Bambi returns, the great sock conspiracy and why the world would be a better place if the Americans hadn't won their war of independence in 1776

Apologies for the long winded title, however I found it difficult to adequately capture the essence of this posting- you be the judge.

Firstly to the rather grandly named "great sock conspiracy" which really just describes my ongoing frustration with the local laundry, staffed by Chile's stupidest man. Typically I put myself through the agony of taking my clothes to the laundry once a week. A few deep breathes and then I enter to confront complete incompetence in it's purest form. Since I have been here, the the gross kilo-age of laundry I take each week has fluctuated very little, however one can be guaranteed that laundry-man will determine the load to be completely different to the previous week. Some weeks I am charged for one "carga" (one load) and other weeks for "carga y media" (one and a half loads). We then come to 2 key points that confuse me, firstly the cost between 1 "carga" and "carga y media" is almost double- how can this be so? I am no maths whiz but even I can work out that something fishy is going on. Secondly laundry man determines the load by merely looking at the basket that you have emptied your clothes into; surely this is a scientifically flawed method, no one man can determine the gross kilo-age of laundry simply by looking at it; some method of weighing the laundry is needed surely.

The frustration doesn't stop here, upon picking up my laundry (the same day, so admittedly it is convenient in this way- other chilean laundries hold your clothes for ransom until the following day or even over the weekend), laundry man accepts my payment and gives me a hand written receipt where he writes either "carga" or "carga y media" according to his whim and presumably magic sight that day. The thing here is that it takes him about 5 minutes to write "carga", I have to watch him physically strain to think how to spell it, how hard can it be? he must write it tens if not hundreds of times each day aaarrrrggggghhhhhhhhhhh.......C-A-R-G-A. I think on my last visit to laundry man I'll jump over the counter and write it for him. To top it all off, I have feeling he has been stealing my socks. I am not yet at the mid life crisis stage where one counts one's socks however I feel sure that I don't have as many socks as I used to. I may count them this week and see if he returns to me the same number, I'll let you know the result.

Moving on, regular readers will recall my account of the soap opera scale drama of the Eduardo-Jonathan break up and will no doubt remember one of the cheif protagonists Bambi (stage name, real name- Raimundo). In the aftermath of daytime TV's biggest shock since rich afro-american women were allowed to host patronising mummsy chat shows, I didn't see Bambi for quite a while. I later found out that he and Eduardo had not been the best of freinds after Jonathan had run off with Miguel and hence didn't expect to see Bambi again. However last week Eduardo and I went to Brians 24th birthday (Brian is an American friend of Eduardo's who teaches English to Chileans and also arguably "worlds most boring man"). The party was held in quite a nice apartment, particularly conducive to parties and I don't think I have ever seen so many (drunk)Americans in one place at one time (I did feel a little nauseous at times, particularly when some whiny woman from Wisconsin started to talk to me about the pronounciation of Aluminium), anyway Bambi was in attendance and although my first query was whether we would be treated to a drag show (the answer to which was a flat "no"), he and Eduardo made peace.

The aforementioned party leads to the final matter alluded to under this posting's title; although it was admittedly quite a good shindig- lots of people etc, Brian failed on one point. He'd obviously thought that he might as well try and cash-in on the affair, most invitees including Eduardo and myself had brought some booze with us as you do to a party however as most readers will know the booze you bring to a party rarely lasts the whole night. At this point many people stop drinking or simply pitch in with whomsoever else has some booze with them- things usually work out equal by the end. However the entreprenuerial (spelling?) Brian being host had stocked up on quite a bit of booze and at about 11.30 opened his own private bar in his apartment and actually charged people for a drink. One would have to pay Rumina (Brian's Chilean girlfriend- he infoms me he couldn't get an American one so came to Chile) then take one's receipt to Bambi (who was by this stage manning the bar, and drinking most of the stock) in order to recieve one's drink. Admittedly it was quite cheap, but is that just not absurd? Is it just me? Has anybody else ever heard of such a practice? if so I'd love to hear from you. I was not the only person taken aback, Eduardo although a close freind of Brian's, yet a total tight arse was a little miffed also. It must be an American thing, only americans would know how to spoil a party by charging for drinks (there was even a price list), they ruin most things.

Anyway, enough of a whinge for this week. Take care all.

A regular posting will follow soon...

Readers, disgruntled Australian football fans should check out this site,
www.sackfrank.com
If nothing else it's mildly amusing.

A regular posting will follow soon.
Cheers

"¿Tienes fuego?" said the caveman to the gentleman

As a regular contributor to the realm of internet literature I often come across other sites of interest and profound intellectual substance, many of which are written by close associates of mine. One such site readers may remember me referring to is www.hoogster.blogspot.com where one man's mission to completely reconstruct the English language according to his whim has gained a reasonable following. Recently though I've been introduced to a new site www.oldrob.blogspot.com written by "El Capitan Chef" (there you go Rob, now I'm even advertising for you!), the site which takes a pretty broad agenda is generally updated daily and thus far has attracted a phenomenal following, albeit a litany of comments concerned with arguing or counterarguing against other readers.

I was interested to read recently a piece amidst the aforementioned broad agenda over the issue of smoking and passive smoking, the talented author (and part time sharp-shooter) presented an impassioned and well thought through argument which struck a particularly resonant chord with me. I agree wholeheartedly with the authors position; "smoking is wack", however think that the situation in the ol' A-d-of-elaide is far better than where I find myself currently. Chile is certainly behind the times so far as smoking is concerned- in Adelaide smokers have a pretty hard time smoking anywhere other than at home and that only threatens to get harder for them in the future. However in Chile very little opposition exists to smoking and indeed I don't believe I would be too off the mark to state that I am one of very few non-smokers.

Smoking in Chile is like smoking used to be in Australia. One can freely destroy one's lungs and indeed those of their neighbors whilst having a meal in a restaurant (illegal in oz), walking through a shopping mall (illegal in oz, I don't think this was ever legal was it?) or whilst in a lecture (urr... I don't know if its illegal but it should be, cos dang that just stooopid). Of course like at home, there seems to be a few more girls that smoke than men, why is that? do they really think it makes them look sexy? are there men that like girls who stink like their dad's ashtray? Of course there may be some young-gun reader out there who would be quick to ask if I'm not being a little hypocritical- I have been known to puff the odd cigar from time to time (generally special occasions), especially in the company of Señor Hoogland. But my aim here is not to take the moral high ground and preach against all your vices- you're all damned vile sinners!... Rather I only wish to draw an interesting comparison between a country where sometime in the near future a man and his gal will be able to cruise the town and return home not smelling like a packet of Woodbines and a country where unfortunately your meal still comes with a side serving of smoke.

As a footnote, it's interesting to note that my typical daily experience with smokers isn't sharing their self induced condemnation (it probably is actually, but I just don't notice it), but rather I on average probably receive 2 or 3 requests a day for a light, in Spanish when one feels like a puff, one asks ¿tienes fuego? which literally translates as "do you have fire?". You can imagine my amusement the first time someone asked me this, but this brings me to my closing thought... no my 2 closing thoughts...
1. Isn't it funny how some languages translate into others?
2. Why do smokers never have a lighter and always have to ask someone? I mean if your going to by a packet of fags then logically you would think of it at the time- do I have a lighter? If not then buy one.... or better still do us all a favour and not buy the damn things in the first place.

Feliz Cumpleaños (happy bloody birthday to me)

Muchas Gracias (Thankyou very much) to those readers who were kind enough to pass on their birthday wishes after my last post or have emailed me. For other ill-informed readers, I turned 21 today (14/6). 21 years on this godforsaken planet... the end is nigh I tell ye. If you'd told me 21 years ago that I'd celebrate my ability to legally drink in the US whilst in Chile I would probably just have gargled at you.

Chile has a pretty full schedule this week to celebrate the occasion, a student riot was held today in my honour and another is planned for later this week. Perhaps more excitingly I have a spanish exam on Thursday... woah!! get out those party hats!!

Eduardo promised a little while ago to have a little gathering and dinner for me, however nothing has been planned and given his recent behaviour (read last post) I think I can comfortably assume that he has gone back on that as usual.

I've not much else planned, will probably have a few drinks with the foreign student crowd at some point, although I'll probably steer clear of the Koreans from my spanish class after I broke a glass and a chair at their flat over the weekend. However I'll save any serious celebrations for my return to the realm of Oz and my beloved readers. However if any of you get the chance, have a Boags for me (I miss you James). Not much else to report, take care all.

Ps. Krystle see above title, you got it right.

The balding and not-so beautiful

Readers please forgive me for posting so soon after my last posting, I realise that some of you may not have had the chance to read my previous post yet, however you can do so by scrolling down the page (amazing stuff this technology) to catch up, it's a cracker I promise.

Anyway I post sooner than usual because I feel that I must recount this "telenovela" (soap opera) for my beloved readers as soon as possible. You may remember that I returned from Mendoza in Argentina to discover that the family was no more, Eduardo and Jonathan had split up and Jonathan had upped sticks and left the flat, although at the time I didn't know why.

Over the past week and days the situation has become clearer to me, like a day in Santiago when it has rained and the smog clears to reveal the stunning beauty of the Andes....wow! what an analogy- write that one down Johnny.....urrrrrr I'm typing to myself.

Anyway here's how it goes children....

The protagonists are Eduardo, Jonathan, Bambi (stage name, real name- Raimundo), Miguel (Bambi's boyfriend) and me (sniggering).

It turns out that whilst I was on my Argentinean sojourn, Jonathan took a bit of a fancy to Miguel and the two of them left their respective (although not respectable) partners and so far as I know are living happily ever after.

At the time, I didn't realise that Eduardo was the "dumpee" rather than the "dumper" as he didn't seem too fazed about the whole thing. Eduardo had always been the more dominant of the couple and I had assumed (wrongly obviously) that he had told Jonathan to pack his bags.

Late last week this facade started to come undone for Eduardo, a series of drunken evenings led to emotional outbursts from Eduardo making the situation clear to me. I became a pseudo-counselor (not voluntarily I hasten to add) and I had to put up with such arrogant, self-centred statements (although terribly amusing) as:
"I am special, he can't have left me"
"Jonathan is a bad man" a statement I beg to differ with as I think him a reasonable sort of chap and I hope he his very happy with Miguel.

Moving along, Eduardo's response to the situation has been typical Ed' style with a bit of an extra twist though. Voluminous drinking (booze that I've bought), pursuant use of weed and cocaine and the icing on the cake?.......................... the last few days, consistently each day Eduardo has brought (or bought) a male prostitute home. Now I think of myself as a reasonably open minded chap and by god I've seen some weird shit, especially these last few months, but I struggled to construct any sort of rational response to this, especially since it has occurred normally at about 7 in the evening as I am tucking into my bangers and mash. A few nights ago, he had a 7 o'clock session and then there must have been a special on that night because another session occurred about 1 in the morning (for approx 2 hours according to Jorrit, whose bedroom wall adjoins Eduardo's) , actually poor Jorrit has had a few sleepless nights recently.

Furthermore, it would appear that Jorrit and I are probably funding this new indulgence. Recently Eduardo disclosed to us how much he pays in rent per month for the whole flat, an amount that is only marginally more than I am paying per month for my room. Then it is not hard to deduce that with the money Eduardo gets from myself and Jorrit per month for our respective rooms he is able to pay the rent for the flat, the bills and still come out with a slight profit (a fee for the entertainment perhaps?). I don't wish to appear insensitive to the difference between the Australian and Chilean economic environments, obviously the cost of living in Chile is substantially cheaper for a westerner; a fact that Eduardo loves to lecture about ("look at me the poor Chilean!!"). However I cannot take seriously a man who can't even be bothered to get off his arse in an attempt to find a job and blows what money he does have on drugs and prostitutes. There are many Chileans who are unfortunately substantially poor by western standards, however make an effort to improve their lot in life by going out to work each day. Admittedly there is a need for the Chilean state to start to take some degree of responsibility also, there exists no substantial social security system to speak of in Chile. However I have no hesitation in declaring Eduardo a leech or parasite, whom seems incapable of producing anything for himself- only consumes that around him.

To conclude, I cannot report on how Bambi is faring as I've not seen him for ages. I get the impression that he and Eduardo had a falling out as Jonathan and Miguel did a runner. I can now boast (although I doubt many people would boast about it) to live in a flat where the key themes running throughout the place include homosexuality, frequent drug abuse and prostitution.

Finally, in response to Nick's question with regards to the ownership of the handbag in the photo from my last posting; no it is not my handbag. Apparently it belongs to a lesbian who attended the humble (yet mad) gathering that night, Jorrit claims to have kissed (and converted?) her although I didn't see that as I spent a great deal of the time as pseudo-counselor in the hallway with Eduardo as he balled his eyes out. Jorrit informs me his main aim during his month and a half here is to get "a hot Chilean broad" (his words, not mine, apply thick Dutch accent here), if not then apparently he must return to Holland and marry his Russian ex-girlfriend (although I don't really understand why).

All for now. Take care all, Adios.

Winners don't use drugs... or do they?

"Jesus the cocaine sniffing savior", originally uploaded by Thearley.

Chile 3-1 Bolivia
Reporter: "our man in Santiago"

Jorrit the Dutchman and myself made our way to the Estadio nacional a few hours earlier to ensure we got some good seats. However it seems that the rest of Chile had the same idea also. We must have stuck out in the crowd as we milled about looking for somewhere to sit because they started pelting us with cups and various other pieces of waste. I quickly deduced that we were definitely not in the family section.

We skulked like the cowards we are to row ZZ (right at the back) primarily so nobody could throw things down on us (I still ended up with confetti in my hair some how). We sat there for near on an hour and a half (thats how early we were) and tried to blend into the crowd. Jorrit bought all the memorablia he could to make himself look like a Chilean but just ended up making himself look like an american tourist. I settled for a Chilean flag which I hoped would double as a weapon if needed (as it happens the pole made of flimsy postal tubing stuff snapped during the first half).

The wait was worth it, the game opened as a physical encounter and the ref was enjoying using his whistle and cards so much that it began to look like a gridiron game (stop-start-stop-start-stop-start......NO STOP!!!). It wasn't long before the inevitable red card came out and Chile were down to ten men. In fairness the bugger deserved to be given his marching orders (he could have got a game with yatala old boys).

Not more than 5 minutes later, Luis Fuentes rose above the Bolivian defence (average height 4 foot nothing) to connect with an in-coming corner and headed the ball goalwards. The Bolivian keeper had obviously been to the same school of goalkeeping as David Seaman because he looked like a dick as he flapped about trying to save it. However to no avail and Chile found themselves a man down but a goal to the good 30 minutes in.

Jorrit and I joined in the singing of "no tienen mar" (you don't have sea) which refers to Bolivia being landlocked as a result of Chile stealing their patch of coastline in about 1884. Another favourite is "vamos a la playa" (lets go to the beach). We didn't have long to learn the lines though as Chile went another goal ahead.

Luis Fuentes found himself on the score sheet again with this second strike, pretty reminscent of his first; another corner although this time no-one connected and it was hoofed back into the box for Fuentes to practice what is obviously his favourite drill.

The second half was more of the same, Chile dominated but their attack was quite weak and they never really broke through. I was beginning to think they could only score from set pieces when Marcelo Salas (who hadn't done anything all game) found the ball in his path, stuck his foot out and ball found net.

Bolivia scored a concilation goal towards the end of the game, but it was of no consequence. The points and the night belonged to Chile, and didn't they know it back at the flat.

Jorrit (who by now is regretting coming to Eduardo's flat) and I arrived back at the flat at about midnight. The plan had been to have a few quiet drinks after the game with Eduardo and Jesus. Upon arrival, the two of them were completely rat-arsed, the Chileans must be like the Japanese or something- they can't handle their drink. Anyway we were greeted in the customary hug and let me kiss your cheek with my smelly breath gesture. Later in the night other dickheads would come-sniff and go, by this point Jesus had decided he would celebrate the victory by sniffing an andean ski field up his nose. He was later to be found laying on the floor wrapped in toilet paper with his arm elegantly shoved up his shirt (I wanted to shove it somewhere else!)

It was a pretty awful evening not least because of the company, but because Jorrit and I bought most of the booze and yet drank very little of it. Eduardo is one of those guys who never buys anything yet consumes almost all of what you have. I have this weekend resolved to kill the "plant" before I leave. I invite readers to offer suggestions of how to kill it and secondly I need a code name for my operation (Nick you love code names, what do you think?)

Take care all.

A "Hoogland" arrives.

The above title is not a reference to Nicholas siring a love child, I repeat: I AM NOT PREGNANT. Rather it refers to one of his kind, his breed, brethren or species taking up residence in the flat. A flying Dutchman (of the kind that... fly in, rather than the locomotive variety) Jorrit (I am a little unsure of the name and it's spelling at the moment) has... flown in and become the latest addition to the flat. Actually I am suprised that this issue (Nick sporning new life, not Dutch tourists) has not come up before, his blog covers most other social problems I wouldn't be suprised in the future to hear that he's become pregnant through the somewhat lethal combination of persuant popping of "T's" and working his way through the aisles at his place of work as though he is one of the shoppers (this is an in-joke, sorry to those who don't get it... Nick are you up to aisle 3 yet?)

Re-reading this I am probably being a little harsh on the poor chap, sorry Nick I am sure that you will pay me back in kind one day.

Moving on, this Jorritt fellow seems quite interesting, he is a sports writer and journalist from Amsterdam and has written a book about Ajax Amsterdam training sessions. The book (rather unoriginally titled "Ajax training sessions") is in English as well as Dutch so I am reading a copy currently and it is quite an enjoyable read, I never realised there were so many jokes about Finnish football players; I don't think Jorrit likes the Finns (what did the Finns ever do though?). During his research for the book he spent a lot of time with the team, so has met amongst others Ronald Koeman (who was coaching Ajax at the time), of old Ronald (who wasn't a bad player during his time) Jorrit says he is a nice guy but a crap coach; "but I couldn't write that in the book".

Not much else to report. Although I will just mention that Jorrit and I are going to this weekends World Cup qualifying match between Chile and Bolivia. Those of you who are die-hard subscribers will remember that this blog used to feature the occasional Iron Chef's match report, so I hope to have another match report (Chile vs Bolivia) posted sometime next week. Watch this space.

Have a good weekend all. Happy birthday to the following people: Arif (21st), Krystle and Gryzby. Jason are you still alive? (Sorry I didn't get a birthday greeting to you in April but hopefully Nick passed on my regards as requested). Also where is Emil? The occasional profanity from your ill-informed mouth wouldn't go astray... anyway hope your well. Lastly hello blossom, are you out there?- Cherry.