Boy wanna have fun

Citizen Leo

2009-11-24T12:21:00.001-06:00

Yesterday I went to my friend Leo's oath as an American citizen (many years ago he decided to stay in US with his sweetheart). Right now, I'm starting my own process to green card and -hopefully- citizenship, and it's going to be a long one. In any case, I feel very grateful that at least I have the chance.

Sand and time

2009-10-25T17:07:00.001-05:00

Greeting the autumn in the Indiana Dunes, I take a moment during the hiking to just lay down and enjoy the sand and the lake' sight. I will come back during the winter to see how much this landscape changes.

Hunter-gatherer

2009-10-13T14:41:00.001-05:00

Following tracks, placing baits, setting up traps, hunting high and low, the quest for a job gives no respite.

Uptown

2009-10-06T17:10:00.001-05:00

Randolph and Clark, downtown Chicago.

Chicago 2016... or 2028?

2009-10-02T11:05:00.004-05:00

Chicago's skyline, last night

Autumn waters

2009-09-29T21:51:00.001-05:00

Living here, whatever has been my mood, economic situation and expectations about the future (or lack of them) along the seasons, I have always found in the sight of Chicago things to admire, things that -most of times- give me new hopes.

Paranormal!

2009-09-25T00:10:00.001-05:00

Right about to start the prescreening of "Paranormal Activity", I am already practicing my scared faces. The last movie that really scared me was "The Blair Witch Project", mostly because I used to spend a lot of time camping, sometimes alone.

Where no man has gone before

2009-09-20T22:09:00.001-05:00

After most of my life devoted to learn only the intrincacies of cooking, I have decided to enter into the uncharted waters of baking. The outcome, still inside the oven, is uncertain.

Space Invaders!

2009-09-18T21:04:00.001-05:00

Ecological spaceships, from some undiscovered and probably well intentioned planet, have landed in Michigan Ave. Hazmat teams, the CIA and the National Guard are expected in any moment.

Geo Citizen!

2009-09-15T11:45:00.005-05:00

From now on, I will be writing blogs about Chicago's places in GeoPage, a social online service oriented to find local places in the main cities of U.S. You can learn more about it and find my GeoBlogs right here.

Of course, it would be greatly appreciated if you can visit my GeoPage too, since this is sort of an internship and finally all of us want the same thing: being famous and have a swimming pool full of beer; I promise you will be able to learn and discover more about Chicago, and whatever city I visit in the future (I will probably write as well about cities I have visited before). Also, you are hereby invited to comment or add any interesting place you know about... or to bitch about bad places too.

Let's share Chicago!

These Boots are Made for Walking: Glacier National Park

2009-09-09T11:44:00.009-05:00

My itinerary within the park was more or less like this:

The train was almost 2 hours late on West Glacier (10.30 pm), but fortunately a nice lady got me a ride on a private shuttle that dropped me at Sprague Creek's campground. After spending the night there, I packed up in the morning and headed to Apgar, the main entrance to the park. My intentions were going to Gunsight, a backcountry campground, but I couldn't get a permit, so instead I camped at Apgar and went to hike around. I walked to the Apgar Lookout just in time to see the sunset, 6 miles from the entrance, and made it back to the main road when already was pitch dark (somehow, I managed in my first day at the park to break the two main rules: don't hike alone, and never by night).

Next day I took the shuttle to Avalanche Creek, transferred to another shuttle to Logan Pass, and then another one to Saint Mary, at the eastern border of Glacier; my mission that day was getting to Many Glaciers before 4 pm, but since there were not free shuttles to that place I had to hitchhike and finally made it there after 6 pm. I had a permit for Cracker Lake for the night, but since was too late to start a hiking that would take me at least 4 hours I decided to stay in Many Glaciers. At the morning I headed to Cracker Lake anyway, and was back in Many Glaciers before evening. Next day went to hike to the north, to Ptarmigan Falls; after noon I packed up and went back to the "Going to the Sun" road in the east side of the park, and camped at Rising Sun.

Morning next day I went to Logan Pass again and hiked to the Hidden Lake. After lunch I started walking the trail to Gunsight Lake, and made it there just before dark. Next day, after walking a couple of miles around he campsite, grabbed all my stuff and headed to Gunsight Pass for what would be my longest hiking and last day at the park; after reaching the Pass I hiked along the Ellen Wilson lake, then to Lincoln Peak, Sperry Chalet, Sprague Creek, and finally Lake McDonald just before darkness. Again, I spent the night in Apgar, for I had to take the train early in the morning.

Bears on Ice: Glacier National Park

2009-09-03T14:53:00.001-05:00

It is absolutely worth the trip between Chicago and Montana -two thirds the width of United States- to visit Glacier National Park.

The experience of riding through five states and going from the totally urbanized Chicago to the desolated -and beautiful- prairies of Montana is beyond explanation, that meaning that everyone should make the trip sometime. Besides, finding other people fond of traveling across the country, and a few also heading to visit Glacier, is such an enriching experience. I remember Crystal, a smart woman from Seattle, who made me laugh when she told me -learning that I was from Chile- "On behalf of the people of United States, I would like to apologize for all the things that the C.I.A. made to your country on the 70's"; or Micah, Danielle and Zach, three biology students from Portland who gave me shelter for two days and maybe the nicest guys I ever met in the States; or Bill, a retired gentleman from Aurora, IL, with whom I found out had so many common life experiences; or Mike, from Madison, WI, who made my whole returning trip just one wonderful conversation... There are too many interesting people out there, I just hope to cross paths with any of them some time again.

This is the first half of some of my photographs.

Chicago again

2009-08-30T14:59:00.001-05:00

Almost here. I was out for only 10 days, but it feels like 10 weeks. Glacier was spectacular, but too short time to visit all the interesting places over there. I'm glad to have Chicago as my home, though, at least for the time being. Photographs about the trip soon!

Civilization

2009-08-30T06:04:00.001-05:00

It's 9.30 pm in Minot, North Dakota, and I am coming back from my trip. One week ago I lost my cell phone's signal around this remote place, so I couldn't keep posting. Now I'm dead tired and hungry and just want to be soon in Chicago, but the trip was awesome anyway.

Sweet dreams are made of cheese

2009-08-22T09:19:00.001-05:00

Breakfast in Minot, ND. The cheapest I could find on board was hot chocolate and a bagel. Lucky me, I love bagels with cheese cream, and am starving anyway. It doesn't compare, though, to the scrumptious meal of the cattle outside.

Cold case

2009-08-21T23:12:00.001-05:00

It's cold here in Minneapolis, I estimate about 10 degrees less than Chicago. Two years ago, part of the Chilean crew that worked with me in New Orleans landed here. They didn't last for too long, because of the cold and because the jobs for immigrants are never what they seem. I wish I had more time to see the city, though.

Mississippi

2009-08-21T20:05:00.001-05:00

Just passing La Crosse, WI, an old acquaintance shows up: the Mississippi, "father of all the rivers". Since New Orleans, two years ago, that I didn't have a glimpse of this incredible body of water, which I read about first in "Tom Sawyer" when I was 7 and just dreamed about travelling.

Space oddity

2009-08-21T17:10:00.001-05:00

Oh the luxury of traveling by train! In the same space where any average (that is, cheap) airline would squeeze two resigned passengers, I can stretch as a cat and sitting in meditation all by myself, while looking at the spectacular prairies of Wisconsin.

Union Station, departing

2009-08-21T14:27:00.000-05:00

Chicago is grey today, but I'm leaving to look for more sunny landscapes in Montana. It's hard to contain the excitement after all this time out of the wild. I'll be riding 30 hrs on train, along part of the path followed by the Lewis and Clark Expedition, but in this case technology will help me to keep communicated. I'll be posting on this blog as often as I feel like.

The Stinky Library

2009-08-20T12:40:00.003-05:00

There is something about reading while sitting in the toilet. May it be that is the only place at home where we are really alone and safe from others? Or is that, executing one of the few conscious activities that our body can take care of without demanding brain participation, the mind can devote itself to higher tasks? Is perhaps just the physical posture that we are demanded to sustain, with our hands idle right in front of ourselves? I remember reading a comment about the "industriousness" of the German people, for even when they were sitting in the washroom they used that spare time reading.

I started reading at a very young age, nothing to do with industriousness. I started reading in the bathroom probably at the same time as well. No wonder why: every individual in my extended family used to grab something -that is, anything with letters in an "emergency"- to read at when going to the privy. If nothing too literary could be found, then labels and packages of ointments and lotions were perused until exhaustion or full accomplishment of the biological duty.

Some people use to -as a result of the modern and vertiginous times we live on- talk through their cellphones and make whole business meetings while sitting on public booths. I am too shy to do that (I do not want my private sounds to be exposed to the non-initiated), but I nonetheless can spend the best part of an hour reading in the anonymity of a clean public restroom, my only restraint being other people around in need of my throne, for no one should make other fellow human wait too long in those circumstances.

However, not every toilets are created equal: there are some that can dispute the "Butt Award of Comfort" to the softest chairs; others seem designed specifically to put you on your feet in five minutes or as soon as you are done with your business, whatever first. In the latter case, if you stay longer you risk temporary loss of your lower limbs; one of my weirdest family's memories is seeing my kid brothers coming out from the bathroom with a book, leaning forward and trying to keep the balance while walking with numb legs after an extended reading session.

Pathfinder

2009-08-18T17:30:00.002-05:00

I have spent the last couple of years resisting to believe that I am actually an "ex-mountaineer". In spite of having lived in Louisiana, Michigan and Illinois (maybe the three flattest states in U.S.), I have secretly treasured the so far almost nonexistent possibility of getting out there to hike and climb. The United States are a huge country with many mountains and cordilleras, and despite the cult to the safety, cleanness and absence of adventure, there are still places more related to that early land of the Indians and explorers than to this of TV-cable-on-every-room-and-conditioned-air.

Last summer I expected to visit the Glacier National Park in Montana, but I lost my job and money was just a sweet memory. However, I'm going this summer, even when my economic situation it's not better than last year -my big asset of this season is the presence of new friends and certain lovely lady-; but I finished my internship at i.c.stars, so between now and finding a job I'll have some time. My plan is quite simple: pack up, take the train to Montana, be happy, get back to Chicago, find a job.

Operation Pathfinder has green light. I'm leaving on Friday and will be back by the end of August, if the wild bears don't say something different.

12 hours

2009-07-12T22:12:00.004-05:00

Photographs of Lake Geneva, WI.

Sunday breakfast

2009-07-12T12:44:00.002-05:00

Lake Geneva. We have still lots of cheese, fruit and beverages, Chilean wine and American beer included, but we just run out of bread. It's a life-or-death situation in another day of survival for these two weekend travelers, who migrated from Chicago to the prairies of Wisconsin in the eternal search for fun so typical of the species.

Moon

2009-07-10T12:00:00.003-05:00

(Grant Park, last night)
"Look at that bloody moon!", she said.
"Why are you cursing the poor moon?", I asked.
"I didn't... Oh, come on", she answered.

Friends

2009-07-01T14:43:00.008-05:00

The weather was sort of gray and sad today. My mood about the same, even when I like the rain.

When I left Chile I realized that I had many friends, and that I couldn't even say good bye to all of them. But a handful of my really good friends were there for my farewell. I haven't seen them in almost three years, but most of this time I tried to keep in touch, in spite of having the feeling that the bond was being stretched too far and too long, since I cannot leave U.S.. A couple of days ago, checking my email, I found one of my dearest friends connected to the chat. After greeting him, he asked me where I was. "Man, I have been in Chicago for the last 2 years", I said, "don't you remember?". He said "Yeah, it's just I was in Chicago yesterday, for one day". "Why you didn't call or write me?", I asked. "I was visiting with my friend, and didn't have your number, and no internet either", he answered. Quietly, thinking about the Buddhist statement everything is impermanent, I left the chat and went to sleep.

And since my passport has expired, I feel like I don't have a country anymore.

More than a woman

2009-06-29T14:02:00.001-05:00

Today, I felt somewhat sleepy so decided to go out to the corner for a frapuccino. The sun was nice. When I came back to my senses, it was too late: I was already in Michigan ave, trying some clothes. I bought the two shirts on the photo. I feel guilty now.

Notes about a meeting

2009-06-25T10:57:00.002-05:00

A little bit out of focus, my mind tries at least to understand the people around drawing them. One of my colleagues asked me subtly (we're in a meeting) why I don't do it for money, but that wouldn't be this fun.

A real man

2009-06-22T22:31:00.005-05:00

I badly needed a haircut. The only genetic heritage that I have from my South American Indian ancestors is my hair, thick and somewhat coarse, when being long ideal to endure chilly winds, snow storms and quite probably blows from the Spaniard invaders, but a nuisance in the hot and damp weather of Chicago in summer.

This is the only place I could find open after 8 pm, a small barber's shop in my neighborhood, Rogers Park. I remembered having read someone's comments about what means having a haircut "like a real man". This person made reference to those antique shops without fancy decoration, with experienced old barbers who would use real razors for the neckline, and so on. What I can say is, this shop looked really antique.

After all, you need to be a "real man" to come to this place the first time. Only three seats, but two of them with so much stuff on top that are probably never used. The rest of the place with all kind of objects, from old radios and cassettes to posters of sport stars from different countries. Even a very interesting detail: the place doubles as billiard room in the back. And the most amazing thing was, as can be seen on the photograph, the mark of the many heads that have fallen asleep and leaned against the wall.

I had a good haircut, anyway. Or so I want to believe.

Pallo's Barber Shop - Somewhere in Clark Ave, Rogers Park (close to Touhy, I think). Recommendable? Yes!

Shame on me (the blue summer at last!)

2009-06-20T15:33:00.001-05:00

After several days of unmerciful rains (and uncommon too), I am able to have this wonderful view of Grant Park, Buckingham Fountain and lake Michigan. Last night I slept at my friend's place here in the Loop; I was supposed to leave before noon for my dance classes, but I woke up with a terrible migraine, so the medical commission (my friend) decided that I should stay here until being in fighting mode again; this is not a hangover, for we didn't even drink much last night, but I think that being constantly stressing myself and sleeping little it's not the best recipe for being healthy. That being said, I feel ashamed right now, resting alone in this condo like a fussy pretty girl with that awesome weather outside.

But there are still hopes. Chicago Summer Dance today at 6 pm, and my dance academy's party tonight at 9 pm. I'll better get well soon.

Hard day's night

2009-06-18T01:14:00.001-05:00

Sometimes, when I stay at my office and look at Chicago's downtown by night, I can recreate the sensation the first time I was here: a cosmopolitan city, modern but traditional at the same time, with huge buildings and intimate corners. No wonder why I fell in love with this city.

The cellar's door

2009-06-14T00:01:00.003-05:00

This week I heard an interesting story. Mr. Gregory Morris, from Morris & Gunter Associates LLC was our guest speaker for High Tea in i.c.stars. I didn't have much information about Mr. Morris' work, and usually I don't enjoy too much the visits of people related to corporate America -many of those guests' discourses are based on making money, efficiency, making money, work ethic, and making money... you get it-, so I wasn't expecting much. Nevertheless, Greg Morris started talking about the importance of the creativity process, and gave us the following riddle: "A young girl used to live in a farm, and was told by her parents that she could open any door, but under no circumstances she should open the cellar's door... Why was she told that?". Our responses were diverse, but the right answer was totally simple: She was told that because of the tornadoes, since the family was taking shelter inside the cellar.

The point of the question was making evident how we're not usually prepared to really thinking outside the box. Most of our mental processes are developed to think along the main line of thought -this is, to be part of the majority more than of the truly original minorities-, so to think originally we must take some distance from our logic. I have struggled my whole life to be an original thinker, even more because of my training as an industrial and graphic designer. Even when Morris' question took me by surprise, I am usually able to take a few steps outside the box using what I call multidimensional thinking: when we have to imagine a solution for a given problem, whatever answer we find can be placed as just one category in a bigger set. For instance, we arrange objects on a shelf in a horizontal row, being the other categories vertical and depth arrangement. Also, if we need to express a concept, we usually do it visually (written or drawn), but it can be done as well as a sound, a smell, a touch, or a taste. The idea is getting as far as possible from what is considered "sensible" to take a different path of thought, as a way of having a better perspective of the problem and being able to propose really original solutions.

Whenever we have to create something we should ask ourselves: "What side of the cellar's door I am locking myself?"

Waters

2009-06-13T19:03:00.001-05:00

This view from Navy Pier reminds me of the seas and channels from the south of Chile. Many, many years ago I had the chance of navigate them. I wonder if I will ever see those landscapes again.

No prisoners

2009-06-09T09:00:00.004-05:00

Short story short: a few weeks ago I met this one lady. We liked each other from the first moment, so by the second meeting we were actually dating. My "dating style" has never been getting too close in the first encounters, and quite probably wasn't her style either; however, the friendliness, attractiveness and intelligence of said woman really captivated me. It felt natural to get that close; she was of my age -that meaning over thirty- and that was a wonderful change from the last girls I had dated, women in their early twenties, not too stable and unfortunately not too interesting either.

This friend of mine hadn't had, as she would tell later, a particularly fortunate amorous life; neither had I, but somehow I have learned to accept that as a part of the game: I have met many people and been all over the place regarding relationships, so the fact of not feeling like being friends with any of my ex-girlfriends it's just a small price to pay for that. The pet peeves of my new companion were mostly related to previous partners not willing to commit to an exclusive relationship; being honest, that has been my stand too for the last couple of years, but something in this incipient relationship made me feel very comfortable and also made me think that perhaps, perhaps, this could be better than anything I had experienced so far, and that I would like to commit to that.

But sometimes what we tell differs from what we really do... and I'm not talking about myself. Since I don't have much time at all, I had been seeing her on weekends, struggling to prioritize that time. My personal alarm buzzed last week, after a specially good night spent together: first she said "My brother is coming to the town, so I won't have much time to see you the next couple of weeks", which translated to modern English means "I don't want you to meet my family"; not too bad so far, considering that we had been together for only one month. But then, after my new bid to set some not-prime-time to see each other, her response was "I'm sorry, I already made appointments with my friends for this weekend", which translated to modern English means "You're not a priority. Get it."

So much for we guys not wanting to commit. Thing is, this is still a war without mercy and without prisoners, as it seems. I'm trying to get it.

Super Salsa Sunday

2009-06-08T08:04:00.002-05:00

Salsa night on Sunday, just like Tuesday and Thursday. One of my instructors told me "You're becoming addicted". I'm afraid he's right.

The brightest star

2009-06-03T13:28:00.007-05:00

Creo que en algún post anterior había contado como i.c.stars ha llegado a ser prácticamente mi familia en U.S.A. Hoy en la mañana nos enteramos de la pérdida de uno de nuestros miembros: uno de mis colegas, Trinidad "Tito" Cuevas, fue asesinado ayer por la noche. El pertenecía al ciclo 19 -ellos empezaron dos meses antes que nosotros, ciclo 20- y recién se habia graduado de éste programa el viernes anterior.

Trinidad era de origen latino, y tenía apenas 20 años. Como él mismo me contó una vez, su mamá tuvo muchos problemas durante el parto, por lo que el médico no le daba muchas esperanzas de vida al bebé; Mamá Cuevas, siendo mexicana, le prometió a Dios ponerle al niño "Trinidad" si es que lo dejaba vivir. Veinte años despues Trinidad ingresaba como interno a i.c.stars, proveniente de los suburbios del sur de Chicago y de barrios muy bravos, en donde lo normal era pertenecer a una pandilla mas que estudiar o buscar una mejor vida; de hecho, no era ésta la primera vez que Tito se enfrentaba a una bala: un día despues de graduarse de high school Tito y su novia fueron baleados por una pandilla local; ambos sobrevivieron, y ese fue uno de los hechos que lo impulsaron a buscar opciones fuera del barrio y dejar de frecuentar la mayor parte de los así llamados "amigos".

Trinidad encontró en i.c.stars los verdaderos amigos que, segun él, le hacian falta para mejorar su vida. Siendo amistoso, generoso y resistente por naturaleza, Tito enfrentó el intensísimo entrenamiento con continuo buen humor y pudo sobreponerse a sus desventajas educativas (la mayoría de los internos tiene amplia experiencia laboral o algunos años de college a su favor). Junto a ésto, Tito tuvo que enfrentarse a amenazas de antiguos homeys a quienes no les gustó su cambio de dirección. Y aparentemente esta fue una de las razones por la que algún hijo de puta decidió terminar con su vida, ejecutándolo sorpresivamente con un balazo detrás de la cabeza en plena calle.

Lo único que puedo decir es que al menos Tito fue realmente capaz de mejorar su vida, aún por un breve lapso, a pesar de todo. Vamos a extrañar su buen humor, su generosidad y su espíritu de lucha. Y sus extraordinarias quesadillas, por cierto.

Trinidad y Mamá Cuevas en i.c.stars, Mayo del 2009

My 5 minutes

2009-05-31T22:44:00.004-05:00

You are hereby warned: what follows is my "5 minutes".

I don't feel alright. There are some concrete reasons for that, but mostly I don't think that I should be feeling like this, and that pisses me off and embarrasses me. It's like I'm drained of all kind of energy; it's true that for the last two months I haven't been sleeping or eating well and balanced, and that I don't have time to work out besides dancing once-a-week. It's also true that I continually live in bankruptcy and that whatever I'm doing now to make some money is just a retarding measure: it won't be too long until I'm left to choose between buying food or paying the train. All these reasons count, but shouldn't affect me too much, for I'm still a warrior, godamnit!... In any case, I feel lacking physical, sexual and mental energy. I couldn't say that I've had a hard life: the last events have been wonderful, and as I said before my whole experience in the i.c.stars' program has been amazing and I enjoy what I do (even when I don't really know yet what I want to do for a living later). Besides, now I can say that I have friends, or at least that some people sort of care about me. But there is a price to pay for everything, that one being that I'm pretty screwed up right now. I have been happy, but I'm still disconnected...

Time. 5 minutes. Enough.

You dare

2009-05-26T09:06:00.004-05:00

Hey friends, readers, visitors, scammers, general public:

As you may know, I'm currently working in a business competition, and one of the tasks is placing a website online to see how many visits it receives. You would do me a great favor clicking in Dare and Discover as many times as you wish; the site is still in development, and we expect to integrate more info and functions soon, time and codes permitting. I have to track and analyze this information until next Friday.

Thanks guys!

On the train

2009-05-24T10:10:00.001-05:00

Train to downtown for the 7th time this week. Between working for the 2nd business competition, my job in the dance academy, some light assignments in graphic design and seeing a couple of friends who are lucky enough to be close to my office, I don't live for anything else these days. The weird thing is, I enjoy it!

Keeping in Touch

2009-05-21T22:07:00.003-05:00

I haven't written in a while, I know. And I haven't had much time for friends either. A couple of weeks ago, out of a guilty feeling, I called to this Mexican friend of mine, the only person in Chicago I could call a real friend until a couple of months ago. In any case, he hadn't been idle as far as I knew: he was dating this one lovely American girl and the last time I saw them my friend seemed really happy, with that dumb face of guy in love that makes you laugh and say "I'll never behave like that" but at the same time makes you envious.

Nevertheless my pal didn't look too happy this time. And the reason was, of course, his relationship with la huera. The story, much more simple and straight at first, had become complicated and twisted, involving an ex-boyfriend -the girl's, not my friend's- and a baby -apparently not my friend's-. After a couple of beers, however, my friend was able to explain the situation more clearly. The lady in question had been a little confused when starting to date my folk, and her ex-boyfriend, after having a good last one with her, just moved away. And thus the girl went to my friend, as he put it, "expecting me to play the gentleman and take charge of both her and the baby"; but he just played the sensible one: calmly asked his now brand new ex-girlfriend to solve her troubles before even thinking about dating him. And then he promised to keep in touch, but just as a friend.

My friend's decision was a hard one, being in love and with a history of loneliness in U.S. almost as extreme as mine; and even it could seem a little selfish to some radical feminists. But I think he was just balanced and reasonable. I doubt, in spite of all my previous experiences, I might be that sensible in a situation like that. Which reminds me that I should buy my friend a drink soon.

The Jetsonics

2009-05-06T11:02:00.002-05:00

Accenture Labs in downtown Chicago. I'm visiting here as a part of the program. This is one of the top IT companies in US. I'd love to work here, or at least to have this view of the city. Moreover, many of these gadgets are cool, with a few frankly silly, Jetsonics-style.

After hours

2009-05-01T20:12:00.001-05:00

I think I can call it a day

Blue screen, green light!

2009-04-28T12:01:00.002-05:00

My team and I are just done with the presentation before our first clients. It took us 3 weeks to develop a project, including sleeping last night here at the studio. Now it's over, and we rocked. Even when this is part of our training, the clients and the projects are real. Whether we win or not the competition, we were awesome.

Definitions

2009-04-24T21:16:00.003-05:00

I said: "This is not working. I think that you're being selfish".

She said: "I'm not selfish. I'm just like... single minded about my personal goals, so I don't care too much about anything else".

We parted in a friendly way. Never saw her again.

Productivity

2009-04-16T17:09:00.004-05:00

At the Headquarters of i.c.stars...

If I were my own boss, I would fire myself. My productivity today was too close to the bottom of my progress chart (if I had something like a progress chart). The birdie on the image would have done a better job than me.

And to add insult to injury, I feel so tired.

Rogers Park

2009-04-12T22:50:00.010-05:00

El otoño pasado empecé a dibujar sketches de lugares interesantes en Rogers Park (norte de Chicago). El invierno interrumpió mi análisis gráfico del genius loci, pero lo retomé hace un par de semanas. Para sentirme parte de un lugar, o al menos sentir que realmente estoy, necesito dibujarlo.

Clark y Greenleaf

Iglesia St. Jeromes, Lunt y Clark

Emil Bach House (obra de Frank Lloyd Wright), Sheridan y Fargo

Morse Station, Red Line

Faro y malecón en la playa de Loyola Park

Juneway Terrace Park (límite con Evanston)

Playa en Loyola Park, vista hacia el sur

Herman Wouk

2009-04-11T21:35:00.001-05:00

My first real taste of Second World War history was with "Saving Private Ryan". Up to that point, all the knowledge I had came from high school and some old Hollywood flicks like "The Longest Day" or "The Great Escape". In spite of a few very good movies, many more were rightly cheesy and propaganda-keen, with a few Americans alone saving the world from the Axis. But "Saving..." was a very realistic depiction of a typical big battle and helped to situate things in context. War is war, and that means senseless and bloody. And it means individual views, too.

Last year, scavenging on a thrift shop, I came across an old edition of Herman Wouk's "Winds of War", a choral novel about the WWII period from 1938 to 1941. Although I didn't buy the novel then, later I was able to find it along with "War and Remembrance" (the sequel from 1941 to 1945) in Amazon. Long as Monday, both books, but absolutely enjoyable and illustrative as an encyclopedia. And it seems I have some luck with Mr. Wouk novels, for a couple of weeks ago I found also "The Caine Mutiny" at $1 on my public library. After reading those first two mammoths, "The Caine..." was an almost autobiographical novel (some of Wouk's experiences on the war are actually on the book). Nonetheless, this novel is perhaps a more powerful and intimate insight about the way men perform and relate under pressure aboard a war ship. Absolutely recommendable. Go. Read. It.

Monkey business

2009-04-11T13:59:00.002-05:00

Being today such a nice day, I decided to take my inner child out to the zoo. On my last time here, one smart-ass monkey tried to piss on me; fortunately, my ninja training paid off, and I dodged the attack with my pride intact. I don't blame the ape: it's a shame to imprison animals for exhibition, so the less they can do is pissing on us humans.

Help!

2009-04-07T23:09:00.001-05:00

Dear Reader: Have you seen the lovely map of visitors on the sidebar? I haven't had, ever, any visitor from Australia, Madagascar, South Africa, Kazakhstan, Tanzania, Bangladesh, Vietnam or Panama. Please, tell your friends in those countries to pay a visit (a mere click will make it, reading is optional) to this humble blog. Thus I'll be able, at least on screen, to dominate the World! Thanks.

Debrief

2009-04-04T08:06:00.004-05:00

There is much more ahead

A new life is beginning. Sort of a paradox, since I don't think I'll have much life for the next months.

The first week of my internship in i.c.stars is over, and I'm happy for that. I badly need to catch up some sleep, as well as catching up with the first assignments. Apart from that, I'm happy because I'm back at the track: have been many, many years since I was in school and is an almost exhilarating sensation to be really using my brains thoroughly again. The challenge of sharing a space/time with interesting, valuable and skillful people is something I hadn't felt in long time. It's so good for my mental health... I just hope that the experience of getting to know me has been good for my classmates too.

Something I learned these last days: it will become harder; and once is the hardest, will become a bit more. I'm wondering whether I'll have time to post on the blog at all...

I'll make up something. Always do.

Cast away

2009-03-29T18:45:00.001-05:00

After the winter's farewell party, two castaways were found on the shore of lake Michigan today: this log and the photographer.

De alguna manera, lo logré...

2009-03-27T22:10:00.006-05:00

... y voy a aprovechar la oportunidad.

En octubre del año pasado, estando sin trabajo, encontré en un diario local un aviso de una organización ofreciendo entrenamiento en information technologies (websites, internet, bases de datos, redes, programación, etc.) y no sólo gratis, sino que pagado. Los requisitos para postular eran ser adulto, tener un background básico en tecnología y computadores, y estar dispuesto a estudiar muy duro por un semestre a tiempo completo. Aunque sonaba demasiado bueno para ser verdad decidí inscribirme en la charla informativa. A vuelta de e-mail recibí un buen augurio respecto de la seriedad de la propuesta: la reunión se realizaría en las oficinas de Microsoft-Chicago. Si eso no era una prueba fehaciente de que la organización era de verdad, no sé qué podría serlo.

i.c.stars -así, en minúsculas- resultó ser precisamente una organización dedicada a darle una mano a aquellos que, teniendo habilidades, quedan fuera de toda posibilidad de tener una carrera en IT por falta de recursos y de tiempo. Por supuesto, además de los requisitos básicos habían varios otros: cartas de recomendación, responder cuestionarios, resolver problemas de lógica matemática, test básico de computadores, entrevista personal, etc... todo para asegurar que quienes comenzaran el programa fueran realmente buenos, o al menos muy, muy perseverantes. Aunque en aquel momento no estaba en condiciones de postular debido a mi cesantía -la beca otorgada por la organización no alcanzaba para cubrir mis gastos básicos- decidí que al menos ya tenía algo por lo que luchar a corto plazo, siendo mis posibilidades de estudiar un Master en alguna universidad realmente nulas debido al alto costo.

En febrero pasado volví a la carga. No me parecieron difíciles los tests ni los cuestionarios, pese a tener que hacer todo en inglés, que no es mi primera lengua. En realidad, después de tanto tiempo en trabajos de tercera clase, disfruté con el trabajo mental. Y sirvió para darme cuenta de que se venían meses duros: el entrenamiento de la organización es completo e intensivo, algo así como ser Marines de la tecnología. Este lunes empiezo.

Así será mi vida los próximos meses

El Submarino

2009-03-25T16:15:00.000-05:00

Traveler

2009-03-19T02:00:00.006-05:00

Many years ago, when traveling across the south of Chile, I met a couple of "mochileros" (backpackers) who were from the north-center of the country, and used to go south on the summer. When they had spent a few days in one city, they used to go to the highway on the outskirts and thumb a ride to any passing vehicle. Then they would take the first vehicle whose driver were kind enough to stop, regardless of the direction; in Chile, usually that direction is either North or South (is a long skinny country, as you may have realized by now). I shared the rear area of a truck with them, when I was coming back north from a incursion to Chiloé and Chaitén, and they were in their third north ride of that summer.

This happened more than 10 years ago, when was still possible to roam the whole country hitchhiking. Being around my 20's by then, I enjoyed the last years of adventure along the main roads of Chile; after that, speed highways would substitute roads and wouldn't have any chance of asking for a ride standing aside of the highway. I started traveling with friends at 18 years old; at 23, I was already a seasoned traveler, having roamed hitchhiking all the length between Chuquicamata, on the north, to Lake Yelcho, on the south, roughly 1860 miles; and as always happens when you really like traveling, eventually I started traveling alone.

I have never had again the feeling of freedom and happy solitude of those early journeys. Perhaps just what I felt the first time I came to Chicago from New Orleans 2 years ago can be similar, almost (it was my first trip inside the States, at spring, and I had a date). Some people have been surprised about my ease at leaving country, family and friends to settle in a very different place, with different language and with no friends at all, but actually this is just part of a natural process. I'm a traveler, therefore I travel; and some day I'll leave Chicago too, that's for sure. Where next? That's the best part: nobody knows.

Herr Kaleu's brother Jonathan in their last trip to Chiloé, Feb 2003

Grey Wolf

2009-03-18T10:25:00.006-05:00

A few weeks ago I was surprised, at looking at the man in the mirror, to find some grey hairs hanging out there.

My first reaction after the initial surprise was trying the rational approach: I have had a few grey hairs since teenage (absolutely true), so perhaps I was just overreacting under the effects of a bad day. But those grey hairs were like, say, a double tennis game; these, instead, where more like a cricket match. And it seems they are bringing on replacements to the field.

I had always said that I would age gracefully, not bothering at all about those petty things. But going garlic-head in my early thirties was not part of the deal. Besides, so far I have no wrinkles. Nothing. Zero. So I don't really know whether I have to be happy about going grey but without wrinkles, or annoyed of having grey hair in spite of not having wrinkles yet.

I guess I'll just have to wither and die. The end, oh cruel world, is nigh!

Recommendation Letter

2009-03-16T12:26:00.005-05:00

The instructions were clear. "You wanna come studyin' in our institution? Get a couple' recommendation letters!"

Which was just like asking me for capturing the Yeti or finding the Holy Grail. I wondered who might be as special as to a)be aware of my extraordinary abilities as an employee, and b)be kind enough as to write down one or two nice things about me. Needless is to say, those two requisites didn't concur too much: my whole working experience in the States hasn't been a fairytale, precisely, and so far my intellect has been so challenged as that of, say, a doorman posted by a revolving door. I decided that perhaps I could induce my boss at the restaurant to forget for a while his greed and selfishness-he happens to be the owner, too- and write something for me; he wasn't that hard to convince, but of course asked me to redact and write the letter and take it to him for his signature. The other would-be sponsor was found on an old Chilean friend of mine living in Michigan.

That left me with the awkward task of redacting some feasible text praising myself. Having never written such thing in English, nor even in Spanish, I asked for some help to other blog-lleagues, and soon Michael answered my S.O.S. "Don't be modest or too vague", he said. And as obedient as I can be, I came to this:

To Whom May It Concern:

I am writing to strongly recommend David as an intern for your program. I have known him for almost one year, but I must say that so far he is still a bit of a mystery to me. How could it be otherwise? The only features that match his extraordinary abilities as an employee are his modesty and selflessness. Even when asking me to write this letter for him, he blushed and begged me to "just write down one or two sentences as a proof of our acquaintance". But to hide this young man's many virtues would be like covering the sun with one finger.

When I first met David, immediately came to my sight the caliber of human being he was: there was a fire in one of the neighborhood homes, and he was struggling to save the family's dog (a 2 years old San Bernardo) from the second floor. He succeeded, of course, and in spite of some burns of his own he even found time to save some of the furniture. After this deed, the only thing I could do was begging him to came to work to my restaurant; he amiably rejected the offer at first, and only after I explained to him that he would be able to make customers happier he agreed.

Then came what here in the restaurant we have called our Golden Age. David insisted in taking the lowest position in the company, the one which we do not even have a name for, and in spite of earning a wage barely over the minimum he comes everyday to work with a broad smile on his face and greeting everybody by their names. After a couple of weeks of him joining the company, he had actually learned all the possible tasks on the business: cleaning, cooking, serving tables, cashiering, bar tending, supplies purchasing, accounting, you name it. And clearly all the people who had the fortune of working with or close to him was doing a better job, too, for not only is he highly efficient and organized, but as said by the restaurant female employees, "handsome and enchanting" too.

That said, I think that David is probably the best addition your organization may have, ever. I know from good sources that other organizations (NASA, Greenpeace, Google and the FBI, among others) are trying to attract his interest. Here at the restaurant we agreed that after his last working day we are going to close for a while to allow the grievous mourning of his fellow workers. Pray, sirs, do not allow yourselves to miss the opportunity of being close to this wonderful human being.

Kind regards
His Boss

I am 007...

2009-03-14T00:20:00.002-05:00

...or at least that was the figure on my bank account last Tuesday, $0,07. Which was, indeed, the amount of money I had left. How did I make that economic mess, I'm trying to figure out. I'll be paid just today Saturday at night; have been 5 days without even being able to put the quarters on the washing machine. Am I becoming an American?

P.D: At press time, chances were I'm becoming more likely an Icelander

Food for Warriors

2009-03-13T10:55:00.003-05:00

As Kaleu, is my responsibility to look after the crew (me) and to keep Das Boot (my place) in fighting conditions. And one of the skills that, as an old sea wolf, I have learned these last years is to make the most of the little available, starting with the basic: food.

For starters

Anytime you have the chance, you MUST have a hearty breakfast, even if that means having a smaller lunch. This idea is completely unoriginal, of course: nutritionists and physicians have been chanting the benefits of a good breakfast for many decades now. Although the most needed nutrients when starting the day are the carbohydrates, proteins and fats must be present too. However, carbs will allow you to kickstart your metabolism -the simple carbs- and having a steady supply of fuel later -the complex ones-. Whether you are going out to look for a crisis-time job or form up on a bread line, you'll need the welfare feeling and alertness given by breakfast. Did you know that the brain works exclusively in carbs energy? So maybe you weren't that dumb and moody, after all... all you needed was to eat as Mom wanted you to!

Bread and pastries - Bread is probably the cheapest source of carbs that you can find to assemble a basic breakfast. If you are smart, you will never waste dough-based aliments; they dehydrate easily, which means that rehydrate easily too. Supposing that you don't want to re-discover penicillin so your bread didn't go moldy (easily avoidable by storing the bread in an airy and dry place), you can slice the hard stale bread, damp it slightly with water, and after spreading it with some margarine or oil or whatever you have left, warm it a few minutes in a conventional oven. With the pastries is even easier: before chewing dip them into your milk or tea, and nobody gets hurt.
BONUS: Bread crumbs make a good adding for consistence of soups and stews, and diced fried bread will make a good garnish for soups and salads.

Milk - In hardship times is indeed better to opt for whole milk, provided that you don't have health related issues; in the human being, the bio-chemical sensation of satiety when eating is given by fats. The milk got spoiled? Wait for a few days and you'll have a quite edible cheese; just remember to keep the milk cool and leave the container semi-open. Once you can feel the milk as a firm gelatin inside the container, you can drain the liquid and eat this cheese; although the taste is slightly bitterer than real cheese, goes down pretty well with bread or crackers.

More Proteins - Eggs are a very economic and efficient source of proteins, with the extra value of many possible uses: scrambled at a frying pan, hard-boiled, mixed with hot noodles and softly cooked, in tortillas or omelettes, even made mayonnaise. Another good source of proteins are soy beans, which taste can be improved by frying them with some soy sauce and spices, and that can be easily mixed with almost any kind of stew or soup. My pick? Lentils: high protein and carb value, easier to cook than any other bean, and can be mixed with rice or angel hair or any kind of vegetable; one of the most economic legumes you can find on the market.

Have a Drink - The average adult needs to drink at least half a gallon of plain water every day. That means that if you are under that level, you probably are not digesting as good as you might, so are actually wasting part of the food you eat. If you are fond of tea, you can use the old trick of saving the bags for reuse; this also applies to tea in leaves, provided that you drain the leaves (or bags) and keep them in a dry place, for tea tends to grow mold easily when damp. One of the advantages of tea over coffee is that is easily flavored, whether you want to drink it hot or cold: you can add some lemon peels, cinnamon, different herbs, even some alcohol if that is your inclination.

The Good Old Soup - Any decent human being should have some vegetable leftovers at any time on the fridge. Whether they are on their prime or about to retire, all veggies and legumes can make a wonderful soup, it's all about chopping, spicing and boiling. A good soup has a minimum of three "textures": The veggies, the "filling" and the water; is highly recommendable to add, whenever you can, a fourth component of anything bigger than the chopped veggies: a potato, a piece of chicken or pumpkin, an egg more or less shaken; this will give a feeling of fullness to the dish. What is the "filling"? Is the intermediate component between water and veggies and an extra source of carbs: for this you can use rice, noodles, oatmeal or semolina.
TIP: Eat your food hot, always. Basic physics for hungry people: matter expands when heated, and contracts when cooled; this also applies to smells and flavors.

The Swiss Army Knife of the cereals: Semolina - This wheat product will never disappoint you. Can be used for soups, to make cold desserts and hot porridge (with milk and sugar), as a garnish, and even made pasta. A must-be in your kitchen cabinet.

Craving red meat, but little money? Get some ground beef - Some of the uses: a good bolognesa (spaghetti meat sauce), home-made burgers, soups, tacos... even pies if you want to go the extra mile! The good/bad thing about the ground beef is its somewhat high fat percentage, which will help you to keep away from the hungry zone.

Next post: Recipes and How to Save the Planet.

The intrinsic malice of material things

2009-03-09T02:21:00.009-05:00

Toasters recalled because of pyromaniac tendency

In short: there is a conspiracy planned by material things against all of us dependent human beings.

When I moved to this apartment 3 months ago, I was so happy that was just remodeled and the appliances and kitchen cabinets were new or in very good shape. I told so to my mom, in our monthly telephone conversation. I should have kept my mouth shut, or at least not talking loud so close to the fridge. A couple of weeks ago, the lower compartment stopped cooling; all that is left now is the upper compartment, so I must be shepherding the perishable food from one section to another, in order to keep it cold but not frozen. And that's not cool, in the wide sense.

But there were earlier proofs of the conspiracy. Four months ago I decided I could invest a little on my photographic equipment. I had already a good camera and two lenses, so I needed a tripod next; for several weeks I was perusing Internet, looking for the best deals, until I found a fairly good one. More or less by the time that the new acquisition arrived home, the laptop -my searching buddy in the whole quest- decided to break one of his hinges, probably envious of the attention given to the newcomer.

Perhaps you think this situation is limited to electrical devices? Think again. Same story: after much searching I finally got a nice, thick and warm turtleneck sweater, just in time to see my only jeans ripped open right in the area of my rear dignity. Same thing with shoes: I bought a small carpet for my bedroom-living-dining-room-workshop, and my only sneakers went KIA (I realized that one day when I took my footwear off and I had snow inside them). How about the mattress ripping a corner open when I brought home some cushions? Or the apartment I used to rent with my roommates, where at the time we had the hot water running again, the building was left without gas, and when that returned, were sent a note of foreclosure because of the unpaid mortgage of the owner?

I'm telling you people: be afraid, things are going mad. The only trustworthy objects I have left at home are my books, so if everything fails at least I might be able to read... Oh, wait a minute, I have just seen the final sheets of a book I haven't read yet creeping out of the tome.

When it Rains, it Pours

2009-03-08T14:03:00.006-05:00

I woke up at 9 am today. Realizing that was actually 10 am, went promptly to take a shower and wash myself up (behind the ears too); then I went out to the shrine to meditate. While coming back home, I took a shower again, but a colder one (although I didn't wet my ears this time).

Dumb Americans?

2009-03-07T01:09:00.003-06:00

This is a good one.

One of the readers of Cecil Adams' "The Straight Dope" (Chicago Reader, Feb 19, 2009) asked him about the truth of the stereotype believed by Europeans about American -United States, let's get that clear- populace being "stupid and/or blind as far as the rest of the world is concerned". Here an extract from the response:

But even if Americans aren’t innately dumber than Europeans, that doesn't mean we ain't ignorant. The question before us asks if Americans are "stupid and/or blind as far as the rest of the world is concerned," and on the second part of that formulation we have to plead guilty as charged. All it takes is a vacation to know that Europeans are way more likely to speak our language than we are to speak theirs, and to know and care a lot more about our business than we do about theirs. Why? Probably because we’re greedy, smug, and self-centered. But in our defense let me point out that we live in a big, big country. Travel 500 miles in Europe and you might go through several languages and national histories. (And only ten years ago you would have needed several currencies.) If I travel 500 miles, I'm in Pennsylvania. Or Nebraska. Same language, same money, same media, same bad food. As a nation we're just a little unclear on the concept of foreign countries.

You can read the full article here (and please do, for the end is essential). What can I say coming from abroad? Even in South America -yes, far south of Mexico, Third World and else- U.S.A. people carries the stereotype of not being too clever or aware about anything outside their country, starting with the language. But I don't have any statistics to give that a certainty, only the witnessing of the vox populi about the "gringo ahueonao" (a free Chilean adaptation of the "Stupid Amelican" of old war movies). Honestly, I have not met too many smart Americans in these almost 3 years in the States, not because there are not, but because simply I have not had the chance of knowing them due to my status as an underclassed immigrant. Which takes me to another stereotype as extended as the first one, but harder to determine with statistics:

Are Americans (U.S.) as unfriendly and/or cold as the stereotype believed by Hispanic and Portuguese America, and for some European countries too?

That's material for the next post.

The Case of the Disappeared Posts

2009-03-06T14:30:00.004-06:00

It was a cold and dark night. A really cold and dark night. Oh, gods of the underworld, what a cold and dark night that was!

And all of a sudden, my blog was not displaying any post on this web page. The header (this funny animation above) and the sidebar (the somewhat crowded column at the right, with the pic of the cute guy on top) were right here, as usual, but where the posts should have been there was only the semitransparent bottle-green layer with the mysterious dark sea behind (the background, as spoken on the jargon). If I had expected, when designing the visual elements for this blog, bringing to mind the sensation of sailing a ship through "icy and lonely seas" at middle winter, I certainly had nailed it. But a bit too far, since the wide ocean was the only thing to see. Thinking that could just be a temporary malfunction in Blogger Headquarters, I decided to hold my breath til next day.

Next morning, same problem. I decided to work on my draft-posts in the meantime, and to my surprise, right after saving and publishing one of them my blog page came back to normality. Merrily I went to work, thinking about the hundreds of readers whom would be able to peruse my opus magna. Nevertheless, at night (cold and dark, again) my posts had just disappeared like a torpedoed cargo ship on the North Atlantic. I decided thus to cry out for help, and went to Blogger Help with the ease of mind of someone going to the Wizard of Oz. How little I did know!

After navigating the so called "Help" and "Support" sections and the related links for the best part of an hour, I felt like a dog chasing his own tail. There is no direct communication, even less online help, with Blogger. The most close I came to that notion was the Blogger Help Group, where a few kind-hearted and overworked Blogger employees, along with "irregulars" or advanced users, try to answer the hundreds of requests for help. Many other people had the same problem as I had, which didn't prevent me of posting my own requests here and here. One of the solutions offered was the workaround I had used once, but which didn't work for me anymore. Then came the long waiting, trying the first days to save and publish a new post, cleaning cache in all my browsers, and seeing if that would kickstart my blog, and later changing parts of the HTML code on the page template. Nothing worked out. I even moved my blog to Wordpress, which apparently is much more stable as a blogging service than Blogger. I also tried removing one by one the widgets on my sidebar, thinking that perhaps Google Friend Connect, the new vedette of Blogger, could be breaking hell loose on the code. Still nothing.

And then, just when I was as clueless as when I started blogging 5 years ago, I decided to try one more thing, which apparently didn't have any relation with the posts section.

Carefully, before clicking in the "Revert widget templates to default" link, I saved my template in a text file, just in case. After clicking this link, everything went back to normalcy immediately, and there was no changes on my template or widgets. I don't think this will work for everybody, but can be tried out easily. Happy blogging out there, fellows!

Bye Bye Love

2009-03-05T08:18:00.009-06:00

Este último par de semanas, debido a los problemas originados en Blogger que impedían la normal publicación de posts en este humilde pero heroico blog, hubo muchas visitas -virtuales, se entiende- de algunos de los genios de Blogger-Google a este medio, además de mis propias visitas y las de unos pocos blog-legas basados en U.S. con la intención de constatar si había alguna mejoría o si definitivamente había que empezar a dar condolencias por el sensible fallecimiento del blog. Y por primera vez en su historia, la cantidad total de visitantes del blog provenientes de Estados Unidos sobrepasó a los de Chile.

Nótese que no estamos hablando de guarismos altos. ¿Cuatro, cinco cifras diarias? Naaa... Dos, tres cuando más; hay que recordar que este blog sigue siendo una expresión de mi testarudez literario/seudo-artística mas que una intención de ingresar al mainstream. Pero eso mismo hace que cualquier leve variación en la calidad o cantidad de visitantes sea notoria. Entonces, ¿qué pasa con las visitas de mi propio país? Supongo que algo normal: estando los lectores vinculados al blog más por un sentimiento de amistad o cercanía hacia el escritor que por curiosidad hacia el contenido en general, después de un tiempo de lejanía lo habitual es que tales lazos comiencen a diluirse. Mal que mal, mi lejanía ha durado ya dos años y medio, y no será voluntariamente terminada en un futuro cercano. Los amigos se alejan, otros (?) toman su lugar y la vida sigue. En inglés, por cierto.

So bye bye love
Yeah bye bye love
Hallo Spaceboy
This chaos is killing me

Music Playlist at MixPod.com

Clash of Philosophies

2009-03-04T16:00:00.006-06:00

It would be cool if all the theological and philosophic differences could be resolved like this

From "Monty Python's Flying Circus", in a special show for the West German television in 1972.

Please note the "British Philosophy" at the whole goal play.

Me lleva la chingada!!

2009-02-18T01:00:00.016-06:00

...pendejos

Belleza, Amor y Relatividad

2009-02-15T17:32:00.006-06:00

Era uno de mis primeros viajes a Chicago, cuando la ciudad aún aparecía en el horizonte tan deseable como las sirenas del prudente Odiseo o tan perfecta como la Tierra del Mago de Oz. Mi vuelo aterrizó en el aeropuerto Midway, sur de la ciudad, desde donde podía tomar el tren de la Orange Line hacia el downtown. Siendo mi equipaje muy ligero -un cambio de tenida, artículos de aseo y mi laptop-, llegué rápidamente al tren y me dejé caer en el primer asiento disponible. Usualmente hago un reconocimiento visual antes de situarme en cualquier medio de transporte público, pero éste no había sido el caso. Sin embargo, al escanear mis alrededores noté que había aterrizado justo en frente del principal foco de atención en el vagón. Tal foco era, naturalmente, una mujer.

La razón de por qué ésta mujer parecía ser el eje gravitacional de la mayor parte de la gente cercana fue inmediatamente notoria. Se trataba de una chica de 20 a 22 años de edad quien también venía del aeropuerto, sola; tratando de hacer una rápida descripción, podría decir que tenía pelo castaño muy claro, casi rubio, piel blanca levemente bronceada, ojos claros, alrededor de 1.60-65 de estatura, y delgada. Pero eso no diría nada; ¿cómo explicar que en éste caso cada una de esas características parecía producir, en conjunto, un resultado cercano a la perfección absoluta? La ropa que llevaba la chica, por sí sola, no era nada extraordinario: una tenida de verano, polera sin mangas y falda corta, con sandalias, todo en colores de estación, más una cadena y brazalete muy sencillos; leve maquillaje, sólo máscara de ojos y brillo labial. Eso. Era. Todo... Pero en ella parecían de otro universo en donde todo era más brillante y hermoso, como si una de las damas-elfo de Tolkien hubiera decidido ir darse una vuelta a Chicago, aburrida de vivir sólo en libros.

Creo que no me explico bien. Era fácil ver que la chica era bonita y explicar por qué era así: delgada y muy bien proporcionada, sin curvas excesivas que uno pudiera pensar provenientes de cirugía plástica; un rostro simétrico, de facciones regulares, ojos expresivos y labios llenos pero no gruesos; barbilla en ángulo, no demasiado marcada. Todo eso explicaba, estéticamente hablando, que ella fuera atractiva, pero no explicaba por qué era extraordinaria. Incluso, un detalle de su rostro -una leve curvatura en la nariz- que en cualquier otra persona uno consideraría un defecto, en ella aparecía como algo adorable, una prueba de que ella era real y no sólo una imagen idealizada. Yo tenía la fortuna de poder observar sin ser demasiado conspicuo, pues mi asiento miraba hacia el pasillo y a la chica; pero estoy seguro que cada hombre -y quizás alguna que otra mujer- se sentía afortunado simplemente de estar cerca de ella. Y aunque tengo algún grado de entrenamiento mental para no dejarme dominar por estímulos sensoriales, ya sean placenteros o desagradables, no pude dejar de notar como mi respuesta fisiológica de hombre joven, activo y saludable se activaba completamente al percibir a la damisela en cuestión (había sido acertado, despues de todo, vestir jeans aquel día).

Nunca me ha gustado perder completamente la perspectiva o la voluntad. Pero en éste caso me había hecho adicto en un par de minutos; aunque mi visita a Chicago era para continuar mi affaire con cierta chica europea, en ése momento hubiera dejado todo de lado por estar con la chica del tren y hacerme parte de su vida. Ella parecía totalmente ignorante de su efecto, y con un aspecto de serena alegría se dedicaba a responder con voz de exquisito tono un par de llamadas de celular -con toda certeza un novio angustiado por haber dejado de verla unos días- y a mirar alrededor, anticipando ya la estación donde bajarse. Otros hombres alrededor parecían también anticipar que la chica se bajaría del tren, y aprovechaban de contemplarla los últimos momentos. Finalmente ella se puso de pie alisando su falda con un muy preciso y femenino gesto, y avanzó hacia la puerta con su maleta perdiendo el equilibrio un par de veces debido a la desaceleración del tren.

Cuando se abrieron las puertas y la estampida de pasajeros se dispersó un poco, la chica comenzó a caminar y seguía perdiendo el equilibrio. Fuera del tren. En el inmóvil andén. Y todos los hombres que quedábamos en el vagón y aún no nos resignábamos a perderla para siempre notamos, con completa angustia ante esta muestra del funcionamiento del universo, que ella sufría una marcada cojera, y que una de sus piernas -ahora ya no cruzada- era notoriamente más corta que la otra.

Recuerdo una historia que leí hace mucho tiempo, de un hombre que se había casado con una mujer muchísimo más alta que él. Le preguntaron cómo había sido posible. "Nos conocimos estando sentados, y para cuando nos pusimos de pie ya estábamos enamorados... Hemos sido muy felices toda nuestra vida juntos", respondió. Según ésto, todo es relativo y depende de las circunstancias. En el caso de la chica coja, a mí tampoco me hubiera importado en absoluto; cuando la ví caminar ya era demasiado tarde.

Saint Valentine's Day

2009-02-14T18:01:00.006-06:00

Herr Kaleu, alone, somewhere in the Chilean Andes

... Just to say, I'm saving a lot of money this Valentine's.

North Korean Refugees

2009-02-13T13:25:00.010-06:00

Quote from February's issue of National Geographic magazine, "Escaping North Korea":

'In the mid-1990s the few dozen defectors arriving each year were greeted with adulation and hefty rewards; most were elite members of the military or Communist Party from Pyongyang who brought valuable intelligence. With rare exceptions, today's defectors, averaging more than 2,000 a year since 2006, are farm laborers, factory workers, and low-level soldiers and clerks from impoverished regions. What they bring mostly are problems. Compared with the average South Korean, they are markedly less educated and skilled. Having experienced years of malnutrition and the pain of seeing family members die of starvation, many suffer from serious physical and mental illnesses. Because of these handicaps, says Andrei Lankov, a North Korean expert at Kookmin University in Seoul, the defector population is in danger of "becoming a permanent underclass." Their life in the South is immeasurably richer and freer, but they crave a sense of belonging. "Most South Koreans are indifferent to their plight," Lankov said. "And to not have your suffering recognized is an almost unbearable form of violence."

'
You can read the full article here.

So much for the "progress" of the more developed countries. However, that makes me think about my own experience as a semi-legal immigrant in the U.S., certainly far more fortunate than North Koreans'. But the lacking of the sense of belonging is just the same, as well as becoming part of an underclass, in spite of being well educated. How can possibly be found the point of balance between U.S. needs and immigrants rights, then? Let's start by improving the laws and stopping stupids raids than put all the guilt of illegal immigration on the workers' shoulders.

And yes, I know that the Immigration Department would like to have a word or two with me.

If they can catch me.

It's a Man's Life!

2009-02-13T00:01:00.003-06:00

On this domestic still-life photograph you can find the following items:

- My beer of tonight, a "Pabst Blue Ribbon" lager. Yes, the very same of Mr. Eastwood's "Gran Torino".
- The perfect compliment for the former, chocolate stuffed with peanuts and caramel.
- My worn out, survivor of one thousand battles and two Microsoft operating systems, laptop; usually the only sign of my being still alive for my folks.
- A mixed water color-marker picture, half finished (or maybe already finished, time will tell).
- My sketchbook, valued on $185.000, once I'm dead and 323 years have passed (that will be like $23 of today).
- Cheap brushes and watercolors, good markers and pencils.
- Postcard from Paris (far right).

This is one of the good nights.

The Tightrope

2009-02-12T14:54:00.005-06:00

I have been thinking lately what really means practicing Buddhism, thanks to a few interesting exchanges with this clever lady. As far as I can remember, my first formal knowledge about it was watching small Buddha statues which the old women of my hometown used to keep at some prominent place at their houses. Of course, the ladies didn't have the slightest idea about Buddhism; those figurines were kept for good luck only, that you were able to acquire by means of rubbing their bellies and putting some money under their feet (of the statues, not the old ladies). So much for my first contact with ancient philosophies...

Beyond practicing meditation, which is a mean to an end, and the belief in Karma and reincarnation, that because of being concepts for the after-life have no immediate use in daily life, what is left for the will-be enlightened warrior is the awareness of the path laying ahead, a path to be walked -I would even say climbed, since you must be always alert - as consciously as possible and keeping on the sleeve the main quality of a Buddhist: compassion to all living beings. But the tricky thing is doing the best without doing too much nor too little, that is, taking the middle way.

I compare this experience to that of a tightrope walker. As a rope walker you try to concentrate on the rope so you can progress without falling; but probably, at first you struggle just to keep your pole balanced between left and right. If you concentrate too hard on keeping one of the sides up, the opposite side will go down, and trying too briskly to lift the lower side will make you lose the balance again, all the while you look at the ground far, far down there. So you get stuck, struggling just to keep yourself on the rope, not advancing at all on your path, thinking too much about what might happen... But at some point, you just relax. You don't concentrate any more on one side of another of the pole; actually, you just grab the center of the pole and forget everything else about it. You also forget about the ground 20 feet below the rope; you can see all around you, but you don't waste your thoughts concentrating in what you don't need at the moment. So to speak, you loose your concentration, and instead you focus on what you need at the spot: the rope, your feet, your breathing; and you go ahead one step at a time. Breath, left foot; breath, right foot (after all, you wouldn't have any trouble walking the rope at ground level). And before you realize it, you are done with the rope, even willing that were longer. That was fun, after all...

Between Heaven and Earth.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

La Cuerda Floja

He estado pensando últimamente sobre qué significa realmente practicar el Budismo, gracias al intercambio intelectual con esta inteligente señorita. Hasta donde recuerdo, mi primer conocimiento sobre el Budismo fue ver pequeñas estatuas de Buda que las viejas de mi pueblo natal mantenían en lugares prominentes en sus casas. De mas esta decir que estas señoras no tenían idea alguna sobre qué era el Budismo; aquellas estatuas eran mantenidas solo para traer buena suerte, que uno podía adquirir frotándoles la panza y poniendo dinero debajo de sus pies (del buda, no de las señoras). Tal fue mi primer contacto con filosofías antiguas...

Además de practicar meditación, que es un medio para lograr un fin, y de la creencia en Karma y reencarnación, que a causa de ser conceptos metafísicos no tienen demasiada aplicación en la vida cotidiana, lo que queda para el futuro Guerrero Zen es la conciencia en el sendero adelante, un camino a ser recorrido con la mayor atención posible y manteniendo a mano la principal cualidad del budista: compasión hacia todos los seres vivientes. Pero la parte complicada es realizar nuestro mejor esfuerzo sin hacer mucho ni hacer muy poco, es decir, transitando el Camino Medio.

Yo comparo esta experiencia con la de un equilibrista en la cuerda floja. Como equilibrista tú tratas de concentrarte en la cuerda para avanzar sin caer; pero probablemente, al comienzo luchas únicamente para mantener tu poste balanceado entre izquierda y derecha. Si te concentras mucho en mantener un lado elevado, el otro lado descenderá, y si tratas muy bruscamente de elevar el lado más bajo perderás el equilibrio nuevamente, todo esto mientras miras el suelo lejos allá abajo. Asi que te quedas pegado, luchando para mantenerte sobre la cuerda, ni siquiera avanzando en absoluto, pensando en todas las cosas que podrían pasar... Hasta que en cierto momento te relajas. Ya no te concentras más en un lado u otro del poste; de hecho, sólo agarras el poste por el centro y te olvidas de todo lo demás. Tambien olvidas que el suelo está 7 metros debajo; puedes ver claramente todo alrededor tuyo, pero no desperdicias tu mente pensando en aquello que no necesitas en el momento. Sueltas tu concentración, por decirlo así, y te enfocas en lo realmente importante: la cuerda, tus pies, tu respiración; y empiezas a avanzar un paso a la vez. Respiras, pie izquierdo; respiras, pie derecho (después de todo, no tendrías problema alguno caminando la cuerda a nivel del suelo). Y antes que te des cuenta, has caminado la cuerda floja, incluso deseando que hubiera sido un poco más larga. Fue divertido, incluso...

Entre el Cielo y la Tierra.

57

2009-02-07T12:17:00.003-06:00

To my almost complete surprise, today there are 57 degrees (F) outside. I remember having read last night on Accuweather that we would have a couple of false spring days. False or not, off I go. I miss going out to draw sketches of places or buildings in Chicago. But this time I'll just walk around my neighborhood, Rogers Park, to which the Chicago Reader dedicated a whole issue this week. Certainly, I didn't know I was living in such an interesting place.

Wish me I have some inspiration at drawing today.

(Dis)Connected

2009-02-03T14:24:00.001-06:00

Leave the message...

¿Es en realidad tan necesario estar todo el tiempo conectado mediante Internet? He decidido que no (pese a lo absurda que pudiera parecer esa negación mientras escribo este post para ser publicado en un medio masivo); clarificando, no es tan necesario, al menos no en mi caso. Hace un tiempo eliminé mi cuenta de Facebook pues sentía que era más que nada una pérdida de tiempo y que realmente uno puede hacerse adicto a ese tipo de comunidad virtual, aún cuando sea por unos pocos minutos diarios. Ahora he decidido que tampoco necesito mucho Messenger, por lo que lo he desinstalado de mi laptop, y pretendo estar así por al menos un par de meses.

No estoy renegando de la utilidad que me han prestado esas aplicaciones o de lo interesantes que pueden resultar. La necesidad de desconectarme obedece más a mi perspectiva personal de la irrealidad que implicaba estar en "contacto" con tantas otras personas, pero a la vez estar desconectado de todos ellos, principalmente en el aspecto físico, pero tambien en un aspecto espiritual. Algo divertido: cuando estaba en los ultimos pasos de eliminación de Facebook el website, que verdaderamente es tan invasivo como Microsoft, me preguntaba por tercera vez "Estás seguro que quieres eliminarte? Tal y tal persona (links a algunos de mis contactos) te extrañará mucho"; y por supuesto, tales personas eran de aquellos contactos fantasma a quienes no conozco en realidad o a quienes no he visto en muchos años y tan sólo me agregaron sin enviarme jamás un mensaje. Facebook me sirvió más que nada para reencontrarme -virtualmente- con algunos familiares a quienes no veía hace mucho, y a quienes quizás no vuelva a ver, así es que ya cumplió su función.

En el caso de Messenger la unica persona con quien realmente sostenía conversaciones no banales es mi hermana Cristine. Casi todo el resto, nada demasiado importante; de los amigos que me quedan en Chile, hay algunos a quienes quiero mucho, pero son incapaces de establecer una comunicación valiosa mediante MSN; y lamentablemente, es el único medio de contacto del que disponemos.

Así es la cosa, niñas y niños. Entonces, si Ud quiere comunicarse conmigo por algún motivo, puede usar alguna de mis direcciones de email. Cualquiera puede escribir un par de líneas en MSN o FB, pero no todos son capaces de escribir una verdadera carta... That's the whole point, I guess.

War and Peace

2009-02-02T16:42:00.003-06:00

Screenshot de War and Peace , de Sergei Bondarchuk (1968)

Ayer empecé a leer "War and Peace" de Leo Tolstoy. Aunque nunca mis gustos de lectura han estado demasiado apegados a las obras clásicas, siempre había sentido curiosidad hacia los clásicos rusos, probablemente por el exotismo que representaban (mal que mal, es el punto más alejado en el planeta del país en que nací).

War and Peace tiene otro atractivo agregado: la historia se desenvuelve durante el período de las Guerras Napoleónicas (1803-1815), a mi parecer una de las etapas más interesantes de la historia Europea, y cuya esencia ya habia explorado leyendo la excelente obra sobre Aubrey y Maturin de Patrick O'Brian. Aparte de algunos cuentos del mismo Tolstoy, de Dostoyevski y de Chejov, mi conocimiento de la literatura rusa en general es casi nula, pero nunca es tarde para empezar. Ademas, yo soy un león...

Tighten the belt, brace for impact...

2009-01-31T14:43:00.008-06:00

Mi current position on the food chain

Somehow I had thought that, being in a dead end job, with a low salary and without much room for moving upwards or downwards along the food chain, I would be safe from the oh so ugly and horrible economic crisis. I should think again.

Last week at the restaurant we employees were notified that there would be a change in the payroll schedule: instead of being paid every week, we would be paid every two weeks. So far that point things didn't seem that bad, I am usually able to save more money when paid bi-weekly or monthly; but the real pain was that one week-pay would be kept "inside" and released for the employee only when leaving the job definitely.

The reason given for this measure was "helping employees to manage their finances on these hard times, giving them an insurance". But as anyone can suppose, one week's salary doesn't make a big difference when you lose your job: what we read between the lines was that the financial situation of the restaurant was not good at all, and that these were somewhat desperate measures to keep things working. So, of course, nobody complained, since even worse that having a temporary cut on the salary is closing the restaurant.

Honestly, I'm not trying to make a gesture of solidarity. Long ago I learned that in USA every man is by himself; but that also means thinking strategically, and right now I must keep this job whatever the circumstances: I work only on the evenings, so I have mornings and afternoons off to do my other things, and living at walking distance and having free meals means a lot on these days. Besides, this stage is just a necessary step on a greater project which implies to get back to study in order to upgrade my professional skills. If this doesn't work... well, in that case I'm free to get the hell out from there.

Winter Hunting

2009-01-24T00:42:00.013-06:00

After living in Chicago for little more than one year, it seems to me that there are actually only three seasons: the very hot season, the cold season and the very cold season.

This is the far side of the summer.

Click HERE to see the slideshow bigger.

Sobre torpedos y otros eufemismos

2009-01-19T11:15:00.011-06:00

En sus inicios, Gmail era el nuevo e impoluto territorio de las casillas de email gratuitas pero con gran capacidad de almacenamiento. Para aquellos que no podíamos darnos el lujo de tener una casilla pagada fue maná del cielo. Era a la vez cool y business-class tener la casilla de Google, que fue la primera dot com en incorporar filtros eficientes de spam en sus servicios de email gratuitos e implementar una interfaz intuitiva orientada principalmente hacia la comodidad y rapidez en la navegación.

Eso era antes. Aunque la interfaz sigue siendo user-friendly, actualmente es inevitable ver como la cantidad de spam aumenta constantemente al usar una cuenta de Gmail cualquiera. Y en el caso de aquellos que utilizamos un nombre de usuario decididamente masculino, los mensajes que destacan entre tanta oferta de relojes de lujo, Viagra, herencias africanas y novias rusas son principalmente los de "Agrande su Pene". Sin entrar en discusiones sobre la necesidad o no de tal milagro en mi situación particular, he aqui una selección de mis ganchos favoritos:

"Like a pocket elephant in your pants."
Como un elefante de bolsillo en tus pantalones.

"Your 9 inch tool will drive her nuts."
Tu herramienta de 9 pulgadas la enloquecerá.

"Give her concrete firmness. You'll be able to invade so deep into woman, she'll scream and shout like crazy."
Dale firmeza de concreto. Invadirás tan profundo dentro de las mujeres, que ella aullará y gritará como loca.

"No matter how you are dressed everybody will see that you are blessed." 
No importa como estés vestido, todos verán que has sido bendecido.

"Catch  rapturous girls' looks  on your zipper   protuberance."
Atrapa efusivas miradas de las chicas en la protuberancia de tu zipper.

"Get a bigger bazooka today."
Consigue una bazooka más grande hoy.

"Your big proud friend in the pants will overshadow the Empire State building.  It will be hard to hide your bulgy male pride."
Tu soberbio amigo en los pantalones sobrepasará el Empire State Building. Será difícil esconder tu abultado orgullo masculino.

"Make your love locomotive enter her tunnel on a full speed."
Haz entrar tu locomotora de amor en su túnel a toda velocidad.

"Lead your boner to leadership."
Lleva a tu erección al liderazgo.

"Fit into her like a glove."
Ajusta dentro de ella como un guante.

"The magnitude of your size is more important than general guise." 
La magnitud de tu tamaño es más importante que la apariencia externa.

"Give your lady crazy enjoyment. Gain the full control over your drilling machine."
Da a tu mujer un loco disfrute. Adquiere completo control sobre tu perforadora.

"She will open her eyes wide when she sees your male pride." 
Ella abrirá unos enormes ojos cuando vea tu orgullo de hombre.

"We are generous - we can give you as much meat as you need."
Somos generosos - podemos darte tanta carne como necesites.

"She would become your property if you just had a bigger member. The dimensions of your tool will grow to a duel."
Ella sería de tu propiedad si tuvieras un miembro mayor. Las dimensiones de tu herramienta crecerán como para un duelo.

"Women will flock like bees to honey."
Las mujeres se acercarán como abejas a la miel.

"Dumbfound your brand new girlfriend with your size. Change your pipette to a hose."
Atonta a tu nueva novia con tu tamaño. Cambia tu tubito a una manguerota.

U-410 Blue Peter

2009-01-18T05:33:00.005-06:00

¡Ya zarpamos! Y a falta de historias interesantes, cambio de diseño. Lo importante es que, pese a lo duro que puede resultar ser un viajero navegando en el extenso, generalmente frío y muchas veces solitario océano del medio oeste norteamericano, mi submarino esta operativo y la tripulación (1) motivada. Asi que no hay excusas, y adelante a dos tercios.

Herr Kapitan Leutnant

Deja Vu

2008-12-19T01:03:00.006-06:00

One of the restaurant's girls quit so I had more work to do tonight. It was a clear and not-so-cold night until the snowfall begun. Finishing around 12.30 am today, I realized it was already my birthday, while walked the half mile back to home opening a path in the fresh snow. Struggling, wind against my face, cursing and wondering, with the already known "Harry Potter Syndrome", why I never have any fun at my birthdays while all the rest of the people seems having so, unconsciously singing Happy Birthday To Me, just wanting to get soon to my submarine. Did I started forgetting my birthdays because I didn't have any fun, or I started forgetting first and then boredom came? Which first, egg or hen?

Who really cares... :D

I like to move it, move it...

2008-12-09T10:48:00.001-06:00

Finalmente encontré un buen lugar con ~~todas las comodidades modernas~~ lo mínimo que necesito para vivir. Norte de Chicago, cerca del lago, no demasiado lejos del downtown -40 min en tren-, y lo principal, económicamente abordable; todo esto en una propiedad recién remodelada... <--- es inevitable que despues de tanto visitar apartamentos esté hablando como corredor de propiedades...

Así que ya me moví. Por supuesto, el lugar es pequeñísimo, un estudio (dormitorio + clóset grande + kitchenette + baño), pero poseo tan pocas cosas en el ámbito muebles y aparatos eléctricos que se hace espacioso. Creo que vivir en un submarino tenía sus beneficios, después de todo.

A propósito de las ventajas de vivir en un espacio que es dormitorio/sala de estar/comedor a la vez, se me ocurren algunas:
- ¿Recuerdan cuando su mamá les gritaba "¡Al menos limpia tu dormitorio, ~~cochino de mierda~~ hijo querido!"? Ahora limpias tu dormitorio y la casa está casi lista.
- Si estás en alguna reunión social o tertulia con ~~otros borrachos~~ amigos en el living, el acceso al baño en caso de emergencia es rápido, expedito y siempre habrá alguien cerca para sujetar la cabeza del sufriente en el "volante de loza".
- Si tienes visitas repentinas, la parte de "Les voy a mostrar el apartamento" se hace fugaz, propiciando la despedida pronta de los seudo-invitados.
- Puesto que ahora tu cama es tu sofá (o tu sofá es tu cama), siempre puedes presumir con tus amigos "Ayer llevé a una mujer a mi cama", no importando si quien se sentó en tu lecho era la señora que reparte revistas de los Testigos de Jehová o la abuelita del 411 que necesitaba una taza de azúcar.

Ésas se me ocurren. ¿Alguna otra? Bienvenidos al U-410, tripulación 1.

Cambio

2008-11-19T11:22:00.002-06:00

A fines de este mes me tengo que cambiar de casa. El único detalle es que aún no tengo a donde. Pero eso no me desanima, me he acostumbrado ya a los finales de suspenso, así es que tengo 11 días para encontrar algun apartamento ~~elegante decente seguro~~ limpio en los alrededores.

Quiero vivir solo. Hace mucho tiempo, siendo estudiante universitario, viví solo por varios años, aunque el apartamento era de mis padres. Luego viví con una novia y despues con mis hermanos, y entonces vino la temporada de barracas en New Orleans, y mis dos meses en Lansing y finalmente mi residencia en Chicago con mis companeros filipinos, Jennifer y Erick. Lejos la experiencia más difícil hasta ahora ha sido la de vivir con compatriotas en US, curiosamente.

Mis opciones de renta estan todas en este barrio. La idea es permanecer cerca, pues eso me permite caminar a mi trabajo y estar cerca del tren, ademas del lago. Tengo sólo un trabajo por ahora, no muy bien remunerado, por lo que económicamente mi techo es bastante bajo; encontrar un lugar y adaptarlo a mi gusto sera toda una odisea.

The Killing Joke

2008-11-06T01:07:00.011-06:00

Last week I started digging up some old episodes from "Monty Python's Flying Circus" from the web. In attention to all those readers who don't know what the heck M.P.F.C. is, I suggest to check this link out. This British comedy show reputedly changed the way to make t.v. sketches, through the work of a few innovative guys who'd become notorious for their skills at acting and directing. Has anybody heard about the "unknowns" John Cleese, Terry Gilliam or Michael Palin? (Mr. Palin, in fact, became my personal hero after seeing the documentaries "Sahara" and "Himalaya").

This sketch is from the very first episode aired in England in 1969. Nobody like the British to mock the British.

Elections

2008-11-05T00:44:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was a warm day, somewhat too hot for the date. I had forgotten about the elections til I heard one radio announcer talking about the weather and that this was such a nice day to go voting. Besides that, the day was like any other; I guess I was too used to the elections back at my country, where elections' day is on Sunday and everybody has the day off from working, which means that after voting (someones before) everybody is at home with a barbecue, drinking and celebrating regardless of the candidate and party supported.

Somehow I supposed that Obama would be the clear winner; I knew it in spite of not having t.v. Actually, so far I haven't known anybody who supported McCain nor the Republican Party. Why Democrats bothered campaigning, I wonder?

Mysteries apart, people seemed suddenly hopeful yesterday; I spoke about that with two of my workmates at the restaurant, while listening to the news at the t.v. One of them, a woman in her early forties, told me about how good was that we were winning with Obama, because he was for the poor and neglected people. "Hey, are you not from Jamaica?", I asked her. "Yeap, and I can't vote, but it's good anyway", she said. Then I asked to my other mate, a young African-American girl: "Are you for Obama?" - "Of course", she answered, "And now things are gonna be better. We are winning!" she said exultantly. "Oh... You went to vote today, right?", I wanted to know. "Me? Well, I can vote, but I didn't go. It's way far from here, and I don't have a car... To vote is a right, you know?" she said. I explained to her, just to appoint that there are different ways to make things, that in Chile citizens are free to register to vote in elections, but once they are registered is mandatory going to vote at the designated day, unless they are unable to move because illness, dead, or at more than 120 miles from the place where they have to vote (fortunately I'm at something like 5000 miles from my designated voting place this next year).

In spite of not knowing too much about American politics, I do know that even when this seems a great triumph for the majority, this is a big party where probably all American are deservedly invited but in which we non-resident immigrants are going to be just serving the tables and cleaning after, as usual. But hopefully things will change in a couple of years, at least that's the hope of many of us.

Los Monos II

2008-11-02T14:21:00.002-06:00

Chemical brothers

Una razón importante para seleccionar a mis hermanos como modelos para mis retratos fue que, mal que mal, los he visto desde que aparecieron en este mundo como rosados y ruidosos cachorros humanos, por lo que sabría inmediatamente si un dibujo tiene la expresión facial correcta.

No tengo muchas fotografías de mis hermanos. Como en toda familia, la función de archivo recae principalmente en mi madre, sea formato papel o digital. Así que debí hurgar entre mis fotos digitales buscando imágenes que me permitieran hacer algo sencillo y que no me avergonzara a mí ni a ellos. En todo caso, no esperaba mucha retroalimentación, puesto que la relación con mis dos hermanos es distante, por decir lo menos; la relación con mi hermana es mucho mejor, dentro de lo posible al estar en continentes distintos.

La dificultad de representar la imagen que escogí de mi hermana estaba en la iluminación. Es una foto de su graduación, tomada con una cámara de lente fijo y con flash, por lo que la luz es frontal y muy fuerte, lo cual prácticamente anula las sombras que definen el rostro.

Las fotos de mis dos hermanos fueron algo más simple. Tengo una diferencia de edad de 8 años con el mayor de ellos y de 10 con el segundo, por lo que siempre petenecimos a generaciones distintas. En el presente, en que la diferencia podria sublimarse, es cuando la relación es más distante, sobretodo con el mayor; en algun punto la relación de él conmigo (y también de él con mis papás, hermana y hermano) se volvió más una fuente de tensión que cualquier otra cosa, pese a los esfuerzos de mis papás para mejorar las relaciones.

La relación con el menor es mucho menos conflictiva, pero desde hace algunos años carece de profundidad. Es como si él no quisiera gastar energía comunicándose. Quizás todo radica en que él, tanto como mi otro hermano, aún no tienen claro (o no lo han verbalizado) qué diablos quieren hacer con sus vidas.

Cuando seleccioné estas fotografías para mi estudio pensé que había escogido lo más adecuado técnicamente, pero creo que tal vez inconscientemente escogí las imágenes que mejor definían mi visión de cada uno de ellos. Mi hermana aparece en su dibujo como una niñita alegre e ingenua, sin preocupaciones. El mayor de mis hermanos aparece como un tipo serio y reservado, con algunas arrugas prematuras que muestran su mal carácter. Mi otro hermano se ve semi-sonriente y pensativo en su retrato, como un niño crecido y algo inseguro.

El hecho de definir las facciones que mejor los representan se convirtió, aunque no fuera mi intención, en una reflexión sobre nuestros lazos. Pese a que en los últimos años la relación ha sido todo menos fluida y cálida, para mí siguen siendo mis hermanos chicos y los quiero de la misma manera que cuando eran bebés, sin cuestionar y sin esperar mucho tampoco. Recordé un par de "momentos Kodak" con ellos, muchos años ha, que son de los mejores momentos que pude encontrar. Uno es de cuando mi primer hermano tenia 3 años y yo 11, y en un paseo familiar veraniego lo tomé en mis brazos para que conociera el río; al comienzo él estaba asustado, pero como yo no parecía querer ahogarlo y de cualquier manera él estaba abrazado a mí como si en ello le fuera la vida, poco a poco fue tomando confianza y chapoteando hasta que estuvo suficientemente feliz como para enseñarle los primeros gestos natatorios. De mi segundo hermano recordé cuando, teniendo él 10 años y estando de visita un otoño en Santiago, salimos a pasear los dos solos; en algun momento noté que ya no caminaba a mi lado, y cuando me volteé para ver qué lo había detenido lo ví parado con una mano extendida y la palma hacia arriba, los ojos hacia el cielo y una expresión de felicidad irreprimible en la cara; él había vivido toda su vida en el seco desierto del norte, y había recién sentido caer las primeras gotas de lluvia en Santiago aquel otoño.

Los Monos I

2008-10-31T20:56:00.001-05:00

Prehistoria y Antiguedad

Siempre me ha gustado dibujar, incluso desde antes que tuviera cualquier tipo de instrucción, y por ende mis dibujos fueran del tipo "Principito" (como la serpiente digiriendo el elefante que nadie entendía). Sin embargo, despues de salir del colegio mis dibujos no fueron mas del tipo "Naturaleza semi-muerta con sonata en Do mayor" o "Atardecer hiperbólico" o "Naves espaciales invadiendo la Tierra" (un clásico de mi niñez).

Una muestra de mi epoca "Azul/Verde/Amarillo/Fucsia"

Desde que me enseñaron a dibujar en la universidad, mis dibujos se transformaron en estudios arquitectónicos sobre espacios o edificios; sólo cuando emigré semi-voluntariamente de arquitectura a diseño mis clases de dibujo alcanzaron nuevamente mayor libertad, aunque cada clase de representación gráfica estaba usualmente orientada a expresar de la mejor forma un proyecto de diseño definido, más que crear simplemente un buen dibujo.

Hace poco mas de un año retomé mi lado de dibujante, mientras estaba en New Orleans, y obviamente recomencé con espacios y edificios; New Orleans es muy interesante para eso. Después de unos meses dibujando sujetos similares en Chicago, decidí que ya era hora de explorar otras áreas, y comencé a tratar de dibujar personas en movimiento, en lugares públicos, con no mucho éxito.

Chartres y Ste. Ann, en New Orleans

Primeros esbozos de figuras en movimiento

La llegada del frío otoñal hace algunas semanas me envió de vuelta a mi claustro, y junto con tratar de mejorar mi técnica en figura humana empecé a practicar retratos a partir de fotografías, pues aún no tengo la práctica suficiente como para dibujar modelos en vivo (y tampoco tengo las o los modelos).

Los primeros seleccionados para modelos de retratos fueron mi hermana y hermanos. Pensé que, si por azar o probabilidad (cien monos, cada uno con una máquina de escribir... etc.) llegara a dibujar una obra maestra, mejor que fuera de alguien de la familia.

Das boot

2008-09-30T20:10:00.011-05:00

U-505, Chicago

Hacía tiempo había visto un anuncio de una exhibición acerca de un Unterseeboot, un submarino alemán de la Segunda Guerra Mundial. El lugar de la muestra era el Museum of Science and Industry en el sur de la ciudad. "¿Un verdadero Unterseeboot?" pensé. "Naaa... debe ser una reconstitución del puente de mando o del equipo". Siendo completamente aficionado a la historia y sobretodo a aquella época, el tema me quedó dando vueltas. Y puesto que las visitas al Museo eran gratis en este mes (una excelente costumbre de los museos de Chicago en el tiempo de menor afluencia), partí raudo cual submarino volador. No era para menos, siendo que mi presupuesto por estos días no da ni para hacer barcos de papel, no digamos ya ver un submarino a escala natural.

El museo está lejos, lejos, lejos (después de dos horas de viaje en el sistema de transporte de Chitown concluí que me habría demorado menos en un submarino sumergido y arrastrando el ancla). En el counter de acceso me dieron además del free ticket un mapa del extensísimo museo, que me sirvió para encontrar el U-boot rápidamente. Y donde yo esperaba encontrar parte de un submarino o cuando más un buen modelo a escala natural, estaba el auténtico y completo U-505, Kriegsmarine 2 Unterseebootsflottille, fondeado en seco en una sala del museo construida para semejar un fondeadero y refugio antiaéreo de aquella época. Resulta que la US Navy capturó el U-505 en junio de 1944 en la costa de Noráfrica, y luego del final de la guerra y de muchos años del submarino juntando herrumbre en Portsmouth, la Navy decidió donarlo. "¿Lo quieren? vengan por él", le dijeron al Museo. Mucho tiempo y muchos dólares después el submarino llegaba a Chicago a través de la vía acuática que conecta al Atlántico con los lagos Ontario, Erie, Huron y Michigan.

Una cosa es ver fotografías de época, o reconstituciones fílmicas como aquella insuperable película homónima de este post, "Das Boot", pero otra cosa es estar dentro de un auténtico U-boot. Sin embargo, cuando estaba listo para entrar con el "grupo de abordaje" el encargado me dijo que mi free ticket no me autorizaba para entrar al submarino. ¿Dónde quedaba entonces el heroico sacrificio realizado por los marinos de US of A que capturaron el U-boot precisamente para que gente como yo pudiera visitarlo? Con la tristeza de quedarme en puerto me fui a ver el resto del material en exposición, cuando uno de los turistas se me acercó y me regaló un ticket de acceso al submarino*. Cool. Estaba en la crew otra vez.

Lo que más me llamó la atención del U-boot es que, aún no siendo yo claustrofóbico, podría perfectamente llegar a serlo si tuviera que pasar un tiempo adentro. Con 76.8 m. de eslora y 6.4 de manga, el guía explicaba que el submarino había albergado a 59 tripulantes, quienes debían turnarse para dormir en las 35 literas disponibles; el hedor de esa gente, con solo un baño disponible para todos y sin tomar una ducha por un par de meses, debe haber sido indescriptible, decía, aunque el aroma de dos de los turistas sin la anticuada costumbre de usar desodorante me ayudaba a imaginarlo bastante bien. Detalles aparte, recordé muchos años atrás cuando siendo cadete naval estuve a bordo del monitor Huáscar (capturado por Chile en 1879 en la guerra contra Perú), que está en exhibición en Talcahuano; con 66.9 m de eslora y 10.9 de manga, el Huáscar albergaba sin embargo a 170 tripulantes. El guía en aquella ocasión nos mostró un espacio en una de la cubiertas inferiores similar a una cuna de bebé, de unos 140 por 40 cm; "¿Qué es eso?", le preguntamos; "Una de las literas para la tripulación", nos respondió. Y dicen que todo tiempo pasado fue mejor...

El Huáscar en Talcahuano, Chile

Post Scriptum: Este post está especialmente dedicado a mi hermano Jona, quien también es adicto a las historias y tecnología de la II Guerra Mundial, y quien tiene cierto interés en los alemanes a causa de cierto sueño muy realista que tuvo cuando era niño.

*Me ha pasado muchas veces, cuando no puedo pagar para entrar a algún lado un alma caritativa aparece. Así ha sido en museos, parques y discotecas en Arica, Chiloé, Punta Arenas, Cuzco, New Orleans, Chicago y otros. Tal vez doy pena...

And more dancing...

2008-09-16T20:49:00.016-05:00

Right, the summer has gone away, if nothing weird happens with the climate the rest of this year, to the other hemisphere. And I haven't written in the last month, since that failed summer dance night. Lack of ideas? Of course, and also of money and interesting places to go, physically or mentally. Spending most of my spare time at home, in a sort of rehearsal of my will-be behavior the incoming winter, I have been watching some old movies and re-watching others. And with the sensation of the dance still on my feet I found two remarkable scenes, on two remarkable movies, both of them comedies. Most of movies become comedies of some sort when the main characters spend too much time dancing or singing; I can only remember "Dancer in the Dark" as a movie with dancing but without laughs, and "Saturday Night Fever" . But even that classical romance-drama flick of "Dirty Dancing" became mostly a comedy with all the dancing involved (although maybe it's just the effect of watching a pretentious 80's movie from the 2000's).

However, here is my selection. In spite of both movies being very far from each other in time and style, I absolutely recommend them.

From "The Gold Rush", 1925, one of the most successful Charles Chaplin's movies - Chaplin's character, the disheveled Tramp, is invited to dance by the girl of his dreams.

From "Train de Vie", 1998, a French movie directed by Radu Mihaileanu - A whole Jewish village, trying to evade the Nazi persecution disguising themselves as prisoners, with Nazi guards included, meet a Roma (Gypsy) village doing exactly the same.

Baila Conmigo

2008-08-10T19:05:00.008-05:00

Sábado por la tarde, tratando de obviar el calor en el tren al downtown, mientras el vagón se llenaba cada vez más con quienes empezaban la vida nocturna de Chicago temprano, como yo. El Chicago Summer Dance era mi destino, aquella genial iniciativa de la ciudad para entretener a sus residentes en verano y de paso enseñarles algunos bailes populares y otros no tanto, en una explanada al aire libre en Grant Park. Aunque usualmente es fácil encontrar pareja in situ (siempre es mayor el número de mujeres que de varones que asiste al baile), esta vez tenía una semi-cita con una chica norteamericana a quien había conocido un par de días antes en el mismo parque y quien trataría de deshacerse de sus compromisos más temprano para ir a bailar. Me había tomado mi tiempo en casa para, cual Tony Manero en Saturday Night Fever, arreglarme lo mejor posible, aunque claramente hay partes de mí que ya no tienen arreglo.

A medio camino en el tren, sin embargo, me llegó un mensaje de voz de mi cita anunciando que era improbable que alcanzara a llegar al baile. Y antes de que yo alcanzara a decir "Damn!" me llegaba otro mensaje de texto de una amiga coreana preguntando si me gustaría ir con ella al Dance. Le escribí de vuelta, confirmando el encuentro, y pensando si esta vez ella llegaría (una semana antes, en un acuerdo similar, la coreana había aparecido una hora y media tarde; por supuesto, la clase ya había terminado). Pero no teniendo mas opciones que la de pararme con pose de latin lover en el borde de la pista y buscar una pareja, decidí que lo intentaría una vez más con ella.

Pero ésta vez ella había llegado a tiempo, elegante y todo, junto con otros amigos. Nos habíamos conocido en mi clase de inglés, hablando de fotografía y por supuesto del Summer Dance; el hecho de que ella hubiera tomado la iniciativa, acercándose a conversar y pidiendo mi teléfono, me agradó. Así que todo estaba bien cuando nos mezclamos con la gente en la pista para la clase de salsa.

Antes de todo debo decir que yo no soy, nunca he sido, y probablemente nunca seré un eximio bailarín. Pero de que me gusta bailar, me gusta, y los años ciertamente han ido aminorando mi sensibilidad al ridículo; y de cualquier forma, soy bastante capaz de mantener el ritmo hasta el final y de marcar mis pasos con la regularidad de un tambor mayor de regimiento, cosa que no se podía decir de la mayoría de la gente en la pista. De manera que nos abocamos a seguir las instrucciones del teacher en el escenario; anteriormente ya había estado en una clase de salsa, así que sabía que si hay algo realmente necesario para bailar es el estar relajado y disfrutar. Mi compañera, por su parte, se lo tomaba muy en serio, con una concentración oriental.

La mayor parte de la clase practicamos algunos giros básicos, y luego los pasos para cha-cha-cha, bachata y merengue. Mi amiga, sin embargo, que lo había hecho bastante decentemente con la clase de salsa, comenzó a perder el ritmo y los pasos, y entró en la espiral de frustración - empeoramiento - frustración que suele ocurrir en estos casos, pese a mis intentos de que se relajara. Después de un rato dejamos de practicar los giros para que ella se enfocara en sus pasos básicos (aunque bailar salsa sin tocar a la pareja es tan divertido como jugar fútbol solo), y un par de temas de merengue me dieron un breve relajo, que se acabó cuando la musica volvió a ser salsa y ella definitivamente estaba haciendo sus pasos en otro tiempo distinto al mio y al de la gente alrededor, tropezando a ratos. Le sugerí que nos tomáramos un descanso, y mientras ella iba a chequear su bolso yo hice lo que cualquier hombre haría en mi situacion: fui por un trago.

Me demoré en volver, mientras esperaba que el alcohol hiciera algo de efecto. Ví a mi chica coreana cerca de sus otros amigos, y cuando ella me hizo un gesto con la mano me limité a mostrarle mi vaso a medio beber. Ella me dijo por gestos algo como "voy a estar bailando aquí" y yo le expresé a la distancia algo como "tómate tu tiempo"; pude ver que bailaba sola, aun practicando sus pasos de salsa. Al rato ví a otro tipo bailando con ella, y ya no pude distinguirla en la multitud. En ese punto yo ya habia perdido mis ganas de bailar, asi que sólo pensé en la mejor forma de retirarme digna y discretamente and live to fight some other day. Mis pies, en piloto automático, comenzaban a caminar lentamente, cuando la musica nuevamente cambió a merengue. Sentí que alguien tocaba mi espalda, y nerviosamente me di vuelta a mirar quién me llamaba. Era una linda chica afroamericana, quien me dijo "You dance merengue?" - "Let's find it out", le contesté, y nos fuimos a la pista. Aunque sólo bailamos un par de temas, los disfruté profundamente, pues la chica bailaba muy bien. Ya no volví a ver a mi amiga coreana ni a sus amigos, así que supuse que ya podía retirarme impunemente.

Terminé mi noche sentado en el anfiteatro en Millennium Park, en el final de un concierto de musica clásica. Y mientras escuchaba a una solista cerrar interpretando Moonlight Sonata de Beethoven, pensaba en que algo de cierto puede haber en eso de que, en el país de los ciegos, el tuerto es rey.

How I miss this!

2008-08-06T00:16:00.005-05:00

Photo by Abdo Fernández, 2005

¡Cómo extraño las montañas!

Bad Boy

2008-08-04T13:54:00.007-05:00

My laptop has been a very, very bad boy, so I'm taking measures to put him on the straight path again.

Todo empezó hace algunas semanas, con cierto spyware que pasó mis, errr... "impregnables defensas" y que comenzó con el habitual show de abrir ventanas e interrumpir aplicaciones. "Ningún problema", me pantalleó el Norton, "se lo eliminamos de inmediato". Pero junto con el indeseable eliminó algunos archivos del sistema, lo que ocasionó una escalada de violencia intracomputacional entre varios componentes de mi software, y que entre otras cosas me impedía abrir algunos sitios de Internet a menos que cerrara el Explorador de Windows (el programa que permite ver carpetas y archivos); es decir, tenía que volar a ciegas. Era casi como volver a los viejos tiempos del DOS.

A estas alturas ya casi no queda programa afectado por la crisis, así que a formatear y reinstalar nos vamos. Creo que en estos casi 2 años no me había tocado hacerlo. Si todo sale bien, nos vemos del otro lado.

P.S: Si Ud. está leyendo este post, es muy probable que mi virus/spyware haya infectado también su computadora.

P.S: If you are reading this, it's quite likely that my virus/spyware has also infected your computer.

Borrowed from "Technologic Logic"

NO, no, no, no y no... No insistan, NO VOY a instalar Vista en mi laptop. Más vale malo conocido que ~~bueno~~ ~~regular~~ ~~terrible~~ desastroso por conocer.

Así debiera quedar mi laptop después del "fashion emergency"
My laptop should look like this after the treatment

Not Oversize

2008-07-30T23:25:00.005-05:00

Estaba en Union Station, y leí sólo "NO TAMAÑOS EXCESIVOS en las escaleras mecánicas", y para cuando entendí de qué se trataba, mis malignas manos ya estaban disparando mi cámara hacia esta pobre gente...

I was in Union Station, and just read "Not OVERSIZE on escalators", and when I understood what was this about, my evil hands were already shooting my camera at these poor guys...

(Not) Swimming in Chicago

2008-07-24T23:41:00.009-05:00

The south side of Rogers Park beach

The beach in Rogers Park is a great place to walk, jog, take photographs, and crawl on the sand... Wait, wait... Did I say "crawl on the sand"? Come on, only babies crawl, and some drunkards... But yes, there is nothing else you can do on this beach when you get into the water. What I mean is, you cannot go farther o deeper than having the water at your waist. Actually, this waistline height could be the height of the waistline of some rapper pants, because is really, really low, kind of... well, low. There is some kind of monster in the deep of lake Michigan? Are we suffering a drought, so we cannot wet ourselves too much? Or perhaps we are too tall for the "dwarfish" lake? Sure... I'm just 5'7''!

The thing is that the safety measures imposed for the authorities through the lifeguards are so tight that you should consider yourself lucky if you can swim a couple of strokes without hitting the sand with your knees and hands, something really unnerving when you have been waiting for the whole snowy winter to dip into the lake. Any time you try to have some fun or do some exercising keeping your distance from the small children you are compelled by the lifeguards to move closer to the beach.

The inexperience of the lifeguards is the key factor. Most of them are just teenagers, and of course they want to do their best and keep the beach safe. But keeping a good swimmer, grown up and fit adult playing with the small children at knee-height water is a bit too much. Of course, some people would say "better bored than drowned", but there are more chances of dying on a car accident any day than at 10 yards from the beach's lifeguard. Besides, every person has the right of risking a bit himself if he chooses to do so. Say, can we at least renegotiate the water depth til neck high? I'll thank that for the whole next winter.

One of the over-protective young gentlemen

Make your Summer Happier

2008-07-22T20:57:00.014-05:00

Haz tu Verano Más Feliz
1) Run to the nearest fridge!
1) Corre al refrigerador más cercano!

2) Find a melon, cantaloupe or watermelon.
2) Encuentra un melón de cualquier clase (sandía también sirve).

3) Focus your mind, and split it right in half in only one accurate slice.
3) Enfoca tu mente, y pártelo justo a la mitad en un sólo golpe, sin romper el plato.

4) Take the seeds off from one half and hollow it out, depending on how much icecream you like.
4) Quítale las semillas a una mitad, y ahuécala dependiendo de cuánto helado quieras.

5) Add the icecream, any flavour.
5) Agrega el helado, de cualquier sabor.

6) Run to your computer, and boast online how delectable is your dessert.
6) Corre a tu computadora, y presume con tus amiguis online.

This Chilean man, without any previous training, has been able to accomplish the hardest poses in Yoga, thanks to this delicious dessert.
Este hombre chileno, sin entrenamiento previo, ha sido capaz de lograr las más complejas posturas del Yoga gracias a este postre.

This lovely couple enjoyed 97 years of happy marriage tasting this dish every summer.
Esta pareja disfrutó de 97 felices años de matrimonio probando la delicia cada verano.

I told you guys, DO NOT break the plate apart.
Yo les dije, NO ROMPAN el plato al partir el melón.

Calor

2008-07-20T23:49:00.003-05:00

Hace calor todo el rato. Fui a Millenium Park a sacar fotos, y me metí a la fuente a ras de piso que hay, donde juegan todos los cabros chicos de Chicago (pero sólo en verano). Cada foto que sacaba era un cabro chico más que pasaba chapoteando y pateando agua, y mi pantalón se iba empapando desde abajo hacia arriba. No me importaba. Las fotos estaban buenas, y hacía calor. Sólo me preocupaba de no mojar la cámara. Algunos niños rodaban por el piso con agua, y yo quería hacer lo mismo, pero no con cámara. Quedaban horas de sol, pero los edificios tapan el sol temprano en el downtown de Chicago, así que me fui a pasear a otro lado para secarme. Me saqué las sandalias para que se secaran también (quería ir al cine después a ver "Dark Knight". Why so serious?). Cuando el sol también se fue de ahí, mi pantalón seguía mojado. Fin.

Behind the Wheel

2008-07-20T13:43:00.003-05:00

Oh yes, I was raised in a thoroughly Catholic environment. Nonetheless, I never was one of them, I was more like an alien, never baptized and found inside the church only if taking pictures or making drawings (there are beautiful churches in Chile). At the end of my teenage I realized that I was Buddhist, and that was that.

That's why I do not agree with the message on the board (see photograph). These board messages are awesome, for they use ingenuity and humor to attract people on their neighborhoods. But this is one of my greatest differences with all the Christian religions (and with any Christian sect): I believe than the first, main, and only responsible being for his own life is Man himself. Putting that responsibility in any other being is just being lazy, and a bit foolish and childish. Many people does need to believe in something, and is better to believe in something good, of course; but in some moment each one has to take the responsibility.

The Dream Destinations

2008-07-17T22:50:00.006-05:00

Torres del Paine, Chile. This place is not on the list!

Usually I buy a few magazines each month, apart from the books I read, to feed me some culture and keep me informed about the rest of the world. National Geographic, The New Yorker, Time, Discovery and Scientific American are my favorites. Sometimes I buy some to learn more about computers, design software or photography technique, but I do not really enjoy that reading. There is one, "Life", whose special numbers I buy only to watch the great photographs on them.

The last issue of Life was about travel places in the world, under the title "Dream Destinations, 100 of the World's Best Vacations", and it displayed an image and description for each place. The places were organized in different categories, such as "Families" or "Sporty Types"; many of these places are from United States, and that makes me think about the bias of the selectors, but anyway all the places look great and are really interesting. A few of them:

For Families: London, Riviera Maya, Orlando, New York City, The Bahamas, Cuzco...
For Culture Vultures: The Uffizi Gallery (Florence), The State Hermitage Museum (St. Petersburg), Hemingway's Havana, Sidney Opera House, Nanjing...
For Sightseers: Morocco by Camel, The Bosporus, Borneo's Rainforests, The Orient Express, Stockholm and its Islands...
For Sporty Types: Banff and Lake Louise (Canada), Denali (Canada), The Netherlands, The Tongariro Northern Circuit (New Zealand), Daytona Beach (Florida)...
For History Buffs: The Forbidden City, The Lewis and Clark National Historic Trail, Captain Cook's Polinesia, Normandy Beaches, Vietnam...
For Romantics: Kyoto, The Cinque Terre (Italy), Montréal, Brussels, Napa Valley (San Francisco), Madeira Island...

I can not help noticing that I actually have visited only one of those one hundred places, Cuzco and Machu Picchu in Peru. Indeed, if I had to suggest only one place to visit in South America, that would be my choice, followed too closely by Torres del Paine in Chile (which is not on Life's list). Anyway... I think I'll have to do something about my "lack of traveling". Soon. The sooner I can.

Our young hero at the Urubamba Valley (Cuzco, Perú), wet, cold and hungry but happier than ever, looking for some new place to explore.

The Sleeping Beauty

2008-07-13T13:59:00.008-05:00

Domingo, tres de la madrugada, esperando el bus en Clark Avenue y ya harto del trabajo en la cocina, sólo quiero llegar pronto a casa. El nº 22 aparece finalmente luego de media hora (demora mucho en pasar de madrugada) y obviamente está lleno. Los asientos están ocupados mayormente por quienes regresan, como yo, a casa luego de un arduo día de trabajo, aunque hay unos pocos hipsters que vuelven como pueden de alguna fiesta.

Parado en el pasillo, mientras trato de encontrar una canción en el reproductor MP3, una pareja llama mi atención. Él es un tipo joven y buenmozo, negro, casi con certeza africano y no americano; ella es una chica rubia, también casi con total certeza norteamericana, y apoya la cabeza en el hombro del tipo mientras duerme. Aunque no logro ver toda su cara, parece muy linda, y lleva vestido de fiesta. Él casi no se mueve para no despertarla, y ha optado por ponerse los audífonos para escuchar música en el aparentemente largo viaje de regreso. A ratos ella se acomoda en el hombro de él y sigue durmiendo.

Finalmente encuentro asiento y me dejo caer. Aún puedo ver a la pareja adelante, y la chica se ha pegado más aún a su novio para dormir. Él cruza algunas palabras con gente alrededor, con una chica gorda sentada detrás y un par de latinos adelante, quienes ríen con el tipo africano por algo que no alcanzo a escuchar. En mi reproductor suena "Me gustas tú" de Manu Chao, y luego "More than a woman" de The Bee Gees, bastante apropiado para estos chicos; aunque no he percibido racismo en Chicago, tampoco son muy numerosas las parejas de distinta raza y país que uno puede ver en la calle (yo salgo con una chica africana actualmente, lo que hace que el tema me interese). Otras personas hablan con el tipo, quien trata de no moverse y no molestar a su chica... Hey, un momento... No alcanzo a escuchar lo que se habla adelante, pero detecto algo en las expresiones de la gente y en la postura del tipo negro... No es su chica. No la conoce. Ella simplemente se puso a dormir sobre su hombro, y él fue lo suficientemente amable para dejarla dormir. Ella está muy probablemente borracha. La Bella Durmiente se ha convertido en Blancanieves envenenada por una manzana, o por cualquier otro vegetal susceptible de transformar en alcohol (casi todos lo son), pero sin un Príncipe cerca que la despierte.

Ya han pasado unos 20 minutos de viaje, y la chica gorda trata suavemente de despertar a la chica rubia. Cada nuevo intento pierde suavidad, pero la chica no quiere despertar, sólo se acomoda nuevamente para dormir; los intentos del tipo africano, por cierto más suaves que los de la chica gorda, tampoco son exitosos, y él ya debe bajarse. Finalmente entre la chica gorda y otro pasajero sostienen a la alcoholizada rubia para que el tipo negro pueda bajarse, y ella recupera algo de consciencia que le permite acomodarse contra la ventana para seguir durmiendo. Me doy cuenta de que me he pasado de mi paradero presenciando ésto, pero la curiosidad es más fuerte, y de todos modos el terminal está cerca. ¿Qué sucederá con los pasajeros borrachos que llegan al final de la ruta? ¿Llamarán a los cops? ¿Habrá un Depósito de Borrachos al lado de Cosas Perdidas? ¿Los dejarán dormir en el bus? ¿O simplemente los arrojarán a la acera? El conductor del bus no parece muy preocupado ni interesado, y yo no estoy en la mejor de las posiciones para intervenir: tengo algo así como 5 dólares en la billetera, con lo que pagarle un taxi a la Princesa Etílica queda fuera de alcance; además, siendo mi situación legal en este país cuando menos confusa, prefiero mantenerme alejado de cualquier posibilidad de problema y no entrar en tratos con la policía.

En el terminal casi todos los pasajeros se bajan y se pierden en la oscuridad. El conductor finalmente se interesa y trata de interrogar a la chica, junto con un pasajero. Éste último ofrece a la chica llevarla a algún lado en su automóvil, que está estacionado cerca del terminal (él también parece venir de una fiesta, pero en mejores condiciones). Ella aparentemente acepta y el conductor se desentiende del problema con presteza. No sé si la chica estará en condiciones de algo más que de ser carga, así que sólo me queda desear que las intenciones del amable pasajero sean tan caballerosas como parecen. Ha sido una larga noche, y aún me queda un largo camino a casa.

Music. Sunset. Chicago.

2008-07-02T20:51:00.002-05:00

A concert in Millennium Park, at sunset, by the Grant Park Orchestra. It's awesome the chance of enjoying the music on this great scenario, surrounded by the urban landscape of Chicago. This is my city!

Crazy

2008-06-22T04:04:00.005-05:00

La cosa fue más o menos así:

El sábado por la mañana fui a clases de inglés. Una compañera con quien nunca había hablado llegó tarde y se sentó a mi lado. Por alguna razón comenzamos a hablar y cuando la clase ya había terminado, y hasta el profesor se había ido, seguíamos hablando. Ella resultó ser muy agradable, e incluso ofreció ayudarme a encontrar un trabajo. Oh... ¿No había contado que me quedé sin trabajo? Bueno... me quedé sin trabajo hace casi cuatro semanas, lo cual coincide con el tiempo que he tenido "bloqueo de escritor" (ya contaré más detalles de por qué dejé mi único trabajo). En la tarde, cuando ya estaba en mi casa pensando en salir a disfrutar del "Chicago Summer Dance" me dediqué, para pasar el rato, a reparar mi computador (quien tuvo la pésima idea de sufrir de un ataque de spyware/virus), pero la reparación lobotomizó una parte de su cerebro electrónico. Al parecer fue un problema con el procesador externo duro RAM láser de 5 pulgadas con memoria Wi-Fi y tornamesa video HD floppy... que es otra manera de decir que no tengo ni una ~~puta~~ mínima idea de qué le pasó a mi laptop. El principal problema era Internet, y después de mucho trabajo logré entrar a mi correo Gmail, pero no he podido entrar a Hotmail o a Amazon o al New York Times... ah, y ni siquiera a buscar en Google. Traté de dormir para recuperar el sueño de la noche anterior, y en eso estaba cuando me llama un amigo para avisarme que en el club mexicano donde trabaja necesitan un cocinero. Dos horas después estaba allá, y como ya era de noche, la gente estaba llegando y al parecer traían hambre, todo el proceso aplicación >>entrevista >>evaluación >>entrenamiento fue lo que el manager se demoró en decirme "ahí tienes un delantal, ésta es la cocina". Al rato mi amigo trataba de enseñarme lo básico de la comida mexicana, al más puro estilo de "Hágalo-Ud.-Mismo-Todo-Vale". En un par de horas ya estaba defendiéndome solo, y el dueño del bar me había dado la bienvenida justo antes de entrar en la fase de borracho. Una de las meseras llegó a investigarme, y después de un rato de preguntas tentativas y de darse vueltas innecesarias por la cocina me dijo "¿Cómo estás? ¿Bien? Bueno, si llegas a estar mal avísame y yo vengo, ¿ok?". Al rato me llevó una soda que amablemente quiso sostener para que yo bebiera de su mano, pero yo no soy tan dócil. El nivel de alcohol del personal en el club era inversamente proporcional a la jerarquía, lo cual quiere decir que yo era el más sobrio y que el dueño ya andaba casi por debajo de las mesas. Casi al final de la jornada la esposa discutía con el dueño y le decía "Dame las llaves"; "¡Que no!" le respondía él, aunque seguramente ni sabía en dónde las tenía. Por suerte para mí, el tiempo pasó rápido y antes de darme cuenta ya estaba en el bus de vuelta a casa, escuchando a un compañero mexicano explicarme su plan de comprar y refaccionar una bicicleta para no tener que usar más el bus.

Amanece mientras escribo ésto (ya es domingo), y mi laptop aún no trabaja bien. Así que Start>>Turn Off para ambos. Crazy day.
P.S: Y de muestra, un botón. Recién he podido publicar ésto en Blogger hoy jueves.

Love and Entropy

2008-05-27T01:55:00.000-05:00

What we love when we love, and what we forget when we do not love anymore?

Reading the very good book Decoding the Universe by the physicist Charles Seife, I found the following sentence: "...it seems that the act of living can be seen as the act of replicating and preserving information despite Nature's attempts to dissipate and destroy it."

This efforts from Nature to dissipate information, and energy, is what is called "entropy" (another definition is that entropy is a measure of disorder, but I never could understand this definition, and is also discredited by Seife because unsatisfying). And since all the processes that occur inside our brains are associated with the same information theory, and therefore with entropy, it could be said that when we fall in love we are programed, or that we program ourselves, with the required data which allows us to love someone. This said, from the very moment that we start organizing that information inside our brain (others would say inside our heart) we are struggling against the efforts of Nature to dissolve and dissipate such accumulation of data and energy... Bizarre definition of Love? Was never my intention finding a definition; if anybody knows better, please let me know.

Las Enseñanzas de Don Mojamed

2008-04-12T09:03:00.003-05:00

The Teachings of Don Muhammad
Learning to cope with the infinite wisdom of my boss at the kitchen

¿Quién no ha tenido alguna vez un jefe absolutamente detestable? Después de estar alrededor de 5 meses trabajando como cocinero asistente en la cocina de este hotel, puedo decir que he encontrado mi límite. De hecho, cuando me acuerdo de las veces que en anteriores trabajos me quejé de mis jefes o del sueldo me da nostalgia. Pero... trabajo es trabajo, todos necesitamos comer y eso lleva a que todos tengamos un jefe. Así que tengo que usar el arma secreta, mi última forma de resistencia, la única cualidad cierta que nos redime a quienes somos chilenos del resto de nuestros pecados idiosincráticos: me refiero al sentido del humor en condiciones deplorables; si los chilenos somos los Ingleses de Sudamérica, ésto es lo más cercano a la flema británica que tenemos.

El señor a quien tengo por jefe gusta mucho de gritar, amenazar y hacer gestos. A veces también habla como una persona normal, y cuando lo hace, es posible encontrar algunas "joyas" de sabiduría (si no le es posible entender el idioma en estos extractos originales, estimado lector, por favor pregunte en los comentarios).

(En el área de postres)
Chef: "Why you cut such a big piece of cake [for the customer]?"
Me: "I didn't, Chef. The cake was already cut, the sous-chef made a previous cut so I can give the right portion"
Chef: "No, that fucking piece is too big. Do you think we are giving the cake for free? We are here to make money. I don't care if the shit is already cut, you have to think and not wasting the fucking cake..."

(Discutiendo con la linda chica de Recepción quien solicitaba snacks para los huéspedes VIP)
Me to her: "How many snacks do you need?"
She: "I just need..."
Chef: (interrupting) "Do you have a paper with the order?"
She: "Oh, I have it on my desk"
Chef: "I need to see a paper first. I'm not going to send snacks without that"-(After she leaves, to me)- "Don't look the pussy. You just look for the paper. Nothing else!"

(Supervisando la decoración de las bandejas de frutas)
Chef: "Do you use to read? Do you read at all?"
Me: "Yes, Chef. I like reading, I read every day"
Chef: "What kind of stuff do you read?"
Me: "Well, many things, but I think I read more about history"
Chef: "History? You read history? Do you think is any good reading about George Washington? Is he going to teach you how to work better? No, no... you have to read books about cooking!"

(Un miércoles cualquiera, 7 pm)
Chef: "Hey, what time is your schedule to work tomorrow?"
Me: "On the evening, from 2 pm to 10 pm, Chef"
Chef: "Ok... mmm... yes... no... no, you better start at six in the morning"
Me: "Six in the morning tomorrow? But I can't come over at that time, I have an appointment"
Chef: "You have something to do? What else you have to do?"
Me: "I have an interview for a part time job, Chef. I want to work on my days off"
Chef: "Oh, you want to work in some other place? Ok, if you don't want to work tomorrow then go home, I don't need you here"
Me: "But..."
Chef: "Go home, I don't need you here!"

@ Classes

2008-03-29T11:18:00.002-05:00

Saturday morning, I'm late to my class but am not the only one. This class is quite good, right what I need to improve my English. Now I just must to find out how to get the fast track to college and residence. Almost nothing.