CHILE no quiere que me vaya...

(For you dudes and ladies (not hombres or minas) that says "Chile doesnt want me to leave." its a statment of fact. not of arrogance. sometimes its confusing. like when i say "im frickin awesome". again, fact. not arrogance.)

On my last day in Chile, I decided to wander around and take care of some last minute "chilean" things. I got a haircut. what i thought was inevitably going to be a mullet was just her cutting the front first and the back later. but there was a moment of worry. luckily i knew what the chilean modism for "mullet" was, (Yes. there is a modism for mullet. and it comes from the guys on the beach that sell ice cream, of which a typical favorite is a chocolate bar in the shape of a panda bear (called choco-panda) and these type of men usually have such a haircut as would be characterized as a mullet), so I calmly steered clear of the rising dilemma. Really, it was a moment of pure panic where i was like "NO CHOCOPANDA NO CHOCOPANDA".

Also, I got a fanny-pack. ................................................and that's all I'm going to say about it.

I have never ever quite ever in my life ever had ever quite as hard a time leaving a country as I did Chile. ever. I don't know what the issue is, but airlines have the hardest time booking the correct number of seats for an airplane. I'm no expert, but I assume usually that a plane contains within itself a constant unvarying number of seats and that, being the institution that runs such an operation of flying passengers using these "air-planes" as an airline is, and considering all their daily contact with these such machines we know now as "air-planes" that they would know this certain constant, unvarying number of seats and sell as many tickets as there are available according to their previous observation of the how many seats there are. However, somehow, the plane that leaves the US and arrives in Chile always seems to have less seats that they planned for and there, standing in the airport terminal, are 20 angry gringos who "are going to lose their jobs if they dont get back by the morning". (we should advise these gentlemen to either take the strategy of not yelling, red-faced, in english to the ticketing counter because 1. yelling upsets everyone, even if they dont understand english. 2. no, speaking louder doesnt make english automatically translate into spanish and 3. the flight is going to arrive on saturday and if your boss fires you for not showing up to work on a saturday then you have a bad job anyway and American Airlines did you a favor and you should be thanking them instead of yelling arbitrarily at whomever happens to be walking by wearing a blue coat and therefore roughly resembling a flight attendant.

Now, either they should habitually underestimate how many seats there are on a plane, or remove the "ejector seat" option from the seats, because they are obviously losing way too many seats that way. In this case, apparently 17 people (me included) don't have seats because 17 people from the last flight on the way over here decided to practice water landings and used their seat cushion as a floatation device, and must've forgotten to return it. (on a personal note, in the case of a water landing i would much prefer to use the life vest stowed underneath the seat instead of my seat cushion as a floatation device, because honestly i don't believe that it will automatically inflate by pulling the red tab and i doubt the light will activate with contact with water and wish to see for myself).

It was after this waiting forever to find this out, the seemingly relentless rain, the getting lost on the way to the airport (there is one road that takes you to the airport. and its the highway. and it has signs.) and the temblor muy fuerte (mini earthquake) that we felt while waiting in line that led my host mother to say "oye. creo que Chile no quiere que te vaya". and then burst into tears. (it was either because she didn't want me to go, or because she wanted me to go so badly and it looked like i was going to be stuck there for another day. for the purpose of this story, and the preservation of my self-pride, we are going to assume the former.)

Really what happened was that i booked my flight with American Airlines but it was ACTUALLY a flight with LAN and i waited in the american ticketing line for an hour to find that out then went over to LAN and they said it was overbooked and so i went back to american and (since complaining about airlines is neither entertaining nor funny because EVERYONE has dealt with the same problems so skipping to the chase) after 3 hours of chillin' waiting for someone to know what was going on/everyone to stop yelling, a little Chilean lady working at the ticketing counter told me a volunteer stepped off the plane and that I could go. What really happened was sort of entertaining because i was the only one left in the airport (altho my chilean family was STUPID NICE<-- thats a compliment--- and stayed with me until i left--4 hours) along with some british guy who was just yelling at everyone. The chileans were like "what the fuck is that guy yelling about" (in not-english) and it happened to be (in english-english) that if he didnt get back to his job (pronounced jowb) in london they were going to fire him. I felt the urge to inform him that this flight was indeed headed to Miami, not london, but i felt that would just frustrate him further to know that he had booked the flight to the wrong city in the first place. Maybe it was the spanish LAN website that threw him off, but alas, Miami is "miami" in spanish, so i feel that maybe wasn't the case.

The chileans didn't feel like talking to him, so all 10 of the LAN people still working at 11pm gathered around the same computer and began brainstorming what would be a good "oferta" (offer) to persuade someone to step off the plane for us. They settled on $200 US and 800 LAN miles at which point I was like "uh. i'll be a volunteer and go tomorrow". They didn't care what i wanted, and probably just wanted the screamy guy to stop screaming and get us out of there.

So I got a flight. Note: I've been in the airport since 7pm. the flight left at 12. ok so, not bad, 5 hours in an airport to say goodbye to my fam. cool beans.

I get into Miami at 8am, and aside from the immigration guy bein a dick (to foreigner visiting america: no, we're not all like that), and the walk from the international concourse in miami airport being literally a marathon away from the American Airlines ticketing counter, it was an okay trip to miami. my next flight is at  9pm and seeing as there is no way in hell i was going to stand for that, i went to the american airlines ticketing counter, forging the 26.2 miles in the stupid hot miami heat. (the weather not the basketball team. but while we're on the topic, LeBron, if you're reading this, you're a sell out. and knowing you, you probably ARE reading this cause you're the kind of guy that would google his own name.)

wait. but did you, though?

When i arrive 5 hours later (5 hrs is a good marathon time for a beginner. wearing a fanny pack.) they tell me that if i want to catch an earlier flight i have to check my bags there at the counter. my bags were checked internationally, i tell them. Oh, well if you hurry you can run back to the international concourse and grab them and bring them here and we'll get you out of here at 12pm. I know its a long walk, but it's better than waiting until 9pm in an airport, right? RIGHT?

................................

So I stayed until 9pm. It was the kind of day where you are so bored that you're not even sure if time is a legitimate reality. you just start assuming that because the clock says 11:23 and when you looked at the clock an hour ago it was 11:27 that Einstein was fucking with us when he started talking about the space-time continuum. I think i went to the bathroom 40 times. The kind of "going to the bathroom" where you dont actually have to go but you go anyway because for some reason washing your hands at an automatic sink where you have to be a Jedi warrior to get it to stay on for 2.8 seconds is infinitely more entertaining than watching "Gate D 60: Baltimore BWI" scroll across a screen for 2 hours.

Alas, I arrived in richmond at 12 pm, a solid 29 hours after i got to the airport in Chile. On both flights (altho its not surprising for the Chile to Miami leg) the person beside me and behind me were speaking spanish, which made me happy to think that Chile was following me. My trip to Chile was a wild adventure, and while most of these blog posts are relatively critical and a little sassy, I felt sure that I had picked the right country at the right time. When I was in the airport, with my host family, and the pouring rain, and the earthquake, and the lack of a ticket, and seemingly no way to home, I think I was the calmest person in the airport. Because, really, when it came down to it, Yo no quería ir tampoco.



For those of you disappointed that I no longer am going to complain endlessly about Chile, fear not, because our dear friend Oscar Norsworthy (no spelling suggestions found) is tweeting and bloggaging about Chile on his "myworthynotes" (twitter) and Oscar Abroad (blog) and you most definitely should look at it. He takes the best pictures (something I lack on here at Tercer Lente), and I might have a guest appearance every once in awhile.

Santiago. Where Rock and Roll goes to die.

if you've been reading these blog posts, you've caught on by now that Chile has an interesting taste in fashion. (this is where you stop reading because i just introduced this post by talking about a fashion. or this is where you keep reading because you want to hear more mullet jokes.) Yes, there are mullets. but there are not only mullets, there are fanny packs, neon colored tights, cut off jean-shorts (on dudes), leg warmers (on girls) and iron maiden shirts everywhere. This might make you think of something like this:

here's where youre thinking, "oh dude, thats not that bad". whether that's a result of the yellow background or the fact that she's hot, it is irrelevant, because it IS that bad. so to ruin whatever fanciful idea you were having about Chilean style, look at this:

Alright, before we move on. i have a few questions. 

-are those tighty-whities?...are they on backwards? is that a denim cut off shirt, or just a blue dress shirt? is it a shirt at all? because it doesnt look like it has buttons. What's the knot for? What exercise is that? is that called the horizontal bench press? what muscle group does that work? Doesn't that strike anyone as horribly dangerous? Should I ask Graham what exercise that is? Why do people think that tights count as pants? do GW girls use pictures like these to justify that kind of reasoning? is that phenomenon only limited to GW? even if they do use pictures like this to justify wearing tights like pants, i dont see her wearing uggs, or a northface fleece. i guess she's wearing a headband, so i'll give you that.  Does this remind anyone of the first N'SYNC music video where Justin Timberlake and another member of N'SYNC that never did anything after N'SYNC so everyone forgot his name are working out and give each other high fives before a quick scene change to a basketball court? Is that whole room that she's in made of black floor tile? what is this? Tron? What is that guy doing in the background? we both know that its dangerous to play on heavy equipment while someone else is using it. Should I stop asking questions? Is Graham ever going to see that i referenced him in a blog? is he going to catch that I was making fun of him? Am I ever going to be able to stop thinking Gra-H-am when i type his name? 

I'd like for you to notice that the girl in the picture above has the side of her head shaved. You're thinking, ohhh how edgy (Hi nadine). perhaps. But is it attractive? if you thought yes, please step out of line, you've been disqualified. for those of you still with us, since we agreed its not attractive, WHY would an entire population of young women decide it was a good idea. How about really short bangs? no one?...sometimes i just dont know how to react. Call it culture shock. call it common sense. I just dont have words right now.

But now i have words. 

no, we're not going to comment on the flak jackets or the colored camouflage. OR ARE WE. no we're really not. its hard to type when im laughing. but notice the Chicago Blackhawks logo on (again, i dont know his name. shoulda done an album with Timbaland. or a Facebook movie. maybe we'd know who you were.)'s pants? you gotta know that he doesnt know who they are. theres no way theres a hockey fan hiding under multicolored camouflage....

I digress.

Santiago is an amazing place. It must be, for all the concerts that they put on here. Artists must be dying to come to Chile. Or just dying. 

When i say this is where Rock and Roll comes to die, i mean that. literally. It's not everywhere in the world where you see a huge public-transportation-wide propaganda campaign aimed at promoting an Iron Maiden concert. They weren't even that good when they were popular. were they even popular? When was that? arent they mostly all dead? how about Motley Crew. if they're not all dead, why not? i swear the picture for their south american tour was taken 30 years ago. 

Let's take a look at recent or upcoming concert headliners:

March 21- Journey

April 8- The Beatles. ok. we KNOW they're all dead. you cant call a show "the Beatles" when its just Paul McCartney. thats like saying THE REDSKINS ARE PLAYING, when you see Joe Gibbs on the street, carrying a football. 

April 14 - Iron Maiden

May 14 - Motley Crew (no but really. why wont they die?)

July 21 - Limp Bizkit

July 24 - George Klinton and the Parliament Funk Delic (how do these guys keep hanging on?)

July 27 - Public Enemy

July 30 - Blind Melon (hey! they made it! dude thats awesome we should totally go to hear that one song that they have with that thing about the rain and there not being any of it or whatever!-- thats like going to a Sister Hazel concert where they open and close with the same song "All for You")

October 16 - Eric Clapton (respect)

Nov 10 - Guns 'n Roses. Axl's dead. he was the only cool one. he only had one vowel in his name but somehow two syllables. just let good times be good times. why do you have to come back and ruin it like michael jordan on the wizards?

Nov 11 - Creedence Clearwater Revisited -- They are so old that they cant be called REVIVAL, cause that would just be wishful thinking. under the promotion poster it lists the members of the original band that are coming. Two. Two of them are coming. thats not Creedence. thats blasphemy. 

Limp Bizkit? what? I've started to think that, when venue directors are looking for concerts, they go to random places in the US (like Jacksonville) and ask people on the street. Here's how i imagine the booking conversation goes.

"hola, whats your name"

(recovering from heroine induced slumber) "Fred Durst"

"Do you tienes a band?"

"yeah"

"are you popular?"

"no."

"but WERE you popular?"

"oh yeah. like in the 90s."

"well thats a lot more recent than Foreigner. and their show sold out. wanna come to Chile?"

To be fair Lollapalooza came to chile. it was a good time to see that I was the only one in a crowd of 10,000 people that could say all the lyrics to Kanye West's "All Falls Down". its also cool to be in a population where the average guy is 5'6". you get a pretty good vantage point from anywhere. it's not as cool, however, when Kanye says "put your hands in the air" and you and the 40 other english-speaking gringos there are the only ones doing it.

Alas, I'm done complaining. So i leave you with this:

ohh maaan justin, how much do you wish you could forget THAT phase...

Eeeeverybody's thinkin it. Nobody's sayin it.

Immediately it seems like a bad idea to write down what I'm thinking in a public space when it begins with a title like that. somehow, this is going to get posted.

As I sit here writing this to you, I am robed in clothes that reek of cigarette smoke (as all my clothes reek, considering the quantity of cigarettes smoked here in Chile.) In fact, my room smells like cigarette smoke due to the quantity of clothes that reside in it, that, in turn, reek of cigarette smoke. Did I mention it's 6am? You're probably thinking, "Garrett, why are you up so early? What volunteer work are you headed off to do? Does your job start at 8am? Are you looking to get some extra studying in before your big test? Actually no. First of all, if you asked those questions, you should re-evalutate how well you know me because I am neither a good person, nor a hard-worker. In fact, I am just now returning from a night out. "Wow Garrett," you're now thinking, "you're a party animal. You're such a baller". again. re-assess. I was the first one to leave. BECAUSE PARTIES IN CHILE DON'T END UNTIL 8AM. (did i sound bitter. i didnt mean to sound bitter...) If you're chilean, you'd ask "why are you on facebook at 6am, shouldnt you be out?" like someone just did. just now.

I've decided I hate night clubs. There. I said it. Both as an institution and a gathering place. How many times have you been sitting around with a bunch of friends, when someone yells "hey lets go to a CLUB" and you're thinking, I'd rather not, but you go anyway. Why do you go again? there is this lure of excitement and danger that somehow is perceived as a result of thumping bass music and sweaty over-zealous dancing. So you go.

We are all familiar with that post-entry 30 minute conference where you, and your friends struggle for attention at the bar, ordering drinks that either
1. you're not legally old enough to buy and you're just hoping the bar tender has too many customers to either give a fuck or see the X's on your hands, or
2. you really shouldn't be buying cause they cost $9 for a shot,
or 3. you're hoping that cute 40 year old guy who looks both lonely and desperate will pay for.

After that brief encounter that either resulted in a "look what i got" face or the "bartender was a douschebag" post-rejection moment, you drink your red bull and vodka (first) or redbull and not vodka (second) and have a reunion near or on the dance floor, where you all stand around in a (awkward) circle and simultaneously dance with your friends while looking around to see who else you could possibly dance with.

Now, if you're a girl, you are immediately hit on by 38 guys, all of whom are probably too old to be dancing to house music and would look more at home at a Led Zeppelin Reunion tour. In 37 of these instances you turn to the closest guy friend you're with, and, with a face of exasperated dislike, you mouth for him to save you, or, if he doesn't, you look at the same guy friend and say he's your boyfriend. The 38th instance, the guy approaches you and is stunningly good looking or you're coincidentally on your 38th shot of tequila and you agree to dance with him, which (depending on the country) is either a close imitation of what sex with clothes on from behind would be like, to (depending on the level of dancer you are or find yourself with) the beat of the music, or a weird rendition of salsa dancing that neither of you execute very well so it ends up just being imitating sex, loosely following a cumbia beat. If you're a guy, you go and find someone to dance with and are turned away by numerous girls who either reach desperately to their closest guy friend or brought their boyfriend to the club, UNTIL you happen to be that 38th guy at which point you dance in the manner previously described. or you don't so to ease the tension or the boredom you and your nearest friend start enthusiastically mouthing the lyrics to Rihanna's "Who's that Chick" while you point to her and she points to herself.

SO, either you go, you dance with someone, and nothing happens. Or you go, you don't dance with someone. and nothing happens. Honestly tho, do you really go to a club to go home with someone? What kind of person are you going to meet? Typically if you end up hooking up, either in the establishment or when you leave, as a girl, you really have no idea who the guy is other than his name was somewhere between Jose and John, and that he probably bought those jeans with those tears in them, or if youre a dude, and you leave with a girl, the only thing you know is (depending on your personality) "i'm a sleaze-bag (and then question whether that's a real term or not and if so, if there is a cooler way to say that without sounding like your younger sister)" or "IM SUCH A PIMP" as you excessively pump your fist to Britney Spear's "end of the world" and spill your apple-tini all over the poor person in front of you, altho you realize that they either wont notice or are happy to smell like a green jolly-rancher instead of cigarette smoke.

Some of you are thinking "NO. I just go to have a good time." Ok. fair. Truth is, when you think of a night out, you think of a night club. Which means everyone at some point in their life has found themselves in a nightclub. and sometimes you have fun. And the worst part is that if you don't like going, and you'd prefer to "have a quiet night in, watching movies or something" you're usually thinking to yourself, Man I should go out more. That's usually what drives a lot of people to go out. Not sayin it's a bad reason. Just saying what a lot of people have told me.

Others of you are thinking, "uh dude. Don't you make electronic music? Dont you like wanna be a famous DJ or something?" to which i would respond, Touche'. yes. i do. and clubs are the atmosphere in which I find myself for such an occupation. But if i must defend myself, DJ doesn't immediately mean "pop" and doesn't automatically land you in a night club. Events that are held featuring music (more like concerts, less like frat parties) are infinitely more interesting, where the purpose of going is not to get drunk and wake up in someone else's apartment, but more to see what's out there, and come together for a more substantial purpose. Altho, i guess you could argue that hooking up is a substantial purpose. and i guess, whether its a concert, event, dance party or house party, everyone goes with at least a hint of that thought in their mind. Again, not saying its a bad reason, I just argue for something without so much pressure.

TODAY YOU GET NO PICTURES. Instead, only shameless self-promotion:

GLock at Sound Cloud

That is a link to my soundcloud page where you can check out all the tunes im working on. Because, when it comes down to it, I do enjoy loud thumping kick drums and obnoxiously heavy bass.

¡Viva La Revolución!

For some reason or another, there have been a ton of protests in Santiago, and in Chile in general since we've been here. Apparently it's not always like this. Which made me think two things. --> First. I'm a big deal and i make things happen wherever i go. Second, I don't like tear gas.

Reasons for protesting are numerous. There is a proposed project for a hydroelectric damn in Patagonia for a new source of energy that everyone's pissed about (see what i did there with "dam"?). Students aren't happy about paying a lot for education. so they're carrying on with a huge student protest as well as a "paro" which just means you dont go to school. (this is something we should get goin' in the US. but maybe with less tear gas). The high school students are pissed cause the college kids are pissed so they their hung desks on the fences around school. Middle school students aren't tall enough yet to put their desks on fences, but they're still pissed, so they just threw their chairs out the window. Earth got pissed so it blew up a volcano in Puyehue. I'm probably the only one protesting fanny-packs (which are inexplicably popular here) but i feel it's an equally worthy cause compared to nature preservation and social education. 

If Earth was as pissed about fanny-packs as I am, people would probably read my "USE YOUR POCKETS" sign.

To give you an idea of how these protests go, I'll quickly recount my experience. 

So i'm casually sitting in history class at UC, thinking about things of an academic nature, like who would win in a battle between Master Splinter from the Ninja Turtles and Yoda. I think i was in the middle of drawing Scar the evil lion from the Lion King and his army of hyenas fighting The Huns from Mulan when a kid from our class strolls in a cool hour late, turns in his paper and with this quirky smile because he knew he had all of our attention, strides to the blackboard and with one hand and smacks a piece of paper on the board that says "PARO EMPIEZA A LAS 1300. PROTESTA A LA PLAZA ITALIA EL JUEVES" which evidently meant we weren't coming to school tomorrow. Admiring his work for a moment, he nodded and then walked out of class. At which point the professor laughed. and walked out of class as well. 

When I woke up thursday, i had a text message from a friend who wanted to go to the protest. I quickly called back and said id meet them there. Protest starts at 10am. i start walking over at 12 and call them. As im on the phone, my cell phone tells me that im out of money so instead of saying quickly "where are you?" i panic and yell "ILL CALL YOU BACK". for those of you who don't know, calling someone back when your cellphone doesnt work is impossible. another thing that is impossible is finding two people in a crowd of 100,000, when the only piece of information you have on their location is "look for a red flag". 

....really dude?

So while you play where's waldo looking for Alanna in the picture (no she's not actually in it. actually she could be, i have no idea, i never found her), I'm going to continue with the story. 

As I arrived I was immediately abosrbed by 100,000 people, yelling things like "free education" "Education is a right, not a business" things like that. It seemed everyone was there, students, teachers, old people and really really young people. It seems that a protest is a good reason to skip anything. The people that showed up late must've skipped the pre-protest briefing session because they just yelled "Fuck you Piñera!" or "Cops are faggots!"  at least they were enthusiastic.....

I wandered around for quite awhile with the fading hope of finding my friends. I had been warned about protests being dangerous but it didn't seem like a lot was going on so i stuck around. Until about 2pm, when this started happening: 

I was standing sort of in the middle of the carabineros and the spirited youth that were throwing bottles. Really not a good place to be. 'Cause, to be honest, the carabineros didn't really care that I wasn't throwin stuff. another bad choice in wardrobe was wearing a kuffia, which made me look like all the others kids throwing stuff. (Thanks Deb for the gift. It does however tend to get me in trouble with the police...) Anywho, I ran over to the nearest building, which really wasnt that far from the fireworks. It did, however, conveniently have a fence with a plastic cover. This must happen often if they thought the plastic shield was necessary. It was like a splash zone. The carabineros would spray the students. Some of them would throw molotovs. One kid tried to throw a street sign, complete with lamp post. It landed about 3 feet in front of him but it mustve been a valiant effort getting that thing out of the ground. We applauded.

After reading parts of this and watching the video youre probably imagining a somewhat chaotic event. Now imagine among all of this chaos, between pacos spraying acid water on students and students throwing rocks and bottles, you look in the middle of the mist and see....Some fat guy dressed as Santa Claus. Just standing there. getting wet. Let's revisit the list of reasons for protesting.
1. Education.
2. Hydrosen in Patagonia.
3. Fanny Packs.
No where among that list is there anyone asking for a wage increase for elves. But apparently Santa felt his interests under-represented. Or maybe he just literally has nothing to do between the holidays.

Interested in the action, I hopped up on a wall. I was literally looking down on the top of the vehicle I affectionately named the Aquazoid. Cool thing about being on top of the aquazoid is that you dont get wet from the acid water that its spraying non-descriminantly at everyone. Not cool thing about pacos (police) is that they throw tear gas bombs. As i was engulfed in white smoke coughing up what felt like acid and remembering that this was the point when my brother had decided to see how many push-ups he could do in basic training, I decided to see how many feet i could fall without dying and i jumped off the wall. Apparently the answer is 8. (feet. not push-ups.) and altho my chin hurt from slamming into my knees, my eyes hurt worse because i was then warmly welcomed by a caressing blast of acid water. Thanks guys. Just trying to get home. I stumbled down a side street coughing up my lungs and feeling relatively successful about my level of participation. When i got home, the protest was on the news and i told my chilean family what happened. As i recounted my experience in a shrill voice of disbelief and excitement, they looked at me with increasingly less interest. Apparently these things happen all the time. They asked if i threw a rock. I said no, but i did get teargassed, trying to regain cool points. apparently you're not cool until you throw a rock.

This begs the question, how many people would be willing to throw a rock for education in America? we pay more than 10x a year what other 1st world countries pay for their education. I'm not saying education isn't valuable, but I don't know why people are okay with paying $50,000 a year to take intro classes. In countries around the world, students are protesting high tuition costs that are 1/3 of what we pay for a semester, while in the US we just sit back and take it. You don't have to throw any rocks, just something to think about.

Desert with one s. even if you want two of them.

Here We Are:

On this wonderful journey I'm about to take you on, you will embark on an extensive sandy, dusty, windy, cold (yet hot) pathway to the North of Chile, in a place called San Pedro Atacama. We have two program trips during the semester, one to the south (Pucon--you have no pictures of pucon because I took no pictures of Pucon. i refuse to reiterate that all the pictures are from Google. i just reiterated the pictures are from google anyway...however, I will not reiterate the reiteration.) this time we went to the north. called San Pedro. I thought this would be a perfect opportunity to find Pedro, the guy who stole my backpack. damn. i reiterated again...

imagine Arizona: (desert). then add colorado (mountains). then add fiji (rasta babies.) no just kidding. unless when i said rasta babies you thought volcanoes. because thats what i was referring to. volcanoes. 

The unfortunate thing about this blog post is that there was honestly nothing to complain about. I literally have no material for an interesting read. if you're looking for harsh criticism or unyeilding ridicule, you're going to be exasperatingly disappointed. Im sorry if it pains you that i had a good time. theres nothing i can do about it. Not to mention I've run out of mullet jokes. and pretty much no one in the north had one. so everyone's disappointed.

 We kicked off the trip with a tour of the land. to better understand my domain, i took an F-ton (censored for Debbie Doolittle <--- Mom.)  of pictures of red stuff.

 DOES THIS LOOK LIKE WE'RE ON THE MOON?? cause thats what i was going for. you can appease me by simply agreeing. i dont care what you really think.

 obviously, the moon dominates all of these pictures. I mean i know. its a desert. there are no clouds. but throw me a frickin bone (hi mom) and tell me the moon doesnt look totally epic. ademas we're in a place called VALLE DE LA LUNA. which actually has nothing to do with the moon. If i wasnt so bored of our tour guide talking i could tell you why its called valle de la luna. but i was. and i cant.

somethin about dinosaurs. i donno. use your imagination.

blurry picture. with lens cap overlap. insert angsty background message for artist combined with severe over-use of conceptualistic vocabulary. this is art school material.

Charlie and I had some inappropriate Shadow Puppet fotos. Unfortunately, of the 12 pictures that we took (exaggerating various features---use you imagination), this was the only one that made the cut. Its appropriate. hi mom.

 THE TUNNEL OF DOOM. actually not of doom. altho it was cold as FLIP. hi mom.

The thing about blogspot, is they dont let you rotate pictures. but I'm going to use that as an excuse to have a second artsy picture. It represents the open-hearted nature of the North, a direction that represents freedom, yet is being quickly enclosed by the darkness of capitalist consumerism, turning the world you understood into a vortex of insecurity and self-doubt. Or. it looks like a giant alligator eating a mountain.

 I always seem to have a random upside-down picture of myself in every post........

THE STREAK CONTINUES.

 Moguls. damn sand-skiers always F-ing up (hi mom) the trails for boarders....

He looks like a gangster. He might even be a gangster. But you and I both know there is no complimenting Charlie on this blog. What a rookie.

hahahahahahahahaahahahaahahaahaha MAN, he looks like a silly ninny.

The epic sock tan continues to rule my life. Shout out to the SSTX (i think that means Carlos, Cami and J SOLO, but if someone else -- and the chances of that are so absurd that its not even worth commenting on. but seeing the nature of this blog I'm probably going to comment on it anyway for at least a paragraph, noting, periodically, how tangential and nonsensical the comment actually is while simultaniously (and miraculously) holding your attention as well as putting two parenthetical expressions (make that three) inside of one parenthesis--  is reading this, you're included)

Yep, that means you.

apparently this is three naturally formed statues of the Virgin Mary. How much faith you have to have in God to see that is a lot more than I had and a lot more than I think Earth had, as it seemed to lose interest with the last one (the one on the left), which apparently looked better but some french guy climbed it and broke it. (the british people in our group decided that was ample opportunity and shouted --WHAT A DICK)

So there are these two mountains, right, and one turns to the other and says, "Dude. we are so high up here." The other one looks at him and says, "whoa. talking mountains..."

F YOU BLOG SPOT THIS PICTURE WAS PERFECT WHY CANT I ROTATE IT

The geisers, as they were called.  in the midst of hundreds of inappropriate jokes that I wont say here (hi mom) Charlie and I also took some pictures. Here they are.

They were warm. but the weather wasnt. Also, we woke up at 4 to go see them. i was reminded of patagonia, packing a wet tent, snow and wind, and hating my life....

 BUT LOOK WHO WORE PANTS THIS TIME

this is 3 artsy pictures in one blog post. this has got to win an award or something. or at least get an exhibition at the RSDI modern art museum?

a real version of the same pic that normal people will appreciate. Don't worry. I look out for you guys too. normal people, that is. 

 ...i think thats a gazelle??

...gotta have at least one silver surfer picture in every album..... C-G-3-LOCK