A Year n' a Day

You know that feeling... That one where you go on a first date, you get all clammy and nervous, you don't know what exactly to talk about, the convo doesn't always flow, but at the end you go home a happy little person, hoping for another go.  Then comes the day after the first date.  Will he call?  Should I write a quick, whitty email?  Is the 3 day rule still true?  Is it awkward that I over-the-top made out with him in a booth in a restaurant???  Will he judge me?  All very tummy-knotting.

So today's that day, amigüitos. 

A year 'n a day with Mr. LL, and I couldn't be happier. 

There are so many things that I'd pondering adding to this post, but at the end of the day (the 366th, to be exact), I just for once wanna keep it to myself, cuz, man, that stuff is special. 

365 + 1

An Interesting Chilean Beauty Phenomenon...

Womens' beauty rituals can get pretty freaky wherever you might be on the planet.  From dipping your feet into a tank replete with skin nibbling fish to achieve soft, sexy piggys, to colorful caviar facials, to (odd, and confirmed, weird ritual winner) bull-semen hair conditioner-- there's not many a limit we wont cross to achieve what we (or others) assert to be beautiful.

I can't claim to be fully astute in terms of Chilean beautification tactics, but I will forever remember the first time I observed, with a twisted "wtf are you doing?!" face, a girl casually curling her eyelashes with.... a spoon.  Just like this:

 
And since I actually knew this chica, I know that she could spring for the oh-so-pricey $5 eyelash curler that didn't come from mom's cutlery drawer.  I mean, the whole thing was terrifying.  How could she not be simultaneously ripping out each and every cherished beautiful lash??  Hers are actually quite gorgeous which is the worst part.  It was painful to watch. 

But the thing is, is that that was the first of many spoon lash curling encounters.  I see almost all of my compañeras at work doing it and it seriously still gives me the heeby geebies.  They curl 'em on the bus, on the metro, wherever it might strike their fanning fancy.  Maybe they have it all right though now that I think about it.... seeing as a couple of months ago I was doing the same thing but with a normal-person-eyelash curler, flinched, and pulled out mmmm about 50 lashes.  Not pleasant.  Horrifying, actually.  But not enough to change my gringa beauty habits for those fit for a dinner table.

In fact, in doing the "research" for this post, I was semi-shocked to find an actual market for spoon-lash-crimpers.  Just ingenious.  This is not just any spoon ladies, but a unique, one-of-a-kind, youhavetohaveit youcantlivewithoutit, eyelash spoon curler.  Hilarious. I mean, you would buy a fancified spoon, but not an actual eyelash-curler??  Stumped.  Maybe the Chilean definition of said tool is, in fact, a spoon... There's something semantic to ponder...

//What are your "weird" beauty rituals?
//Does curling your lashes with a spoon freak u out too??
//Have you ever used bullgizz conditioner???

Ode to the World Cup

It was only short four years ago,
I packed up my bags and left for Oslo. 
For the summer with my brother,
I wouldn't wanna travel with any other.

Starting in Norway, onto Denmark,
bumbling around like a Griswold named Clark.
Leaving Copenhagen on a speedy lil train,
we arrived to Berlin with a toast of champagne*.

We hop outta the car in the Hauptbahnhof,
It's brand new glass structure, standing aloft.
Hailing a cab, en route to the hotel,
An interesting phenomenon onto us befell.

All over town there seemed to be a craze,
And it all arose from a simple two-word phrase.
It was the World Cup and we had no prior clue,
Americans don't go loco for soccer, like all others do.

Wherever we went fans flashed their colors brightly,
Showcasing their feverish spirit, downing German beers nightly.
They came from all corners of the globe,
(And always packed a jersey in their wardrobe).

It was a luck most people only dream of,
And, for us, a true charm fallen from above.
Cuz while many paid thousands just to be there,
We merely stumbled upon it (minus the price of the fare).

Amid all the commotion and intense rivalries,
We stood watching the big screen with a pair of kiwis.
Of course we too got swept up in the Mundial fever,
And felt bad for the losers (there were many a griever). 

Its really too bad Americans don't care,
Cuz its not like the Superbowl can even compare.
It's the World Cup and the whole globe is on fire,
Everyone wanting the same thing, the cup to acquire.

So here we go, now in 2010,
Like I said, only four short years it has been.........



*completely false
** levels of boredom have reached new highs
***vamos Chile!!!

In Defense of Indie (films)

I, friends, am an indie advocate in nearly all aspects-- especially music and movies (are there many other indie realms??).  Anywho, the whole "independent" genre is becoming increasingly difficult to truly deem "indie" as the forces of technology, communication, viral-ness, and speed of information surround and many times overtake, and submerge the independence of the artist.  And you never know who is actually backing your favorite "unknown" band or, no sé, production agency because record labels and film company's have become so interconnected and enredado that many receive cash flows from the same sources.  It's called conglomeracy amigos (may be a made up word, but you get the point).  And that's how the world is spinning these days.

But the whole point of this post to to tout the grandeur of the often un-noted, low budgeted, simple yet magically wondrous indie film.  Regressing in time, I think the first "indie" movie that sparked my fuego was Focus Features' Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, written and directed by Michael Gondry and Charlie Kaufman.  It was mesmerizing.  Four years after its release, the post-college doldrums rolled around and I found myself painfully addicted to Netflix and the endless world of films they have stocked in their inventory (they are #1 on my list of things most achingly longed for from the states for a reason, ppl).  I sat around for months pondering (fruitlessly, obviously) what the F to do with myself and, in the mean time, whisking myself away to France, Spain, India, etc via the endless supply of flicks provided by said company.  Bliss.

Since coming to Chile, I haven't been able to keep my indie boat as afloat because of 1) Netflixie doesn't exist, 2) seeing an "indie" flick requires going to the movies and lets all keep my PollyPockets in mind here, 3) buying crappy quality pirated movies on the street isn't my "thing."  BUT- there are a couple of decent Cinearte movie theaters here in Santiago, and a surprising amount of film festivals, usually taking place via the Universities.  If you find your self in a non-blockbusting bind, here are links to the theaters:

El Biografo -- very cool old theater, in a very cool old neighborhood
CineArte Normandie -- very old old theater, in a very old neighborhood
CineArte Alameda -- sometimes turns into a dance club
Cinearte Tobalaba -- never been

This post is going in a random direction...  What I really wanted to plug, al final, is the movie The Italian or Итальянец (cuz the film is, surprise!, in Russian).  The other weekend, LL and I went to see it and I, for one, had absolutely zero expectations.  I errantly assumed it would be some sort of It's a Wonderful Life type of movie, set in the Italian countryside....  Psych!  It is set in a desolate, frozen, harsh Russian village, in a boy's orphanage with a crazy, leopard-bra-wearing owner, and a grumbly semi-kind-souled headmaster.  Basically there is a little boy, Vanya, who is slated to get adopted by an Italian (thus the title) couple who is going to take him away to warmth and comfort and orange-eating-euphoria.  His amigos are über jealous, but poor little Vanya only wants to find his birth-mother after having a drunken encounter with a mom who gave her (already adopted) son up for adoption and returned to the orphanage in hope to repent her mistake.  Too late.  It's sad, yet touching and the thing is, is that you can tell that the budget for the film was probably less than (a high guess) $2 million US dollars.  But it was far better, far more thought-evoking. had more heart than (most) all of the multi-million blockbusters put together.  It was simple.  The filming was simple- there were no special effects, not really any magnificent lighting-- just as it would be as if you were really seeing it (cold, drab, painful Russian landscape) and it was perfect.  I wont ruin the ending, but I will say that it was one of the best that I've seen in quite some time.  Totally recommendable (but in a warmer theater, with a non-tilted screen).

Other favorite gems include: 

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (French)

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not (French)

Amores Perros (Mexican)

Persepolis (French)

The Motorcycle Diaries (Mexican? who cares if it has Gael Garcia Bernal...)

La Vie en Rose (French)

Lars and the Real Girl (USA)

Love Me if You Dare (French)

Y Tú Mama También (Mexican)

L'Auberge Espagnole (French)

Etc, etc, etc, etc,---------

And if you're in the Fort Collins, CO area.... dont miss Lyric Cinema Cafe- it's the best ever ever ever.