually go to my house. I knew it would be a mess only because I have open shelves in the kitchen. Sure enough all the bottles fell, creating a stinky explosion that, after seeing various images of the damage in the south, I was more than happy to clean.

The rest of the weekend, and week for that matter, was a blur. I felt like a zombie. I semi-forced LL into staying with me at my apartment because I was still so scared of the aftershakes that haven't stopped rattling the Region Metropolitana and surrounding areas.

Basically- we were so lucky. So f-ing lucky. People lost their lives, their homes, cars, their family. Some people in the southern regions that were more strongly affected are still without water, light, or communication. Entire communities have disappeared. If the only thing I lost were condiments and part of my sanity, I'll go ahead and count my lucky stars. We were so lucky. So, so lucky.

Stay tuned, yet again, for part III-- reflections, thoughts, etc... There'll be no shortage, that's fo sure.

27.2.2010-- The Earth Parts.

I should have written about it before, before the looting started, before the Teleton was hurried into action, before I could let it sink into my heart, my mind, what will forever be etched into my memory. But I couldn't. I just couldn't. I found myself being forced to talk about it with everyone (understandable) which left an already shallow depth of words nearly nonexistent. Evaporated. Drained. And now after yet another, after another, after another aftershock (temblor) I feel somewhat ready to put into words the night of the 27th, the night the days got shorter, the night I have felt more fear than ever in my life, the night I was so lucky.

(If you didn't already know that there was a devastating 8.8 magnitude earthquake in Chile this last week, please stop reading and crawl back into your ignorant hole.)

It was a totally normal night. LL came and picked me up from work, we lounged around his house, and eventually around 11:30 we pull ourselves together, hop in the car-- probably the first time ever LL hasn't driven us to our get-together destination-- chauffeured by LL's younger brother, and head for a friend's apartment. Buy pisco and coke (a-cola) on the way there. Everything is so fucking normal. Looking back, so, so normal. We sit around the table- drink, converse, eat pizza (another first, believe it or not). A Chilean replica of GU. We lament that our good friend Tom is, after a 2 year run in Chile, is going back to Canada-- which is, in fact, the reason we're all together in the first place. Despedida.

Why don't we play Cacho?? Bueno... Well, I never learned how to play- not because I was interrupted by the earth parting, but it seemed entirely too complicated and why don't you have 5 people explaining a million rules to you at once in Spanish and see if you understand... Needless to say I pulled a NNansen and was 100% zoned out of the game. Usually I atleast try and play... Ni cagando esta vez. Start drifting off into a pisco induced siesta... In and out of sleep. Try to not be the loser sleeping on the couch while everyone was having fun. Fail. Zzz.

3:34AM: I didn't even feel the beginning tremors. I didn't feel them... Just was awoken out of my dreamy-half-awake state to LL and everyone in panic. He grabbed me and we huddled under the door frame (earthquake lesson #1). It became unbearable. The apartment building, I was sure, was going to collapse into a pile of dust. It was shaking the way a house made of jell-o would move. So easily unhinging. The walls began cracking, things falling off the shelves. GO GO GET OUT, GET OUT, RUN. Trying to dash down the stairs as they are moving violently underneath us. Just get out. Get. Out. Out before the building collapses upon us. How we got out safely is still beyond my comprehension...

Run out onto the street as a motorcycle falls over, as the bricks from the walls begin crumbling along side us. The trees and plants are shaking as if there is a hurricane. In the street we aren't safe-- the telephone polls appear to be tumbling, the cables snap. Are they going to fall on us? WHERE DO WE GO?

8.8 richter. 3 minutes. 7th strongest earthquake ever recorded. 700-800 times more powerful than the earthquake in Haiti that stole nearly 230,000 lives. Most terrifying event of my life. Shaking standing in the street, the power is out. For the first time, the Santiago sky bears unabashedly its stars. Car alarms blare in all directions. Time stands still. Grip LL, grip and don't let go. Trembling. On the verge of tears but paralyzed. Paralyzed.

But we have to go. Get home to LL's brother who is home alone. Alone-- not something I can fathom. JC drops us off on the corner and as we turn the first sight we encounter is the entire top of the Iglesia de la Divina Providencia (2 metro stops from where I live)-- an emblem of the Comuna de Providencia, fallen into the middle of the street. Crashed to the ground.

Its mangled wood, bricks, moldings lay strewn in the street, on the sidewalk as a massive pile of traffic and onlookers converged, with mouths agape. Silent. Golpeado.

...The walk home and following events are another story in themselves which will I will post tomorrow or the day after. Honestly, it's too hard to write in one post. It's almost been a week and it still brings me to tears. A reparar mi corazon voy yo......

(stay tuned for part II)