How I lost 40 kilos and culos
In mid-2009 I was in Buenos Aires. Sophisticated, neurotic and grandiose. More European than Europe which is something Europeans would look at in distaste.
And that was just me!
A beautiful culture and complex history of loss, guilt, whoring and dance.
You can assume in the words of ABBA "I am the city" even though I was born in Santiago, with family from the frontiers to The Patagon.
My grandfathers were a taxi driver and a coalminer. One violent and one poetic, in equal measure - intensely.
I went to visit family first. I love and respect them. They treated me very well (saying this is culturally de rigeur as well.)
One of my family members is a member of faculty at a Chilean university.
I gave a brief presentation on alternative fuel research and sought to broker an exchange agreement. I wore a shirt I could no longer afford to now. It would cover me tent-wise!
This is not a how-to. It is an anecdote of my particular experience as unique human. Uniqueness being common as hydrogen.
On arrival to Eseiza airport, Argentina, in one seat but weighing 120 kilos, I meet my friend Andy.
Andy is a doctor in the History and Philosophy of Science. He is a good looking guy with a huge nose. That makes two of us.
He lived in the bohemian heart of Buenos Aires with his wife he met in Australia and his two lovely kids. You can call the area Palermo Viejo, over there they call it Soho.
Latin America is known for many things. Amongst the finest, I'm my limited knowledge about it - the environments (urban and natural), music, dance, writing, local "produce", art and sciences.
Psychology and cosmetic surgery are some of the more pedestrian sciences that I can imagine.
Yet I didn't visit any psychologist for imagination augmentation or plastic surgeons for a penis reduction...
I ate like a swine of a warlord. For hipsters, that would translate to "I ate, like, a swine of a warlord."
And then, through the taste of slaughter, of grilled ribs, the tanins, bouquet and a lingering hint of cocaine inspired psychosis. It came to me.
I should die.
It was the moment of clarity spruiking like Revere's horn, war was on sale, and the price was right.
On return to Sydney, this ethical imperative, borne of an odyssean cellular drift, saw me jogging twice a day, and fucking anything I could and things one shouldn't fuck with but this subcoded bio-ethical-fuelled juggernaut couldn't stop til death....
I learnt a lot of things since then.
2. What you wanna do? Do it.
3 If you don't know how, well ask someone you respect and love and ask how they did it. This is a VERY good start.
4 Never deal with other people's shit because your own is heavier and requires attention first.
5 this will bring lightness and dexterity. My fear when I was a kid was I would say something inept. Now, I give the awards out. The French gave this gift " l'esprit del escalier'. You master that, you win. Stay home, make love and eat onion and ice cream sandwiches.
Someone looks at you funny? Say, "you haven't left your bed unmade?
Have you?" take a quick bite of said disgusting sandwich and reiterate clearly "have you????"
If your icecream coolness hasn't had them in awe of your command of the finality of frontiers, the spit of breadcrumbs and onion trance will.
So relax, unwind, wonder about nothing for a change.
Because the taste of icecream and onion sandwiches is bad enough. If you have it on thick toast, you're a goner.
Autopirate
