Friday, July 2, 2010

Politica. Economica. Sociedad. Mundo. Deportes.

such was the order on the bottom of the television screen. from politics to economics, we move onto more important matters - from examining the state of contemporary society to covering world affairs. only once we've reached a truly global perspective, however, can we proceed to sports. i'm desperately trying to recall the order in which the newscast went back home, but to no avail. it's been years since i lived with a television and in the 'pick-and-choose' media age that simply caters to our own selective mediatric biases, it is easy to lose sight of the mediating power of order. in austria, for example, the day's skiing results were the first thing to appear on screen - well before the latest from the political spectrum. when the l.d.g - r.e.k mob allegiance begins its uprising, we'll proffer the latest in sour-gummie engineering before news from the front unsettles early evening appetites.

argentines call bean bags 'poofs' and bogies 'poochos.' when nico speaks of love (in english), his "whole world turns pink." whenever nico speaks in english, the world of 1230 saavedra becomes an outrageously funnier place. "love," he reminds his amante, "is an invention of the mind. except for mine is a communism love - not a capitalism love. you cannot understand communism love from a capitalism vision." the night progressed in concomitance with his romantic revelations; by ten oclock, he was reordering the romantic wheel: "first, of course, are you, my dear laura (his companion and our roommate), "followed by maradona, revolution and, finally, drugs." within seconds, however, his forehead cringed in reflection. "no, i'm sorry, my dearest. first, maradona, then you, revolution and drugs." by midnight he had us all singing along to "oh i love your tits on winter." the drugs, of course, were but an decorous prop. as far as i know, he doesn't smoke beyond tobacco and can hold his drink for the most part. indeed, nico is an intelligent, hard-working and courageously funny man. he is also an ardent marxist revolutionary with an agenda. something happens, however, when he begins to speak english.

if all language is ideology, then despite his political affinities and projects, nico's conception of our mother tongue must be a pleasant, if not at times slightly vulgar, one. once he gets cracking in anglosaxon-speak, he cannot seem to stop. of course, when navigating your way in a foreign tongue, the best way to get cracking is by bringing up the obvious. "what do you think about the malvinas war" is always a interesting one in this part of the world. "what becomes of vegans in argentina" is another? after posing the latter i was met with a fury of disgruntling groans of disgust. "first we fuck them then we kill them.. and then we fuck them again." how, when said with a perfect blend of linguistic naiveté, ignorance and audacity, can such statements produce such a hallucinogenic humour? it may sound absurd at the time of writing this, though i assure you - it 'seemed like a good idea at the time.' somehow we stumbled upon circumcision, nico being convinced that marianna was in love with a jewish man, to which she replied, "impossible. i take either all or nothing." i told them that the majority of americans were circumcised as well. after learning of the hygienic powers thereof, he concludes: "it is true, if you don't shower enough, you generate some cheese." when later pressed on his choice of words, he reminded us that his english was "latin american english. the revolutionary english. the english that talk fidel and che. when are you going to get a phone, evan?! imagine we are starting the revolution - how do i reach you?"

the man, as the reader can clearly see, is more than down for the cause. "how much do you love the revolution?" we ask him. "i love it more than popcorns in USA."

the clock is ticking and we've all got a big day ahead of us, not to mention the essay i'd yet to write on the 'role of the intellectual' in latin america (yes, i'm that twat). the strumming wound down and several roommates made for their sleeping quarters at a quarter past 1. we would need to conserve our festive forces for the morrow's celebration. around 1:30, he put the icing on the evening's cake: "tomorrow we're going to throw the house out of the window. i am shakespeare."

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