This week, the Argentinian Supreme Court voted to decriminalize the possession of small amounts of marijuana for personal use by adults in private. According to Cabinet Chief Aníbal Fernández, the move will allow the government to focus its anti-drug efforts on traffickers instead of users, and allow users "to be treated as addicts instead of criminals." (http://www.buenosairesherald.com/BreakingNews/View/10082)
Despite my D.A.R.E. and Cartoon All-Stars education, I´m not particularly concerned that this new law will effect a Reefer Madness wave of pot-induced incidents of manslaughter, suicide, and rape in Buenos Aires. Rather, I doubt it will have much of an effect on anyone who hasn´t already been fined or forced to complete some sort of anti-drug program because a police officer caught them with a joint (as for those who have, I imagine it might make them a little less paranoid while smoking up... or, maybe not).
Nonetheless, I thought this was a good occasion to compile and share some vocabulary related to this now-slightly-less-illegal pastime. I consulted some local "addicts" and came up with the following list:
porro, faso- pot/weed
una vela, un cohete (literally, "missile"), un canuto, un churro (after the oblong tubular shaped pastry by the same name), un porro, porrito ("little cute porro"), un faso, un fasito ("little cute faso"), un paraguayo/paragua (from paraguay, conotation of being not strong; not to be confused with "paraguas," meaning umbrella), un pinito (one that smells like a little cute pine tree)- a joint
estar loco/reloco ("crazy/very crazy"), estar de la cabeza, estar del tomate (roughly, "out-of-your-mind high"; literally, "of the tomato"), estar fumado ("smoked"), estar de la nuca (nuca is the part of your head that meets the top back of your neck, this term comes from the idea of being punched in this location and subsequently knocked out), estar del orto (orto is a euphemism for anus meaning sunset), me pegó ("it hit me")- to be high
una tuca- roach (end of the joint)
tuquera- roach clip
un finito- really skinny joint
un troncho- very thick joint
la punta- the dealer
las sedas- the rolling papers
picar- to separate pot with one´s fingers in preparation for making a joint (there is probably a term for this in English, but I´m no expert, and "to separate pot with one´s fingers in preparation for making a joint" yielded nothing on urban dictionary)
armar un porro, etc.- to roll a joint
una seca- a drag/hit/toke
bajon- munchies
Now that you know the imporant vocabulary, you´re ready for some sentences. Let´s try speaking like a porteño!
"¿Me das una seca?"- "Can I have a hit?"
"Uh, ¡como tira!"- "Oh my, how it pulls!"
"Como pega este fasito!"- "How it does make me high, this little cute joint!"
"Estoy con bajon/ Estoy de bajon/ Tengo bajon/ Vamos a bajonear algo/ Estoy bajoneando pizza."- "I am with munchies/ I am of munchies/ I have munchies/ Let´s go munchies(verb) something/ I have the munchies for pizza."
Take that, Canada.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
Of Meat and Meeting
Sometimes I wonder why I don´t have more friends. Then I interact with people.
Sunday night, Manu and I go out to dinner with one of my few sub-equatorial friends Meghan, her mother, who´s in town for the week, Meghan´s friend Danny, and Danny´s recently expatriated friend Felix. We all meet at a popular parilla in San Telmo that boasts meat so tender you can cut it with a spoon-- where, of course, I order fish. So when Felix at the other end of the table starts making the kind of sounds I´ve only ever heard through a wall when someone in another room was watching an adult film, I ask for a bite.
Sure, he says, let me get you a slice-- er, scoop. I return to my own plate and am squeezing lemon on my fish, when I overhear him whisper to Danny, "What´s her name again?" and I, instead of quietly continuing what I´m doing in politely feigned obvliousness, say, pretty loudly, "Jeanette."
Felix turns the same color as the inside of his steak, and I begin apologizing profusely, explaining that the only reason I remember his name is that when I met him yesterday he was talking about how he´d just come from a store named Felix, where he´d bought a t-shirt that said Felix, which he showed me. And then I start talking about the intro psych class I took in college and am rambling on about pneumonic devices and how repetition, like rhymes and acronyms, helps commit things to memory, when I stop myself.
"I´m awkward," I say.
An awkward moment of silence follows.
"Really awkward," I say, realizing that that´s not the best way to break an awkward moment of silence, as another awkward moment of silence follows that is about as unending (and certainly as awkward) as what happens when you divide one by three on a calculator. An era of silence, more like.
Eventually, Meghan´s mom starts talking about the colored antique soda bottles she bought at the fería to accent her newly redocorated bar room back in New Jersey, and how she got the idea from Better Homes and Gardens, or was it House Beautiful? Felix passes me the promised bite of his meat, the consumption of which, indeed, is not unlike an orgasm-- though, in this case, kind of like an orgasm interrupted by your mom walking in. I eat some of Manu´s fries, but don´t finish my fish.
In the taxi home, I´m still thinking about that intro psych class. Maybe I should buy Felix a bottle of fernet, and he can remember me with a limerick:
I once met a girl named Jeanette,
Whose name I did soon forget,
But with this here fernet,
I´ll remember her yet,
Jeanette, Jeanette, Jeanette
Then again, "I once met a girl named Jeanette, who was awkward," has a certain ring to it.
Sunday night, Manu and I go out to dinner with one of my few sub-equatorial friends Meghan, her mother, who´s in town for the week, Meghan´s friend Danny, and Danny´s recently expatriated friend Felix. We all meet at a popular parilla in San Telmo that boasts meat so tender you can cut it with a spoon-- where, of course, I order fish. So when Felix at the other end of the table starts making the kind of sounds I´ve only ever heard through a wall when someone in another room was watching an adult film, I ask for a bite.
Sure, he says, let me get you a slice-- er, scoop. I return to my own plate and am squeezing lemon on my fish, when I overhear him whisper to Danny, "What´s her name again?" and I, instead of quietly continuing what I´m doing in politely feigned obvliousness, say, pretty loudly, "Jeanette."
Felix turns the same color as the inside of his steak, and I begin apologizing profusely, explaining that the only reason I remember his name is that when I met him yesterday he was talking about how he´d just come from a store named Felix, where he´d bought a t-shirt that said Felix, which he showed me. And then I start talking about the intro psych class I took in college and am rambling on about pneumonic devices and how repetition, like rhymes and acronyms, helps commit things to memory, when I stop myself.
"I´m awkward," I say.
An awkward moment of silence follows.
"Really awkward," I say, realizing that that´s not the best way to break an awkward moment of silence, as another awkward moment of silence follows that is about as unending (and certainly as awkward) as what happens when you divide one by three on a calculator. An era of silence, more like.
Eventually, Meghan´s mom starts talking about the colored antique soda bottles she bought at the fería to accent her newly redocorated bar room back in New Jersey, and how she got the idea from Better Homes and Gardens, or was it House Beautiful? Felix passes me the promised bite of his meat, the consumption of which, indeed, is not unlike an orgasm-- though, in this case, kind of like an orgasm interrupted by your mom walking in. I eat some of Manu´s fries, but don´t finish my fish.
In the taxi home, I´m still thinking about that intro psych class. Maybe I should buy Felix a bottle of fernet, and he can remember me with a limerick:
I once met a girl named Jeanette,
Whose name I did soon forget,
But with this here fernet,
I´ll remember her yet,
Jeanette, Jeanette, Jeanette
Then again, "I once met a girl named Jeanette, who was awkward," has a certain ring to it.
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