OD-ing on nostalgia...again

I`m resigned to my fate. My life will forever be intertwined with "Beverly Hills, 90210." I remember watching the first episode back in 4th grade and have been haunted by re-runs ever since. The college and post-college years are lame and not worth considering. The high school years are just kickass. As a hardcore "My so-called-lifer" I recognize that not all high school experiences: 1. include such beautiful people, 2. contain such good lighting, 3. and are interjected with such hip music (anyone remember Jeremy Jordan?). Which is why I throw myself into marathons of Claire Danes` grungy angst with an almost religious fervor. However, sometimes you just want to be entertained. In English.

Speaking of the glorious early 90`s. Jarvis Cocker just sauntered into my life with a voice that at least eight other dudes share on my I-Pod. No worries, who knew that singing about distinct economic classes would get me humming along in public places. Don`t even get me started on The Pogues --another decade, another nostalgia trip.

Perspective

While I`m trying to figure out how to make my teacher "wish it was full time, but pays like part-time" salary stretch to pay for an apartment and furniture, here`s something to chew on...

Another aimless Friday

My student cancelled his class this morning, which allowed for another aimless Friday in Santiago. I met up with my American friend Mel at the metro and we went to Pablo Neruda`s house, La Chascona. We were greeted by a gaggle of schoolchildren wearing nametags and green baseball hats. After making our way through the kids we scored tickets to the English tour. Our guide was pretty normal at first, but I saw trouble coming when in the first 15 minutes he dropped the words "activist" and "political" more than "Pablo" or "Neruda". This wouldn`t have been so bad if it hadn`t been for the hippie girl from Pennsylvania who sighed in agreement with every one of Gonzalo`s non-house tour remarks. Mel and I left the tour realizing that the reason why Neruda is such a rock star, unlike Gabriela Mistral (the first woman and Latin American to the win the Nobel Prize), is that he collected lots of crap housed in several estates. Viva la revolucion!