april fifth, two thousand four. centro cultural, lago epuyen [cold] friends and lovers, in this weeks issue of "Lago Epuyen is Really Damn Cold" we dispense with the tiresome odes to grand Mother Nature (those british fools in the 19th century did it better anyhow...) and idle philosophizing about globalization (those greek fools in the 4th century bc did it better anyhow...) and get straight to the (figurative) meat of things, those tasty morsels that make Antu Quillen a cultural center and not just a frigid fishbowl adjoining my kitchen. the autumn of my malcontents: The Televidente (theater review) (p1) Breakfast Ideas (also p1) A Poem You've Read Before (still p1) Career Review and Prospects (hello? there's only 1 page) let's get started, shall we? THE TELEVIDENTE ------------------------------------------------ this is a cultural center and last saturday gustavo (from el bolson) and his accomplice performed their latest work, a dramatized kidnapping entitled, "el televidente", which apparently means "teleivision addict" or "fan" or "bored" or something. Denali had raved me about it, walking home from buying a lovely and delectable alfajor at the feria, back in summer when fingers were warm and sweet somethings were close at hand. alas. the story is that the CEO of the biggest television channel gets kidnapped by this schizophrenically inclined "madman" who wants neither money nor power nor forcible sex (all of which go through the hapless CEOs mind*) but rather to remedy injustice in the world. the injustice -- in this particular case -- that a certain soap opera ended with the neighborhood babe marrying some rich dude instead of the homespun sweetheart she really loves, because she wanted money or security or something. and he, the honest and humble neighborhood kid, of course ends up committing suicide. it's done in this really brilliant way, espousing some pretty incisive critiques of modern society -- the impunity of corporations, the role of television in peoples' lives, the confusion over worth and identity, and the bullshit of advertising to children. At one point, after he's made the guy dress up as a woman and enact a new ending to the series, the "madman" forces the "CEO" to eat an entire bowl of cornflakes (dry) because his mom always bought them because of all the advertising on 'Canal 9' (or whatever), until the CEO cant take it and blows up and is like "I'm not going to eat this crap, it's horrible!" and there's a moment of understanding. it's tragicomic and twisted; you understand that as much as you might agree with the Televidente's frustrations (theyre visceral enough that i imagine one would be sympathetic irrespective of political leanings), they're born out of a sort of madness, a megalomania and misunderstanding about humans and media, which is the other critical focus of the play. it made me really respect what just a couple of people can produce, with props that would fit in a backpack, anywhere in the world. i cooked and cleaned for the event and was trying to fit in hernan's homemade cerveza negra in the middle of making sure my beet mayonaisse was selling well when the power went out. and somebody drove out to town to buy some more candles and they performed the whole thing by candlelight, without a blink. it was inspiring. there's something beautiful about the energy an intimate setting creates -- about 60 people showed up, i imagine -- in terms of approachability and palpability of the event. almost as if the proverbial curtain rising or lights turning on (we had neither) never happens -- that after the play ends its majesty hangs in the air, as the actors change in my room and the kitchen, as they stay and are served homemade tarts and pies and beer and wine afterwards. like when i first was introduced to this magical place -- the land and the culture -- exactly two weeks before, watching denali's amazing concert and then staying the night, sleeping on sheepskins and cowhides on the floor with the musicians, enjoying the benefits of having free entrance for all and homemade apple cider for the performers. inspiring especially in terms of brazil (_the brazil solution_(um), rather), in terms of the vibe it created, the "anything is possible" feels mixed with the "im so honored to be here" sighs and a touch of the "this is so damn cool am i dreaming" myst, to be appreciating All of This. and next week this guy Juan (who came up last week with Lupe to confirm it) is performing his one-man show, which Max saw back in the city (El Bolson) and said is amazing as well. it makes me appreciate this place even more, in the middle of the campo and providing high quality high culture (for free) to all of these people in the valley -- campesinos and viejitas and ex-buenos aires hippies and everything. it makes me psyched that I can live this far from new york city and still be blown away by music and theater on a regular basis. in case you're interested, the play was written by a Venezuelan dude, and severely adapted by Gustavo to make all sorts of clever Argentine references. i can probably get you a copy of Gustavo's version or you can find the original online or something. ding. BREAKFAST IDEAS: pre/post yoga yeasted pancakes ------------------------------------------------ 1. every moment is unique in that it is the product of a confluence of a host of other unique moments. repeat. so it is with this recipe, born of contigency as much as intention, helping me understand neither the motivations nor fruits of my actions may really be my own. 2. last night i put out the starter for bread, as much as an experiment in what degree of cold the yeast could tolerate** and still grow as because i wanted (to eat) bread***. a. the starter is warm water (two cups, say), a teaspoon of yeast, and some flour. let the yeast dissolve then add the flour and a bit of salt. the yeast and salt do not (i repeat DO NOT) enjoy eachothers company while dry, so make sure the yeast is dissolved before adding the salt. you should have a runny batter, little drier than what you use for wheatpasting anarchist propaganda but more liquid than, a cake, digamos. 3. wake up the next morning and put on wool socks and leg warmers and sweater before touching the tile floor, because its very very cold even though its just april, and if your first step of the day is cold you'll be cold the entire day, just ask the warthogs or the mexican hat salesmen, it's true. a. take the "masa madre" out of the oven. stir it. at this point if you're me you're still planning on making bread and you take out the big five kilo flour container (which has locally milled organic whole wheat flour so fine it looks and feels like white flour and costs -- get this -- 80 centavos the kilo. which, is 500 lebanese lira a kilo or 13 american cents a pound. yeah. in this country buying local and organic -- as it should be -- is *cheaper* than buying travelled and bleached). but then you realize there's probably not enough flour to make bread, and as you realize this you add another cup of flour and some oil (a couple of tablespoons maybe) and the panqueque (as they write it here) seed just germinated in your brain. b. beat an egg and add it to the batter. you dont need baking soda because you have yeast and you dont use milk because you live in a lake without a fridge and there is no milk. the consistency should be sticky but not runny, so you would look at it and be like, this doesnt look like pancake batter, ank. with an accusing tone. but it is, trust me. 4. do yoga. the last part where there's not much movement, mainly breathing, will be very cold. the whole time youre concentraing on pancakes instead of food. i know i know but this is a recipe not a yoga lesson. ask marie for the yoga lesson, i couldnt give it to you because its all in spanish and i dont even know what the sacro, coccyx, and metatarsos are in english. a. the batter should have grown a little bit (go yeast go!) and look like a really wet bread dough. like it wont pour but it will spread. and this, my friend, is to your advantage. . heat the pan (really, not just turn on the fire), a good thick castiron or a nice teflon one. put some oil on it (butter if youre cholmes or luxurious). the oil spreads and covers the pan and you're ready to rock it. 6. take a wooden spoon or ladle or something and pour a spoonful of the batter onto the pan. part of it will immediately cook and stay put. then -- this is basically a crepe technique -- spread the batter from the lump it once was into a beautiful spiral pancake. or, failing that, a manageable circular form which covers the bottom of the pan as much as you want/can, i have no idea what size pan or spoon youre using). it shouldnt be too thick -- dont pull too hard because the part of the dough that has made contact with the pan wont move. yes, this is a metaphor. work with the part that hasnt touched yet the pan. 7. it should flip easily after its bubbled enough on one side. guess when, its not a big deal. do it with your wrist. trust me, its fun. you may lose a few but big deal, its flour and water and eggs are cheap****. 8. after it flips admire the nice light brown marks. admire a little more. take your time in admiring your work, it's philosophically important. ask erich fromm. prepare/reheat the filling: a. i made a potato-leek-onion-dill affair, golden potatos and suavely sauteed leeks and onions so they could be sweet*****. b. i opened a can of fermenting blackberry jam, medio-alcoholico but still (to my taste) pretty good. 9. slide/flip off the pan onto the plate of your yoga teacher. this is payment for the class. ask if she wants dulce or salado, and fill. 10. make more for the relentless stream of people who come to visit you in your supposed solitary retreat. sigh. go back to tinkering with the woodstove. ding. Buy homemade woolen pullovers from the Centro Cultural Antu Quellen! They're overpriced but handmade by old Mapuche Women! And if you dont, youll be freezing in your room like Ank! Because his red sweater which he loves is old and holy!****** Because somebody broke both the lighters over the weekend! And you can't really figure out the woodstove anyhow! ding. A POEM YOU'VE READ BEFORE ------------------------------------------------ the moon is out of hand tonight but im not feeling the haiku love at the minute so I'm going to quote this poem I have hanging from a clothesline in my room, next to photos of friends and America (a semi, the open road) and a brooklyn chalkboard. I don't read it nearly often as much but today I wrote to the human who introduced it to me and thus read it and -- like the yeast I trucked out here to Winterland (and no I dont mean the venue) -- you're going to grow and suffer with me: + in jerusalem, everything is a symbol. even two lovers there become a symbol like the lion, the golden dome, the gates of the city. sometimes they make love on too soft a symbolism and sometimes the symbols are hard as a rock, sharp as nails. that's why they make love on a mattress of six hundred thirteen springs, like the number of precepts, the commandments of shalt and shalt not, oh yes, do that, darling, no, not that -- all for love and its pleasure. they speak with bells in their voices and with the wailing call of the muezzin, and at their bedsie, empty shoes as at the entrance of a mosque. and on the door post of their house it says, "ye shall love each other with all your hearts and with all your souls." +******* the last line of course triggers those W.H. Auden memory circuits and the essay in Salon.com about the war and the poem. I highly recommend it. the essay, not the war (or for that matter, the poem, in this case). ******** ding. CAREER REVIEW AND PROSPECTS ------------------------------------------------ just a brief note on something that's important to feel and i felt i wanted to share. recently i've been exposed -- oh my god it is really cold here I can feel my posture changing -- to a lot of people who are doing incredible things with their lives but in dimensions or textures which are ever so creative. and it inspires me to have confidence in my career. like max who somehow decided to build a preschool out of dirt (loosely) and helped organize the hundreds of hands over hundreds of days its required, and now there's an interstellar preschool in existence with a roof that looks like a cross between a manta ray and the Future. or this cowboy Valin who lives near me -- and whose daughter i get/have to teach engish to on wednesday -- who lived five years in mexico and what did he do there? "well i didnt want to start a business that prayed on any of man's _debilidades_, like selling beer or food, so I started a butterfly farm." what? yeah, in classic tom robbins style the guy sets up a butterfly farm (musuem? mariposero is the word, i think) and weaves together the roof and gets a big net so they dont escape and spends the first year growing all these tropical plants they need (he knows nothing about any of this when he starts) and gets someone to teach him how to "grow butterflies" ("keep butterflies?") and then teaches all these indigineous women how to do it and hires them and takes off from there... or Raquel, a psychologist by training whose interested in alternative education led her to start her own school in the campo, getting provincial funding to help it along, and know sends kids who normally never get to high school to universities in Buenos Aires and Cuba. or Paolo who fixes all my electrical problems at the center and makes and sells wine from Rosa Mosqueta (which is an invasive species, a weed, that is all over the comarca) and today I found he actually is a theater director in a previous life. Like all this people just had some cracked out idea -- to sell wine from weeds or to start a school or build a school or, really its my favorite, tend butterflies and they just took off and did some researcha and hard work and did it and made it. And I look it, the confidence and dedication it takes and sheer delirium of it all. Like they just gave in to their feverish fantasies of where they wanted to take their lives and made it real. Which is exactly what I want to do, to expand (not replace) my set of role models from the start-up millionaires and rhodes scholars we all know to include the founder of unamerican.com or the guy who breeds butterflies in mexico or the dude in Puri who is singlehandling starting a "slow food" movement in eastern india. So you to all of you young kids dreaming about a programming bunker in Thailand or canoeing from Alaska to New Zealand or smoking dope with Thomas Pynchon, i say go for it. i mean, i'll be there with you in the naturalization line in France, trying to get health care after everything goes to the dogs. anyhow, ding ding. -+-+- i hope you're all well and warm and didn't eat too much corn for dinner (thanks max!) like i did. and then didnt eat too many pears (thanks dona victoria and crazy daniel dude!) afterward(s) like i did. love, ankur +-+-+ footnotes ------------------------------------------- * hapless -- i'm not really clear what this word means but it seemed appropriate. i really want to say 'pobrecito' but it didnt quite fit grammaticaly. you'd have to change the whole construction and then the entire frase would rest awkwardly upon the ears. sorry orwell! ** this brings to mind marx and gandhi. how much we're entitled to sacrifice the rights and livlihoods of others for our own personal goals. the parents who move to the country to escape consumerism and raise kids who are totally alien to modern society, the coal-miner you ask to strike for the good of the community even though his kids would starve, the people who sacrifice their lives (a selfish act, in the end?) for a political goal, for a spiritual goal. the yeast you bring to lago epuyen in your experiment in deal with solitude and cold. well, at least they dont have to deal with solitude and whatever, they get cooked ("DONT TELL THE YEAST" - fred) in the end. sorry yeast! *** as in, im enjoying have the plupart of my diet be fruit, victoria's pears and everyone's apples (everyone gives me apples. im growing to love them. and they all have taste, which is good) and not eating so much bread and jam (the quintessential patagonian winter treat, i think) these days. but the daily meditation of making bread, the importance for the brazil solution that i soak beans and make bread everyday, causes me to move forward. and plus, if someone comes by, how are you going to receive someone in your cold (im bad with woodstoves, todavia) kitchenette without bread? **** im not actually clear that eggs are cheap, because nestor bought the eggs i use. i think, as far as protein sources go, eggs are cheap. they were less than three dollars a dozen at the co-op i think, and those were free range less miserable chickens, too. and, remember, the flip comes from lateral movement, away from you and then (rapidly) towards you. very little up and down, if you know what i mean. as dave would says, EGGS! ***** somebody please tell me they listen to portishead? im sorry but i only have like 50 mp3s on this machine and that's one of them. and a '71 dead show but more and more im discovering its not that good. but anyhow, thanks Grateful Dead! ****** even though Vanessa's mom fixed it for christmas of 2002. thanks Linda! ******* excerpt from a poem by Yehuda Amichai. thanks sarra! thanks Yehuda! ******** Yes, I read an article from Salon.com and am now referring to it. I would like to pubicly and humbly apologize (and digitally eat my words) to Ajay Kundaria and Jaqueline Arasi for disrespecting that publication. While I'm at it I would also like to note that last year I read a total of 3 (three) profiles from the New Yorker (Paul Simon, Noam Chomsky, and Condoleeza Rice) and found them valuable (and scary, of course, for both the Noam and Condi ones) and I'd like to acknowledge that too.