for example, come again.

Sandy, Sincerely

It struck me (like lightning, twice) that, to a traditionalist, it may seem unconventional, if not backward, to form a band before knowing how to play any instruments. But then I started thinking about what “band” really means, the word itself (band of merry men, rubber band), which, in turn, started me thinking about HOMONYMS, and then words in general. Then I started thinking about languages, specifically English because it’s the one I speak in, let alone think in—and then I got on a tangent thinking, in English, about how it’s said (passive voice) that you know you’re becoming fluent in a second language when you start thinking or dreaming in it, which has not happened to me with Spanish, unless you count the one where I was being chased by a giant ham and cheese croissant, which I was referring to, in the dream, as la medialuna con jamon y queso muy peligrosa. But I don’t think you should count that one.

Then I went back to thinking about English, which segued nicely into thinking about teaching English, which is what I’ve been spending (present perfect progressive) the last month learning how to do. By this time I had forgotten (past perfect) how I came to be thinking about teaching English and had to read the first sentence again:

“It struck me (like lightning, twice) that, to a traditionalist, it may seem unconventional, if not backward, to form a band before knowing how to play any instruments.” It’s kind of like moving to a foreign country before learning how to speak the language. Also, a little bit like walking around places backward. Both of which I have been known, on occasion, to do.

Bands and languages have quite a few things in common. For example, they both have quite a bit to do with making sounds and hearing. The less you know about them while trying to [do] them, the more likely you are to sound like an idiot. People will often tell you how great you’re doing because they feel awkward telling you you suck (of note: the difference between the pronunciation of “sucks,” “six,” and “sex” is difficult for the non-native speaker to hear, so BE CAREFUL!).

Last night, I was lucky enough (que suerte!) to get into a cab of which the conductor did not feel awkward about telling me I suck. In fact, he shamed me the entire ride for my terrible Spanish (I doubt he would have appreciated my guitar skills, either). The worst part was that my Spanish is now good enough to understand people when they’re making fun of me (also when they’re catcalling at me), but not yet good enough to talk back. No, actually, the worst part was that the whole reason I had gotten into the cab in the first place was to escape the man who had been following me home and insisting on taking me out for a cup of coffee despite the fact that I told him I didn’t speak Spanish or English. (It started with him chasing me down in the crosswalk as I crossed the street to avoid him and went like this: “Oy, que hermosa—” “No.” “Queres un café—?” “No.” “Hablas espanol?” “No.” “Ingles?” “No.” “But how beautiful—” “No.” “But—” “No.” “But—” “No.” But—” “Taxi!”)

Juani (with whom, I’m sort of sorry to report, formal guitar lessons have been for the time being replaced by activities like watching Flight of the Conchords clips on YouTube and consuming large bottles of beer—btw, you can return the empty bottles to the little stores here and then the next beer costs less because they refund you the price of the bottles. It’s great!) tried to convince me that, unlike in America, here, women enjoy receiving catcalls (piropos). I refused to be convinced, but it made me wonder if the men in the States are under the same misconception. If so, someone should tell them we do not.

Some notes on vocabulary: In Spain, a pija is a high-class woman. Here, it’s a cock. Related is the fact that, while in America a fanny is what your grandmother threatened to whop your mother on if she misbehaved, in other English speaking countries (I learned from my Australian roommate, Andrew), it's a vagina. Thus, Andrew thinks fanny packs are pretty funny (but not for the same reason that we think they're funny). Likewise, what we call a flip flop, Andrew calls a thong. And when his thong is very old and the piece between the toes pops out of the bottom, he might say, "There's been a blowout in my thong." But back to Spanish. I should probably point out that “embarazada” means pregnant, not embarrassed. This is called a false cognate, which is the pitfall of the adding-things-like-ada-or-o-to-the-end-of-an-English-word-to-make-it-a-Spanish-word technique, which often (usually usually) works, but in some cases can lead to confusion and embarrassment or, in the worst-case scenario, embarazo.

Abortion is illegal here, but cosmetic surgery is free.