*This is an exercise in producing draft ad copy for Pizarro, it is not a live advertisement for hosting services*
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Having caught and disposed of a routine upper respiratory viral infection roughly this same time last month within the course of a week, I though I was in for the same story when I felt a little bit of a cold starting Thursday. By Friday acute bronchitis had set in and after getting little sleep because a bunch of non-verbal retards decided to stay at the hostel while attending some sort of conference… my morning today started with a very productive cough, crushing rib pain, and a realization that I am going to have to take some sort of action to avoid dying in South America and letting the filthy Uruguayos win.
Thusly I started the ritual developed wherin I browse the Farmashop website for relevant medicine and found the very promising Trimetoprim/Sulfametoxazol for roughly 1 USD/pill. I prepared my handwritten note with a timeline of symptoms and request for the exact antibiotic I wanted and began the short walk to the pharmacy. I arrive, hand over my note with the note and say "Disculpe, no puedo hablar muy bien Español"1 and magic happens. The clericalish employee gets the attention of the pharmacist, and after confirming the timeline of symptoms and that I had already been taking an antigripal… THE PHARMACIST DISPENSED THE MEDICATION WITH INSTRUCTIONS. He did it on the spot and within the scope of his professional authority.
For all of the Stupid Uruguayo shit I have to put up with everyday, being able to get medicine on the spot in a Pharmacy is a nice improvement over the way old country is retarded on the subject. Where the doctor DOESN'T want to prescribe antibiotics, wants to WAIT days for a culture, or wants to start with some other retarded idea that injects 3 day to 3 months of suffering between being presented with a request to alleviate suffering and actually doing something to alleviate the suffering.
Already breathing is starting to get easier and the impending sense of doom has lifted. I am also wondering why anyone puts up with the UStarded "healthcare" system. Sure Obamacare broke it a bit more, but today I see that it was already profoundly broken. The system already had too many opportunities for other people to take your fried chicken and your time if you tired to get anything at all done.
Thusly starting antibiotic therapy for suspected pneumonia, costs 10 USD and the same number of minutes in Uruguay, while in the US costs to do the same thing range from 200 to 5000 USD with wait times ranging from hours to days.
These motherfuckers sure do like standing in line.
There are too many of them here. They look white and they think they are people. The Italian population in Uruguay are an endemic nuissance. Before the Italians arrived in mass, Uruguay had a population under 100,000 persons. The country people and the city people would routinely gather a thousand or so folks for each side and work through their problems. Eventually they teamed up with Brazil and Argentina to wreck Paraguay's shit and ensure regional stability. This was a country of men doing men things.
Then the Italians came at the end of the 19th century. By the 1960's the Italian problem had grown to the point they were engaging in terrorism, and trying to do the communist revolution thing that is working out so well for Venezuela. The commie scumm did shit like steal a bunch of shit, get arrested, say it was because "X lives matter", get thrown in Punta Carretas prison1, and break out starting the cycle over. By 1972 the country had to adopt a civilian-military "dictatorship" in order to contain the problem.
A decade later, thinking the commie problem was solved, the dictatorship ended peacefully and every referendum the surviving commies pushed to punish the patriots has been soundly defeated.
Since democracy was restored the hundreds of weirdo Italian-Uruguayo political parties decided to unite in one coalition. The Frente Amplio, fat forehead en Ingles, was the result. Its only unifying thread is not being either of the two historical Uruguayo parties from Uruguay's brief period as a wild and cool frontier place.
In a few hours it will have been 4 months since I first arrived in Montevideo. The past few days have beena return to almost summer weather, but the days keep getting shorter. Still living in the same hostel. Ergonomic girls are still good for a boost to the mood,1 but the general misery of the Uruguayo people continues to wear. Or maybe it's the distance from civilized AA wearing on the soul.
I look forward to December and the tourist influx relegating the Uruguayos to the shadows for a few months, but I'm not thrilled about more Brasileros either. Brasileras are fine, but the effete accent from near Sao Paulo makes the guys sound like huge faggots. Fat burned there isn't much room in the budget for terraforming or entertainment. Just have to keep grinding away and keep the burgeoning meat wot going.
At least Qntra's online, and there's management keeping from having to stress on the management of Pizarro even if I am stuck and bound in the geographic center of Pizarro. The irony of course is that having finally left the Middle West I understand why people go on vacation. And here I am having agreed to stay here for $600 a month of pocket money and a hostel bed in South America's most expensive city with what appear to be its most miserable people. Of course there may be some selection bias there as the people I meet from the rest of the continent are the ones cool enough to take vacations or immigrate. And thus questions like "How much fun would Peru be as worshipful as their girls in exile are of my gringoness" have to get tabled.
I neither want to go home nor do I want to be bound to Uruguay forever. Leaving this beef behind would be hard. The market for fun human shaped girls is much better in Uruguay. Back home medical expenses were ruinous. Here when shit breaks good luck finding a replacement.
All in all life is still a mixed bag. It would be nice if there were more baseball latinos and less football latinos here.
There are very few truly concrete milestones I have encountered in my language immersion experience. However as time marches on speaking this language is getting easier. Whatever happened to those GAW people?
As this goes along I am continuing to take lessons, each new batch of strangers at the hostel meets a gringo more fluent in Spanish than the last did. By mid february the tables have turned and I have gone from the gringo overwhelmed by other English speaker's midling Spanish to being the gringo that overwhelms with midling Spanish.
- Eventually on day 97 in the country I navigate a meeting at Migracciones. Error rate while conjugating verbs at speaking speed is still uncomfortably high, but once again luck and charm save the day.
- Sometime over the past two weeks something just clicked. "Language exchange" type dates have started failing into strictly Spanish, and I have been able to reliably extract the right kinds of giggles out of Northern South American obligate Spanish speaking girls. The local sense of humor is still opaque, but in a country of immigrants that isn't a high priority at the moment. Not with the things the Peruanas will do for a gringo.
There is still a long way to go until mastery of the language. Or educated literacy. Still taking 5 hours of private lessons a week, but… contrary to the value of the lessons appears to be going up as there is more Spanish language in my head to support boluses of new material.
Sure, every now and then I lose all my vowels in one or both languages. Or a girl will ask me if I am married and I respond in the affirmative because I though she was asking if I was tired. That last one's happened quite a few times, but it is nice having enough language to playfully make the save.
Today was the uneventually big day where I finally had my appointment at Migracciones in order to begin getting the papers. The papers which would allow for deprecating the empire's set of papers without having a mature latino meatwot.
Pictured is the National Institute of Colonization, about a block and a half from Migracciones.
When I arrived, they had conventiently lost my appointment reservation. Thankfully I had my receipt from the Abitab where I paid for the Tramite in advance, or else I likely would have fallen into will call status waiting like the Dominicans. Instead I was rather promptly handed over to the services of una gordita, just young enough her skin had yet to suffer the coming damage weight accelerates.
For the price of making some eye contact and tossing a few smiles, she dug through my pile of papers and made things happen without the usual local obstructionism. My apostilled birth certificate? No need to find a "certified public translator" and that today was 7 days after the initial 90 days that automatic visa on arrival covers was not a thing asked about. I did however have to leave to to acquire a photograph of myself from a kiosk a block and a half away aptly named "Foto Carnet", and there are still other papers to be acquired1 before the application can be reviewed.
The next step is the Office of National Identification and in the near future2 a cedula of my own.
While we await the report and pictures from Señor Vulpes, a few quick thoughts on recieving a guest here in Montevideo:
- Skipping the hostel was a solid move, it appears the recent hostel pest left some other more familiar pests behind when he departed. War, war never changes.
- Many theatics were observed in the wild including the profound changes in body language and posturing that occur in mid-heirarchy Latinos when the boss comes around.
- On the morning Señor Vulpes arrived, a cambio in the Montevideo Shopping was robbed. The local papers report 2 Millones (archived), currency unspecified were taken.
- Meals ranged the spectrum from gas station sanwiches to steaks at a Parilla.
- Only a very small portion of the city by geography was explored on this outing.
- Management was subjected viewing an excessive amount of caffeine consumption.
- Super Mercado Winn Dixie
Today I celebrate the departure of a god damned junkie from my hostel. An illustration to set the stage:
The creature made its nest on the bottom bunk pictured during a happier time, and pulled down blankets from the bunk above to create a crude sort of privacy screen. There the creature spent the majority of its time passed out.
- The thing's arrival was heralded by the stain turning on and off the room light repeatedly between the hours of 1:00 and 3:00, an anomalously egregious behavior by Latino standards. This was the initial sign the creature carried defects beyond stupidity.
- Latino junkies appear to be diurnal creatures. Apart from slow clumsy windows of activity from 9:00 through 10:00 and 22:30 through 1:45, the junkie remained sequestered in its den.
- During periods of activity the junkie lacked fine and gross motor control.
- Unlike the recreational cannabis users endemic to Uruguay, the IV drug injecting junkie favored an elaborate water pipe.
- Other latinos nominally attempted socialization with the junkie, largely unaware of the degree of its profoundly ill and nonsapient condition.
- This naturalist limited interactions with the stain to disapproving glares and grunts. The creature had opportunities to observe myself being cordial with persons. This successfully reinforce Bingo avoiding behavior, and reinforced its lower status.
- The only physical evidence observed of its IV drug other than the scabby and emaciated condition of its body was a syringe cap located on the floor of the room yesterday.
The thing has now gone. I can't reasonably guess what its intentions were taking a vacation to see all the sights in a bottom bunk, but until I confirmed its departure, I had a growing suspicion it arrived at the hostel to finish dying.
Continuing from the last post, the fat account is the sum total of all value personally accessible to me which has not explicitedly been committed committed to the enterprise. At a time when the naive Bingo who had never left the reservation thought he could get off the plane in early December and bring the republic online before Christmas, end of the month at the latest, and start bringing in revenue… It made all the naive sense in the world to charge food,1 Spanish lessons,2 skirt chasing, etc to the fat waiting for revenue to outrun expenses.
Then reality hits. All of sudden its February, just got online still no revenue from which to draw a salary, you're posting pictures and the manager you have never met notices you have lost weight and offers a per diem. Sure, by the middle of the month everything's blown up and by the end of month things have come together again. Not where I expected when I got off the plane, but not in a bad position.
For having expended the fat I have acquired the foundations for building a life outside the wire. And then there's the education. Yesterday I got to deploy the magic words "… por efectivo" for savings over the firm's catalogue prices. I can inject commentary about mis huevos into conversations. I also have had a number of conversations with people whose only impression of the empire is… Miami… through second and third hand reports. I get to answer the question of where I live with the name of my hostel rather than the place I happen to have came from. Sure, my clothes are still looser, no point replenishing the literal fat too aggressively while the metaphorical fat sits leaner. For the return on investment, this expendature of fat a much better deal than US college was in both time and money.
Thankfully my fellows in the Republic are Republican enough to birth Pizarro, and I am still in Montevideo as history has actually flown this past month instead of in Illinois as it could have flown.