T.V.

I interrupt this program for a word about Chilean television:

Bizarre.

And now a few more words:

Usually I don't choose to watch very much T.V. (the exception being in the morning, when I watch at least half an episode of Scooby-Doo en español. For practice, of couse).

However, my host family turns on the T.V. during dinner, perhaps to save both parties from any more grammatical blundering than absolutely necessary.

Thus, at the discretion of my host parents, my exposure to primetime Chilean entertainment can be sorted into three categories:
1) News
2) Soap Operas
3) Fishing

First, the news.
Most of the anchors speak as quickly as your average Loud-Mouthed-Luis standing on the street corner hawking ice cream. Thankfully, I am able to follow the gist of most reports, as almost every single news item has something to do with the trapped miners in the North.

This just in!
The five-year-old nephew of one of the miner's second cousins just lost his first tooth!

The Chilean news crews attack every minute detail of the miners' lives, channeling the dramatic spirit of the soap operas that typically follow their programming.

Now these soap operas, or telenovelas, are a sight to behold.
You want drama?
You got... something.

Picture it:
Your local public channel has the budget of 4000 pesos (about $8 USD).
The show is filmed in your hometown.
The actors are your neighbors.
And everyone retains their thick accent.

For all you folk back home:
UCTV cancels Ronnie, Lonnie, and Jenkin's Hour of Praise and Swap Shop.
They replace those shows with a soap opera set in Chickamauga, Georgia.
Furthermore, they encourage every Fanny and JoJo to audition for a part.
Oh yeah, and Larry the plumber/audio-visual "expert" will edit the forthcoming masterpiece.

Possible soap opera names:
"My Family Tree Don't Fork"
"Three Ex-Wives and a Pick-Up Truck"
"While Peepin' Through the Neighbor's Winder"

Try showing this hillbilly-telenovela to a visiting Chilean.
Their reaction?
Suprise!
Intrigue!
Confusion?!

This has been my soap-operatic experience in Santiago thus far.

And now for the most fascinating genre of show, fishing.
Nearly every night, we watch something akin to "Frank and Bob's Bass Huntin' Bonanza," except it's in Spanish, so I guess it would be more like "Fredrico y Guillermo's Bonanza de Pescado."

During the course of the thirty-minute montage of flopping fish, my host mom rotates among the phrases:
¡Qué guapo!
(How handsome! - I still wonder whether she is referencing the fish or the fishermen...)
¡Qué grande!
(How big!)
¡Qué enorme!
(How enormous!)

You'd think she'd get tired of it, but no.

Maybe I just look like the kind of girl who would appreciate fishing on T.V.
(I am. And I do.)

Or maybe my host mom is an avid, though closeted, fisherwoman.
(If that is the case, then she is the Clark Kent of the fishing world, lurking dumpily in her pink checkered apron, waiting for the right opportunity to strike at all the unsuspecting fish of South America.)

I now return you to your regularly scheduled gringo-programming.