September 19th, 2010
In Spanish, a small child running away from their parents screaming 'No!' sounds exactly like it does in English.
And it's equally funny.
Children are so committed to communicating that single thought, 'no', committed to negating what is going on around them, with no other interferences like trying to push for an emotional response, or creating an image, or doing it right, or looking proper, or anything. They have one simple goal, that they believe is achievable, and they pursue it like it's life an death.
Their tactic? Screaming . Screaming that one word at seven octaves higher than their normal voice as loud as they can.
I think there is a Stanislavski like metaphor in that somewhere. Or maybe a Mamet one, but only if you say something really shocking or pro-playwright first.
A small child chasing his mother shouting 'Mama,' also sounds exactly the same in Spanish as it does in English, but sometimes the child will say 'Mire' and not 'Look'.
A small child whining loudly, unable to properly speak through his tears sounds exactly the same as well.
Carmén's daughter came to visit this weekend, and so did her husband and their son.
They are very nice, and their son is very cute and young.
I don't think he knows how bad my Spanish is, and he rather enjoys talking with me.
It's nice because he doesn't mind repeating himself, at all, and will often do so without my prompting.
He asks me a lot of questions that I'm not cerain the answer to, but more because I don't even think I'd know them in English. (Why is your ceiling light new? What is this Blanket? Why is that your hat? and the Like.)
And then out in the street, hunting my precious internets, I ran into another small child and made another discovery.
Creepy blond children that get really close to you and don't ever say anything are extra creepy when their parents are 10 feet off, not really doing anything.
This Kid was standing less than a foot away from where I was sitting, staring at me.
This lasted for 15 minutes, but it was the longest fifteen minutes of my life.
Except maybe 15 of the minutes I spent getting my first tattoo, or any 15 minutes spent reading 'Drums.'
Boy, I sure am bashing all sorts of art lately.
His mother was ten maybe fifteen feet away, and standing there fussing with her other child, and she would occasionally say something at the creepy blond boy. But it was never anything like 'Hey maybe that stranger doesn't want to be stared at' or 'Don't get to close to the foreigner, he might be a rabid were-weasel, and he may just bite you because you are totally up in his area of defense.' and certainly nothing sounding like 'We're going to leave soon, my creepy blond child.'
Speaking of children, The night before, at the Guggenheim,
there were these two rather drunk USAC-ers who insisting on speaking in shitty British accents. Not because they are English, no because they thought it would be novel.
These two girls were both dressed to go out, and were wearing heels.
It was a healthy walk from the Metro to the Gugg, and I couldn't figure out which bothered me more, the terrible accents, or the 'CLOMP CLOMP CLOMP' of one of the girl's inability to walk in high-heels.
Her feet were screaming, yelling 'CLOMP' as if they were a small child trying to negate something.
Okay, I don't want to bring the wrath of the Feminist Radical Army down on my head, but I'm certain that's going to happen anyway one of these days, but High Heels aren't that hard to work with.
They get uncomfortable, sure, and I wouldn't want to wear them to a standing up sort of job, and luckily for me I don't think I will ever have to.
However they aren't difficult to work with.
Put on feet, walk on balls of feet, with light support in the rest of the foot.
Honestly, I have no idea why these girls thought they needed heels ,in the first place.
They are both very tall to begin with, or am I just short?
Regardless, my opinion still stands, if you can't walk in heels, get some sensible shoes.
And now I must be off to watch a rowing race in the river near my house.