the accidental mullet

I’ve always liked Joans. First, Joan of Arc, then I fell in love with Joan Jett. Well, Now I have the fortune of looking like the latter of my heroines. It was an accident, and exactly the reason that many of my friends refuse to get their hair cut in this country. I am now one step closer to being Chilean, because I’ve now got the official national mullet (thinking abt correcting that, but it's kinda growing on me).

In other news, it’s Halloween and election day here. That means that the city is dead, and finally all the campaign bullshit for the municipal positions is over. Really, the superficiality of the politics of mayorial/city council elections here makes the current US presidential campaigns seem a shining example of elevated political discourse and change: it’s all faces, images, and meaningless slogans, both on the "left" and the "right." You would think that this city had absolutely no issues of any importance: all it needs is the assurance that

"This is how Santiago votes"-Alcaino, the Right’s candidate for mayor of Santiago El Centro; also advertises himself as "The Engineer: All-Terrain Mayor"
"We’ve Already Decided Who We’re Voting For"-Labbé, candidate for the comuna of Ñuñoa
"Now, with More Will than Ever"-Who can keep track of all this crap?
"The Woman of Change"-The current mayor of Santiago’s wife, who I’m sure represents a huge departure from his politics, will change things…
"A Great Team for Providencia" will lead the way
"The Youngest Candidate in Chile" must be the best choice…

Did I tell you about the voting system here? Everyone over the age of 18 can register to vote, but once they’re registered, they have to vote in every election or pay a fine. Most of the Chileans I know—that is, my housemates and their friends—are not registered, which is typical of the 30-and-under crowd. I’d say that there’s a lot of cynicism here, but it’s interesting that many of the unregistered people I’ve met say that they’re going to register, so they can vote for Michelle Bechelet for president next year.

Anyway, the voting is always on a Sunday, since everyone "has" to take part, and I think they stop selling alcohol on the Thursday prior to the elections, so everyone has a clear head when they go to the polls. A little paternalistic, if you ask me. And I know that no Chilean asked me to critique their voting system, but I’m here, so I’m giving my two cents anyway. The point is that tomorrow, every city in this country will have a new mayor and city council, and I’m not sure that anything will be different.

(Unfortunately, I won’t be voting in The Most Important Election of My Lifetime [or, the second, since I think the 2000 elections were also The Most Important]. Hopefully I don’t contribute to the rise of fascism. Well, maybe I would if they counted my vote anyway, because I’d be writing in Nader. But Kerry’s the spoiler anyway.)

Somehow I end up being in this lame city during holiday type days, and tomorrow is one too, something celebrating the saints (hmmm, funny thing, living in a Catholic country). It’s nice, because there’s hardly anyone on the street, and therefore much less pollution, so I can breathe. I went to Cerro San Lucía (Kissy Park) again, not to torture myself, but to find a nice spot to read. Somehow, it fell to me to do a "contol de lecturas," to prove that I had read for class two books we aren’t even going to be discussing for another two weeks at least. So I’ve been devouring Goethe’s and Marlowe’s versions of the story of Faust. Fun stuff. I suppose that’s appropriate to be reading on Halloween, though, since I am officially doing nothing else to recognize that holiday. Won’t be selling my soul to the devil anytime soon, but I wish I could go out and party with the goths and punks today.

Aside from bad haircuts, observing elections, and homework hell, I did do something interesting. One more official excursion offered by EAP, this time to camp at hot springs at the ends of the Cajon del Maipo. It was so gorgeous. We got there Friday night after a three hour van ride down dusty roads through the canyon, to witness a surreal sunset over the cordillera. I don’t know—it’s beautiful, but am I a brat to say it’s not as cool as what I saw in Perú, because the landscape just isn’t as dramatic? That is, the elevation isn’t so high, so though we’re looking up at great sites (I think the mountains are all volcanic in that region, too, if I’m not mistaken), it’s not that high up…

The best way to feed 14 people in the middle of nowhere is a BBQ, so we lit up a crazy fire, threw on some raw flesh and veggies, and chowed down for hours. Yuck, I don’t even want to think about food after all I ate, and the yummy artesanal wine I washed it down with. While others spent much of the night under the stars and almost-full moon (can I tell you how bummed I am that I missed the lunar eclipse this week?) in the hot springs, I passed out around four, with all the grime and ash caked to my face you can imagine.

Yesterday, I took a hike with a few other folks, which was nice, and after a dip in the water and lots of admiration of the scenery, we headed back to Santiago, so I got home in time to go to bed kinda early to recover.

I’ve been totally itching to get out of Santiago and see beautiful things, so the "official" excursion was a nice means to get that done, but I’m realizing I’m too melancholy to really enjoy myself. Which makes me think about all the fantasy travels I’ve been planning. I was about to explain all that in my usual linear, logical fashion and decided against it. Let’s just say that though it’s an amazing opportunity to see parts of the world I may not have a chance to see again, what makes me think it would be fun, given the recent state of my heart?

So goal number one is to get better. Any recommendations?

poetry for my peeps (in the early stages of a masterpiece)

pumping my piernas
burning off my panza
warding off piropos
and along comes a payaso
his cara all blanco
but super jovencito.

no need to take the micro
when the entretención comes to you

on the esquina by the
toesca metro
he rolls up my sleeves
and preps me for the calle
a long ride ahead

then out comes la manito
and i fish for a moneda
wish i could give him more than quiniento
but maybe my new sonrisa
is payment enough

he planted his labios
just above my glove
and reached out his cuello
for me to show my amor

never have i been able
to ignorar el aire contaminado
on my camino
so thanks to my clown
for giving me the energía
to forge on al derecho

next time you'll have to join me
for all the buena suerte
that comes on two wheels
peace out to my payaso
love to the compañeros

Facing Exhaust, Facing Piropos

wrote this last night:

Did I tell you about all the bad luck I’ve had with bicycles in this country? I suppose it could have been worse, but it was enough to keep me off a bike for most of the time I’ve been here so far. Anyway, finally have the keys to the chain to lock up the cute but POS bike, and after a $5 repair job to the gears and rear wheel, I’m back on two wheels at last.

Oh, and how I needed that, let me tell you. I still can’t fit in my pants and maintain a gut you wouldn’t believe (everyone in my life probably thinks I’m pregnant), but I can blame the monstrous thighs on the bulging muscles I’m gaining back (oh wait, biking doesn’t help with that). Actually, I saved the muscles from atrophy, but I’m a bit unclear as to the health of my poor lungs.

Remember how excited I was when someone told me the pollution would clear up in the spring with the so-called magical winds coming in over the cordillera from the ocean? Well, I could punch that liar, because I got all worked up for nothing. Some days, I might as well sit on my ass in front of the TV smoking a pack of Belmont Lights instead of huff and puff behind the exhaust pipes I trail all afternoon on my bike. Today, the air was so bad that I got a sore throat before I even left the house. Yes, I’m a delicate flower.

Do you know how they deal with bad air quality days? They pick a number from a lottery, and if your license plate ends in that number and you don’t have a catalytic converter, you can’t drive! Kind of like the California rules for water conservation. But come on, like they couldn’t come at the auto industry with that, or the corrupt micro fat-cats?

When I first started riding a lot in Oakland and Berkeley, I used to get all bent out of shape by all the random unpredictable, murderous car drivers I swear were in conspiracy to get me. A little bit of experience helped me get over that, and now I ride like a micro, as they say.

But here’s something I can’t get out of my mind, whether I’m on the bike or walking on the street: what the hell do guys get out of “diciendo piropos,” or hollering catcalls, making kissy noises, leering, etc?

I mean that as an honest question, because I know there are all kinds of sociological and historical reasons (I could always go off about 17 years of dictatorship and the complete objectification and exploitation of women), but I just don’t get it. When has that ever helped a guy get some? OK, fine, so women walking by know that their beauty is “recognized” (“m’ijita rica,” “linda preciosa,” “lola bonita”), but then what? What would happen if a guy actually said that to a woman’s face, for instance, as opposed to projecting from a truck window, say, or a bicycle, or the stoop of a building, or the ubiquitous construction site? It’s just so weird in that it obviously doesn’t serve that purpose at all: it seems to only serve to set women apart as sexual beings.

Oh, look at me geek out again. Here’s what I really meant to say, intellect aside:

I AM SICK OF BEING SEXUALLY HARASSED!

Remember that ad campaign: “That’s sexual harassment, and I don’t have to take it!”? (Why does that always remind me of: “I’ve fallen, and I can’t get up!”?) I wonder what it would take to have something like that in Chile? Damn, consciousness about sexism is soooooo far behind in this country—compared to what, I don’t know—but what matters is that it shouldn’t be like that anywhere.

So I’m averaging about 7 instances a day on my typical rides from home to class (about 35-40 minutes) and back. It’s creepy but almost innocent though: Chileans are shy—they would probably faint if a woman confronted them. (So I rehearse for the time I’m brave enough and fed up enough: “Oye, ¡huevón! No soy perro ni gato; podría ser tu hermana o hija o madre. ¡Cállate! Soy mujer: dame respeto, ¡huevón!”)

But it’s weird what it does to women. Other gringas I know have gotten used to the attention, and I’ve heard them lament the days when they don’t get it (“I feel ugly!”). You know—I kind of understand. Because overall, that’s about the only type of attention there is, and we internalize it. It’s not so bad in my classes, because I have a lot of really smart and assertive women classmates, and they generally get as much respect and talk-time as the guys, but outside of the academic atmosphere, it’s a whole different game.

I don’t know—everybody talks about “machismo” in the culture, and you see it everywhere. The state hardly trusts women with anything—you know divorce was illegal until this year, and the first divorces have yet to be processed through the legal system. And then there’s the illegality of abortion and the thousands of women who die each year from unsafe back-alley procedures. Then there’s politics and the workplace. Do you know that the first ever legal case involving sexual harassment in the workplace is taking place here right now? Because a woman was fed up with being interrupted in meetings and asked to bring the guys coffee!

Then there’s the good news: the presidential elections are coming up next year, and two of the main candidates are women: one from the Partido Socialista (current Defense Minister under Ricardo Lagos and the Concertación government [the united forces on “left”]) and the other from the Partido Demócrata Cristiano. Since they’re up against a “strong” right-wing candidate—current mayor of Santiago, Lavín—and Pinochet sympathizer, some folks think it’s a bad idea to take the risk of having women candidates. I’m really anxious to see what happens: it’s been interesting so far, watching how the press treats their campaigns (for instance, how much more interested they are in talking about their personal lives than issues) and how people talk about it. It would go a long way for Chile to have strong women leading the country. Even if they further the same capitalist pro-globalization policies as the men! I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong, but it gives hope to women that they can be taken seriously.

And why are we so far away from having a woman president in our so advanced society? Or at least a woman whose campaign isn’t a two-month joke?

OK, OK Mom, I’m leaving politics.

So I finally had my presentation in my lit class, and I have never been more proud of myself. I actually led the seminar for two days (yes, that totals 3 hours of me talking in Spanish, and they actually understood me), since I had so much to say and I was able to get everyone talking. It was so fun: I had people read parts of the play (Eliot’s The Family Reunion) (partly to avoid the embarrassment of my attempts in Spanish), and then the people who had actually read the play (shamefully few) had all these good ideas, and we even read from The Four Quartets, to give it that full seminar feel. Anyway, that’s probably the highlight of my academic career, though I still have to write a 20 page paper (longer than what I wrote for my senior seminar at Cal), so maybe that’ll be even more exciting.

And so another week has passed, and I am exhausted. I’m dying to get out of Santiago and am hoping to visit a local national park or the Cajon del Maipo (Maipo River Canyon) nearby. Probably more theater this weekend and hopefully some live Chilean music (Los Jaivas—you know them?).

Oh, and since I can’t go once without mentioning food: the real highlight of the weekend is the CHICKEN I am going to prepare. That’s right. I finally went into the little organic store right by my facultad and bought a freakin organic chicken, which I will be picking up on Saturday. I can hear it crying right now as they chop off its head for me…

But oh, it will be so good. That is, if a vegetarian can prepare a chicken. It’s been awhile. And we’ll see if I do it again. (And you know chicken is the chain-link meat: I’ll be on to steak before you know it. Not.)

Spring Is in the Air

…and so, therefore is love (or lust, if you will).

This past weekend, I used the “Columbus Day/Día de la Raza/Indigenous People’s Day” holiday to chill the hell out. Friday night was the fabulous dinner party you missed. So to take a huge detour from what I was going to talk about, I have to tell you what was on the menu. I made it all, save the last two items, and it was all new to me (check out www.drweil.com for recipes):

-Eggplant-Walnut Paté
-Broccoli and Cauliflower with Soy-Lemon Dressing
-Turkish Spinach Salad with Yogurt Dressing
-Beets in Mustard Vinaigrette
-Tofu with Cilantro Sauce
-Curried Beet Greens with Potatoes
-Vegetarian Kung Pao (with Tofu, not Seitan) with Asparagus and Peanuts (HUGE hit!!!)
-Potato-Rosemary Crusted Fish Fillets (trulla, but I have no idea what kind of fish that is)
-My Famous Coconut-Curry Rice
-Katie and Samantha’s Potato Dish
-Renato’s Orange Mousse Cake

Oh, and there was plenty of wine this time, plus the requisite Pisco.

Anyway, sorry, but I always have to geek out about food. You have to know how good it all was. And it was a special night, because all of my housemates were there: for reals, that was the first time we’ve all hung out, and it was super fun. The party was about half-Chilean and half-gringo, so I’d say things are improving on the social scene. It helps that about half of the gringas have Chilean pololos (boyfriends; “novio/novia” means fiancé in Chile) that they bring with them everywhere (fitting, since “pololo” means bug originally).

So I continue to work on that oral presentation for my lit seminar: we’re on Latin time, and it keeps getting pushed back (me cuesta mucho to get used to things not happening when they’re scheduled, but that’s life here). So what do you know, probably the only project of my academic career for which I have not procrastinated, and I won’t have to give the report until Tuesday (originally scheduled for Tuesday of last week). Anyway, I was busy with that all weekend, and then I hung out at the playground at this huge park near my house Sunday night, which was good times, kid times.

And now I come to the theme of the oozing (hetero-)sexuality in Santiago.

Monday (thank you, holiday in celebration of imperial conquest), I had nothing to do but get out of my house for some air and exercise, so I walked to the Bellas Artes neighborhood (about an hour away on foot) and caught the latest Chilean film at the first theater I came to. (That would be Cachimba, and you should see it when it comes out there: it’s based on a story by José Donoso, and thought it’s super-machista, it’s brilliant.) Then I wanted to discover more of the city, so I climbed Cerro Santa Lucía, which is a gorgeous municipal park on a pretty good-sized hill near Bellas Artes (the museum).

I don’t know—I really like to have days like that: alone in the city—going to movies and museums and for walks and all that good stuff. But I have to say I was made uncomfortable by the aforementioned visual evidence of heterosexual coupling all around me. For reals, I felt like a freaking voyeur just by being there—not to mention, alone and therefore not making out with anybody. It was like one of those ridiculous comedies in which some pathetic and heartbroken individual can only see happy couples all around him after a breakup. They were EVERYWHERE. Hey, that’s all good. Though I’m single, I can’t say I have a problem seeing everyone else helping ensure the future of the species in that way.

But come on! These people are shameless! And it’s nothing new for me in this city: it’s one of the first cultural differences I noticed when I got to Santiago. They’re just way more into PDA here, at bus stops, walking down the street, whatever. But combine that with the spring weather and the amorous park (which I now find out everyone frequents to pololear/make out with their pololo/a), and you’ve got one big potential porn film.

So this has got me thinking. Why the prevalence of PDA? Because we’re not just talking about holding hands and whispering in the ear and cuddling—this is serious foreplay in plain view of all the other couples doing the same thing (and, well, me). Do they need the attention, the witnesses to their sexual conquest? Does it do something for them to know that they’re not alone in getting it on?

I have come to various conclusions about this problem, but not without consulting my Chilean friends. Here are some possible explanations for this sociological phenomenon:

1) Puritans did not settle Latin America. The morality of sexuality here is so vastly different in many ways: both words developed similar brands of sexual oppression, but they’re just not so repressed in this manner here.

2) The question of young people making out in public. In the States, it seems that kids find a way to get some privacy for their sexual adventures, or maybe they just repress their desires better. From what Chileans have told me, however, the chance of young kids getting some time alone at home for making out is much more slim. And their parents might be happier to see them getting hot on the street than at home. Plus, they’re kids, so who cares?

3) But then there’s “big people” to consider: people who should “know better,” people with kids (possibly present, to boot), for example. How do you explain parents’ expression of sexuality in front of children? I am sure some of that is inappropriate and confusing for the kids (and there is obviously a different morality of child rearing in the States, for the most part). But there’s something else to it, too. When you have people making out in public, it lessens the shame around sexuality. Passion is normal, and we all have it (some of us luckier than others, and more able to show it off in public). So PDA is a way of normalizing sexuality and taking some of the mystery out of peoples’ personal lives. Do with that what you will: this openness obviously makes many people uncomfortable (estadounidenses and chilenos alike), but it might help others relax their uptightness around their own sexuality.

4) One of the ways the dictatorship sought control of the public was harassing young lovers. PDA was forbidden. So now, they say, PDA is an expression of freedom, a show that Chile is just as liberated as any other country. Of course there are other ways to express freedom, but since we all have sexual desires and are often in the position to share that with another while we are in public, why the hell not make out in front of the rest of the world?

Then there’s the question of other species getting it on in the streets. I’ve already told you about the tragedy of the city being over-run by dogs. Well, it would be a huge and expensive project to get them all neutered, sent off for adoption, treated for diseases, etc., but I guess there are not sufficient resources. It seems like a pretty big public health problem, too, but maybe one day it’ll get so bad that they can’t ignore it any more. And it’s worse in so many other places.

But come on. It’s spring, and all those damn dogs are humping. There’s no shame in that, but it’s just a reminder that there will be that many more little puppy dogs roaming the streets hungry and diseased in a few months (or however long dog pregnancies last).

You already knew I was a nerd, right?

On to new stuff, then. I decided not to go to Vialemana this weekend. But tonight I’m going to see the opening of a theater festival in my neighborhood: a friend as a play he wrote debuting, and my housemate has a small role in another work. Tomorrow we have out last EAP excursion: we’re going to the copper mines at El Teniente, so I’ll tell you all about that soon enough. And then there’s a concert tomorrow night my housemates are taking me to, some kind of fusion thing (yeah, sounds scary), but they have excellent music taste, so it should be good. And I don’t know. Maybe I’ll get out of my house even more than that and do something social. Radical, I know.

Oh, did you know that daylight savings ended for us down South? So we jumped forward an hour last weekend, and when you all gain your hour up North on Halloween (right?), we lose another one, or at least, the time difference gets worse. Instead of one hour time difference (as of a week ago), now my Mom’s three hours earlier; from two to four hours’ difference between me and my Dad; and three to five hours’ difference to talk to the West Coast (you know, when the whole coast gets together to say how much it misses me). Damn the man.

But did I tell you that my Mom, Fred, and my Grandma are coming to visit me in a month? I’ve probably already mentioned this a million times, but I just keep saying it because it gives me something to look forward to. Yeah, they’ll be here the week leading up to Thanksgiving, including Turkey Day itself, and we’re going to take lots of little trips within Chile, as well as travel to the amazing (I hear) city of Buenos Aires. Marvelous.

And even better (almost) is that by the time they leave, all of my classes will be over, so I get about 6 weeks to explore the South (which is green, green, green, lush and gorgeous) on bike (!) and hopefully see Mendoza and Cordobá, Argentina, the Iguazú Falls (at the border of Argentina, Paraguay, and Brasil) and the beaches in South Brasil.

That is, if I find a traveling companion. Do you want to join me? (And this is not a casual offer; I need you!--and of course we could plan a different itinerary, if you like.)

For Shame

OK, sorry it's been so long, guys. Really, nothing that interesting was going on in my life for the longest time, and then things picked up, so I haven't gotten around to recording it. Plus, I was kinda bummed out for awhile, and that's not too interesting to read about. Things are lovely again, though, don't worry.
So here, I'm posting the story of a little weekend trip I took awhile back, which was actually much more exciting at the time than I am sure I convey here. But enough with the apologies. Much more is coming, I assure you. I'm going to Vinalemana and Valporaiso this weekend, plus I have lots of little cultural and linguistic things I was thinking about, so enjoy for now, and stay tuned.

from Oct. 3:

EAP took us on another field trip this week. As part of our lessons on rural Chile, we went to visit the country’s largest private museum, in Santa Cruz, and El Huique, which is the last remaining preserved hacienda. Both are located in the 7th Region, in the Central Valley (ahhh, California!), about three hours south by bus.

The museum is pretty amazing and wildly eclectic. The private collector had everything, and though it’s a bummer that money could buy such important items that rightly belong to the public, at least it’s now in a museum, instead of in a private home. So we saw everything from archeological pre-Columbian artifacts (including one of the oldest mummies in the world) from the Americas (OK, I know that’s somewhat redundant; I just meant it’s not all Chilean), to artifacts of all aspects of Spanish colonization, to representations of modernity.
Random. There are about five guys marching through my neighborhood right now, forming a miniature marching band, without the rest of a parade to accompany them.

While we were hanging out in Santa Cruz after lunch, waiting for the bus to take us to El Huique, a Critical Mass of clowns appeared on the city’s Plaza de Armas. Yes, I took pictures. Apparently it was a hospital fundraiser, but damn, those guys were having a good time. And it made me think of Halloween Critical Mass coming up in SF. I was inspired, but alas, I’ll have to wait till next year to get my silly self dressed up on my bike.

Anyway, the museum was pretty cool, but I thought El Huique was far more interesting, especially given the history of the role of the countryside in Chilean history. Going back to the question of who settled various parts of the Americas, you can see that the Spaniards were not country people, whereas the British and other Europeans were born to farm and make their way in the "wilderness" they found in their new colonies. So from the very beginning, the Chilean elite was far more focused on building their cities and commercial centers (most significantly, Santiago, Concepción, and Valparaiso), while they dominated the country from afar. They lived in the city 9 months of the year (or in Europe), and only came to the country for the summer months, where they would oversee their haciendas during harvest. Typically, families would hold huge tracts of land for agriculture, with hundreds of tenants living on the land, working for them. It wasn’t quite feudalism, but at least a close cousin.
The particular family that owned El Huique was Basque (like most of the Chilean elite), called Errázuriz Echenique (yes, as in the two presidents of Chile in the first half of the 20th century), and they didn’t last long.
The hacienda was built in 1929 when those two families got together (they already separately owned the thousands of hectares side by side; it was just a matter of joining it across the river), and there is no one left directly in the family. After President Eduardo Frei passed the agricultural reform in 1967, the owners of the latifundos freaked out, since they couldn’t handle the 80 hectares that were left to them, when the rest of their land was collectivized. They would rather sell out than live with the humiliation of losing the land they "owned." Also, there was considerable class warfare in those days, and lots of the haciendas were taken over by the campesinos, and in the process, they often destroyed the property of their landlords. Pity.

But hegemony reigned at El Huique, and the folks that worked the land there were pretty loyal to the family. So when they lost their land in ’67, they donated it to the army (!) to be kept in perfect condition. The majordomo of the property (the house slave, as it were) was named a Sergeant or something. To this day, the folks that run the museum are descendents of the peasants: they give tours of the property and possess encyclopedic knowledge of the Ezzásuriz Echenique family. Creepy. But it’s a beautiful house, with amazing collections. A fantasy world for the rich to live in, while everybody else worried over their comforts. They even had two chapels on the property: one for the family, and one for the workers (because you know God can’t handle dealing with their souls all at once; it would be too confusing).

After they rushed the kids who needed to get back to Santiago to the bus station, about fifteen of us stuck together—with one of the program coordinators and her two daughters and friend—and headed for the beach.
It was like a dream getting there, because it was dusk as we left Santa Cruz again, and I slept on the bus, awakening to the killer sunset over the Pacific. Funny enough, everybody was talking about the predicted earthquake that was supposed to hit the next day, with its epicenter at Pichilemu, the exact town they were taking us.

But that didn’t happen.

That night, we made a huge bonfire on the beach, and my drunken friends decided to swim in the (freezing) ocean for kicks. Yeah, I’m a square; I just baby-sat.

Then yesterday, those of us who were not hung-over or still drunk enjoyed a tour of the region.

Actually I was in neither condition, and I tried to enjoy the tour, but it mostly made me melancholy. The area around Pichilemu bears a remarkable geographic resemblance to northern California, and it just made me homesick. We passed through groves of eucalyptus trees that emit a smell that can only ever remind me of my first semester at Mills. And there was the small organic nursery we visited, with the big compost bin with worms, which reminded me of a certain worm farmer I love. And it was a magical day, complete with a trip to a flour mill that looked straight out of a fairy tale (all hydro-powered and old-fashioned; you would never think that flour is still made this way), a lunch prepared in outdoor ovens, and lounging at a small lake, where my friends commandeered a small row-boat and again swam (only thankfully, the water was at least tepid this time).

And now, by the time I am finishing this (now pathetic, by my judgment) story, it is Thursday night the 7th. It’s funny how my life was so sad there for awhile that I didn’t feel it fit to share with you, and then I just got busy. Can I tell you how excited I was to get to go away for the weekend—not the least of the excitement was that I’d have something to tell you.

But I spent all this week sweating over school-work. Huge psycholinguistics research project I had to design, a paper for my Chile class (which just ended for the semester!), and an oral presentation on T.S. Eliot’s Family Reunion and the myth of Orestes (an hour and 1/2 long, in Spanish, of course). That presentation’s this Wednesday—I’ll let you know if I make it out alive.

Oh, and in the midst of all this, I’ve gained about four pounds. The boobs and ghetto booty are back.

And tomorrow night, I get to let off some steam by putting together another fabulous dinner party. That’ll probably have passed by the time you read this, but you were invited. Well, come next time, anyway.