¡Joder, qué idiota!

What qualifies me for idiot status this time: Not paying attention to the dates in the syllabus for Profe Ana's class, I became completely depressed reading of the extreme conditions chilean miners and others endured at the turn of the last century as depicted in the stories of

Subterra by Baldomero Lillo (for 14 nov.) instead of being lulled into almost forgetting the probably equally hard life of the argentine gauchos by getting caught up the lilting rhythms of the octosyllabic La vuelta de Martín Fierro de José Hernández (for 7 nov.).


Aquí me pongo a cantar
Al compás de la vigüela;
Que el hombre que lo desvela
Una pena extraordinaria,
Como la ave solitaria
Con el cantar se consuela.