KIDDIE IN CHILE

In 2007 or something, the Kid lived in Chile for a period.  It had a fairly transformative impact on him, and led him to attempt to rename himself as "cienfuegos" (unsuccessfully) (have you ever heard that said in a strong aussie accent?). Anyways, he wrote this missive, unto which I share with thee

hola weones,

The Chileans missed out on the 80’s.  Instead of bubblegummers and Mullets Mark I they were hiding under their beds and not telling jokes about the government as Pinochet was busy running around burying them under football stadiums.  It’s for that that they have a good excuse for being 20 years behind and so they are doing the 80’s for the first time which means that I am doing it over again.  Everything is 80’s, but most notably their clothes and taste in music, and I don’t meant the fly sort of cyclical return to the fashions of the past in an everything-comes-back-into-style sort of way, I mean it’s all brand new to them.  Half the populace have long, greasy hair down to their ars*s and dress in all black, never have I seen so many bad heavy metal t-shirts depicting devils since I was a 15 year old chasing my brother and his mates around, while the other half are waiting for the new New Order album, think Depeche Mode are the greatest band ever and are still stuck on Madonna in her pre-Kabala years.  The only other music they have is Ragaton, which is like a horrible version of Hip Hop with crappy 80’s beats and a couple of Whacckdaddies pouncing around trying to be all South Central and ending up more South American trailer trash instead.

There are no tunes in this country.

I just spent four days solid buried deep in the bowels of the bureaucracy battling the evils of being illegal, apparently I had 30 days to register with the International Police after I arrived though no one told me.  The International Police sounds impressive but they are just glorified stamp monkeys who wear their cop badges hanging from chains around their necks as if they are worried about not being identifiable in a high stakes under cover drug raid and thusly getting shot friendly fire-style although the only clicking they hear is not the hammer of their .44 discharging rather its only the duller thud of the Approved stamp clonking onto some German exchange students visa form 7,000 times a day.  So refusing to believe their stone faced no’s I basically kept walking up and down stairs knocking on every door I could find until they eventually let me off.  In the end the guy who was supposed to fine me was on holidays and no one else wanted to deal with my incessant whining so they drafted me a letter attesting to my extreme stupidity and excusing me for it and no fine for the kiddie!!!  Part of what i learnt navigating this maze was that Chile is about the perception of doing things rather than getting things done. People may be at work for 10 hours a day but they have the same level of productivity as I did in my last year at Macquarie when I slipped through the cracks and was accountable to no one.   Everyone wears a suit, has a lofty title and wants to feel self-important by trying to impress themselves on their underlings. Its hilariously predictable.  I have been pursuing the teach English vibe and the company is exactly the same as The Office I shite you not.  The boss is David Brent down to the bad goatee and I am waiting for him to get the guitar, the assistant to the manager is a skinny geezer who could very well be the real Gareth and the interaction between the two is priceless.  I’m trying to keep a straight face around these cats but it’s not easy.

It really shouldn’t have been such a whopping surprise for me to run into a so many hunting pairs of Mormans here in Santiago, trawling the streets and looking smart in their starched white shirt and black pant combo-uniforms that are helpfully accessorised with a name badge.  After all those literalists believe that SOG (SonOfGod) whence he woketh upon the third day, the lord said unto him, passeth thou over the seas in thine very fast boat and visit upon the peoples of the New World.  The pictures in the front of the Book of Mormon of the white bearded and robed Jesus probably delivering that Turn The Other Cheek sermon and hanging out on Inca pyramids with the feathersintheirhair archetypal noble savage Indians are worth picking up a copy for yourself.  I bet they wish now they had believed and got on board the organised Catholic religion train before the Conquistadors arrived or at least that they got the Eye For An Eye serman instead given the reaming they received by 50 blokes riding horses and carrying smallpox.  I am however disappointed by the lack of Scientologists over here because right about now I could really go in for a free personality test as I don't have too many people around here who know me well enough to tell me to stop acting like a d*ckhead.  Speaking of blood thirsty conquest I am on the look out for some art depicting the colonial times in South America.  What I really want are paintings of conquistadors with rivers of gold reflected in their eyes mounted atop nasal flaring steads with a cross held aloft in one hand, smiting cowering Indians with a broad sword wielded in the other.  Unfortunately it’s harder than you would think it would be to come by depictions of the slaughtering Spaniards doing it for God, gold and king.

My housemate’s Chilean girlfriend who was unstable at the best of times, and unhinged most of the times, tried to stab him through the heart with a stiletto and bit a nice chunk out of the end of his nose in a drunken rage the other night because in her rabid mind she was convinced that the two of us were gay lovers.  Don’t worry, I’m confident that she will be ok as she’s a psychologist so she’ll be able to sit beside herself on a comfy couch and talk about her father, to herself.  I think though that its probably because she wants me and it’s a projection thing.  In response to this though I have taken to sleeping with an old flip flop beside my bed for protection and have decided that I’ve probably gotta get a bird so as to stop the spread of this nasty slur.


The (bad) Sounds of Santiago.

-    Trucks cruising slowly up and down the street with music playing should signal that the ice cream man is coming, fair enough the ice cream man is probably also the local Scout Leader and you should take as much care around them with the fruit of your loins, the apple of your eye, as you would with the parish priest, but it should never mean that the gas man is coming.  In a Santiago without gas mains it does and I truly pity the poor ba*tard that has to drive around at 10kph all day, every day with a horrendous song lifted directly from Colin Powel Selecta! GitMo Bay’s Greatest Torture Tracks blaring out at an offensive level of decibels.  I yelp and cringe in a Pavlov’s Dog kinda way every time he is within range and have seriously thought about blowing him up (al Qaida would get the blame anyway so I'm sure I'd get away with it).
-    The Evangelicals who serenade me early on Sunday mornings, while I love the Muslim call to prayer in Marrakech, Seventh Day sods screaming half in tongues and off-key about servitude and god in Santiago at 8am on a Sunday morning outside my window is less the cool.  Why can’t they take a vow of silence os at the very least do their repenting on, say, a Wednesday arvo?
-    The sound of a million nuts slapping the nut rests of a million b*tches as all the not-spaded streetgang dogs hump at the same time, like a giant rhythmic metronome of puppylove.  Like all joints in Latin America they are in desperate need of a Dogs Are For Life Not Just For Christmas ad campaign or a bit of Nazi-inspired doggy eugenics/forced sterialisation.

Someone please tell me that grey hair is “distinguished” and that I am now just a little bit more like that Scottish actor bloke Sean Connery.

For more hair related material, click this:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bn0BJ7j3A4A

Adios.

The Goat.


Because one likes to think of oneself as grand and dramatic I’ll include this.  It seems everyone is doing quotes these days:

“You have navigated with raging soul far from the paternal home, passing beyond the sea’s double rocks, and you now inhabit a foreign land.”  Medea.