Esquire and New Yorker Magazines-Simple Writing in English by Carlos Mijares Poyer:
It´s quite interesting to note, that when a Venezuelan buyer and reader of Esquire or New Yorker magazine, approaches a newstand -where the magazines are offered, the teller is Venezuelan, perhaps, and the owner of the stand is Venezuelan. One approaches the magazines on the stand, and a red-haired fellow politely offers his help. What some think that is not known, is how the vendor behind the american softwared computer, is detailing the encounter. One tells the red-haired fellow one is interested in buying the magazines, and he takes them to the vendor. The vendor without lifting his eyes from the computer says in spanish, that the magazines are in english to the red-haired fellow. Assuming, without knowing who you are, that you don`t speak or read english. The red-haired fellow like a telegraph tells me the same thing, and I just stare at him like an infant. The english passion in latinamerica is at hand. The vendor tells me that the magazines are not registered in the computer, and that if I want I can come back in one hour and buy the magazines. I do just that.
After an hours expanse, approaching cautiously the stand the red-haired fellow tells the vendor in a whishper I slightly catch: "Here he comes...". I make presence and the vendor sells me the magazines, and as he hands them to me he says: "Sorry I didn´t sell them to you before." I ask him if he will receive the magazines in the future. cutting my statement in half with a stutter, and trembling hands. I depart with a smirk. Welcome to Venezuela dear bloggers.
A week later, sitting near the stand in the mall in a nearby coffee-shop I stand up and walk by the stand and I see the owner, as I return he gazes at me with a challenging stare, my eyes twirl like a Gogol character in Dead Souls.
A week later, sitting in the same place, the owner comes to a nearby table and places two cell-phones in front of him and a solar calculator, several receipts and financial papers, and about every minute gives me the old laser eye, which I confront with a portable mirror. Welcome to English and literary passion in venezuela. Besides, of course, not hating my own country, I must say, that there are enormous gaps of communication in the world, as tipified by the movie BaBel, with the remarkable acting performance of Brad Pitt, recently shown in theatres near you or on your personal dvd.
The problem or not the problem, is the long strange trip, between the first world and the last world, in one same country, and in one same city. The gleam and wonderment of globalization.
It´s quite interesting to note, that when a Venezuelan buyer and reader of Esquire or New Yorker magazine, approaches a newstand -where the magazines are offered, the teller is Venezuelan, perhaps, and the owner of the stand is Venezuelan. One approaches the magazines on the stand, and a red-haired fellow politely offers his help. What some think that is not known, is how the vendor behind the american softwared computer, is detailing the encounter. One tells the red-haired fellow one is interested in buying the magazines, and he takes them to the vendor. The vendor without lifting his eyes from the computer says in spanish, that the magazines are in english to the red-haired fellow. Assuming, without knowing who you are, that you don`t speak or read english. The red-haired fellow like a telegraph tells me the same thing, and I just stare at him like an infant. The english passion in latinamerica is at hand. The vendor tells me that the magazines are not registered in the computer, and that if I want I can come back in one hour and buy the magazines. I do just that.
After an hours expanse, approaching cautiously the stand the red-haired fellow tells the vendor in a whishper I slightly catch: "Here he comes...". I make presence and the vendor sells me the magazines, and as he hands them to me he says: "Sorry I didn´t sell them to you before." I ask him if he will receive the magazines in the future. cutting my statement in half with a stutter, and trembling hands. I depart with a smirk. Welcome to Venezuela dear bloggers.
A week later, sitting near the stand in the mall in a nearby coffee-shop I stand up and walk by the stand and I see the owner, as I return he gazes at me with a challenging stare, my eyes twirl like a Gogol character in Dead Souls.
A week later, sitting in the same place, the owner comes to a nearby table and places two cell-phones in front of him and a solar calculator, several receipts and financial papers, and about every minute gives me the old laser eye, which I confront with a portable mirror. Welcome to English and literary passion in venezuela. Besides, of course, not hating my own country, I must say, that there are enormous gaps of communication in the world, as tipified by the movie BaBel, with the remarkable acting performance of Brad Pitt, recently shown in theatres near you or on your personal dvd.
The problem or not the problem, is the long strange trip, between the first world and the last world, in one same country, and in one same city. The gleam and wonderment of globalization.
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