That post was a monster.

October 17th, 2010

The other day I was at a park, sitting under a thing. (I have no idea how to call it, it was like a giant circle-awning, that didn't come out of any building, with a hole in the center. Park-benches conviniently placed under the rain-shield donut.
I was doing internet stuffs. (Binzuru Harada forgive me but I've become rather addicted to the magic tubes of web-connection)
I was approached by a single youth from a group of multiple youths. He sat beside me, and greeted me in an oddly friendly manner, and asked if I had a cigarette, which I didn't.
The other youths watched him, intently...
Now I don't know what was going on, but I started to feel my stomach turn, and I instinctively placed a firm hand on my lap-top.
I told him I didn't have one, and he stood up and told his friends that I was crazy. (Funny thing about being really bad at speaking a language, people think you can't understand it.) Another one of the gentlemen approached me, and started talking about the bench I was at. (They had all been at another perfectly good bench, not five meters away.)
At this point, I stood up, closed my lap-top, pointed an open hand at the bench and left.
Maybe there was something mundane and innocent going one, and maybe they were having a bit of fun with a foreigner. (I had decided to wear my baseball cap out that day, not something I'm going to do again.)
Maybe they needed the bench to meet someone else.
Paranoid? I don't rightly know.
What I do rightly know is that I trusted my gut, and lost nothing by leaving politely.

Carmén had two guests over today, and before I even met them, I knew one was Mexican, and the other was not Spanish. I heard them in the den, and I could make out a distinct Mexican accent and a very not Spanish accent. It turns out the two gentlemen are from Honduras. The younger was born and raised in Mexico, and the other, his father in law, was Honduran. The younger gentleman is a doctor in a hospital in Mexico where one of Carmén's sons works as an Anesthesiologist. I had a very long lunch with these two gentlemen, Carmén, Toni (Carmén's youngest, in his late twenties), Mary (Carmén's daughter) and John (her husband). It was fantastic, a huge conversation, and, as always,
fantastic food. They spoke of many things, and occasionally I said something, mostly in response.
John is a big man, big by Spanish standards at least. He's six foot something, and broad shouldered, and friendly as all get out. He is also very Basque. He recounted some of the adventures he went on in Mexico.
Because he is larger, and looks very Basque, he was mistaken for an American frequently and had trouble with smaller chairs, spaces, and accommodations. People would frequently speak English to him before he explained he was Spanish, all of this was very amusing to me.
The young doctor (who's name I never picked up) explained that he enjoyed doctor television shows, and explained how ER was the closest to his real life experiences, and how he knew a few doctors like House.
The doctor's father in law was a very friendly man, the sort who patted me on the should every time he spoke to me, but I never felt talked down to or irritated by it, very genuine.
He had a fantastic laugh, and an even more fantastic pair of eyebrows. (I'm glad he uses them gor good and not evil)
The young doctor was surprised how much Spanish I understood, and as was I. (However I have noticed that there is a huge disconnect between what I understand, and what I can say. This is normal I think, being that toddles understand a lot, but can't say much. Yay being a Language-Toddler.)
After dinner we had some Sardas, which is a very sweet liquor (Licour? Lic-cooer... that word that means fancy Likker.)
Carmén explained how it wasn't very strong, it's sweet. (This stuff is 140 proof.)
True'nuff doesn't taste strong. But I definitely found myself checking out of the conversations afterwards more often that I was before.

I forgot to go to the open air market today.
I instead decided to sleep.
Bollocks. Next Sunday I swear.
Speaking of things I need to remember to do, I still need to book a plane/bus to Madrid, and one to Budapest. I'm thinking about traveling for Christmas, and don't rightly know where to spend the holiday. Cork or Killarney are obvious choices, do you have any ideas? I mean as my potential future spouse you {might} have to listen to the stories of the time I spent Christmas in X place, a few billion times, might be in your best interest to have some input on how that story will go, mah? [I've taken to saying mah instead of 'yes?' or 'no?'at the end of sentences. It's a very slurred version of Vale, or 'Right?' very Spanish, or possibly basque, it seems.]

Saturday night, everyone goes out.
I went out.
I went on a genuine walk.
No computer, no destination, no real desires.
I wandered the opposite direction I normally go, following the river, until there wasn't any safe place to walk (The road is super close to that thing! What if someone goes just 5 mph too fast?)
I was, of course, sad.
I struggled figuring out what exactly has been making me sad, and what has been disabling me from expressing or fully grasping it.
I figured it out I think.
I'm homesick, but I don't really have a home.
I mean, don't get me wrong, my parents are Saints, and Pop is always letting me know that I can come to their house and live there for however long I need (Which is greatly appreciated). But that's not home for me.
Was living in Olympia Home?
Was university Home?
All these other USACers, they have homes to return to at the end of this.
I have a home to make.
And while that last sentence sounds fantastic and adventurous, it is also depressing.
Having grasped why I'm sad has made dealing with it easier, which is nice.
Also on my walk I had ice-cream, and wrote random crap on the beach with a stick.
Those parts were fun.

So tonight I have desmasiado homework.
Look if you don't like Spanish words thrown in every now and again, I don't know why you are reading (and reading rather intensively, I might add, this things are huge) a blog about a young opinionated wereweasel's travels in Spain.
Yes. Wereweasel.
Shutup, we're real. And I am one.
Desmasiado homework.
Of what variety? Reading, and responding.
Defining words in Spanish.
Did you know that Precipicio is Spanish for 'Precipice?' or that 'Gazpacho' is Spanish for 'Gazpacho.'
If you knew what either of those words are in English without using Google or a dictionary, ten points to you for outsmarting this kid.
(Steep Rock face/Cliff, and Fancy Spanish Tomato Soup, respectively)
And they say I don't need the internet for homework.
I suppose if I had been savvy enough to bring an English dictionary and an encyclopedia with me I would be fine. Sadly I did neither.
Something I've noticed about myself? When doing homework I hate people who use big words. Why are they complicating my homework and process of understanding with unnecessarily confusing and complicated words?
But when I'm not doing homework?
I'm reading Shakespeare.
In spanish.
And I'm musing over the choice of translation...

For those of you who are only here for the Spanish experience (do you exist?) that's all you need to read. The rest is opinions and thoughts.

Wiff on me.
I once was in a directing scene, where I was to play a cocaine addict, and a writer. I think I will always remember this one moment of working on the process when the director tried to explain what being on coke was like.
He said it was like one's mind races so quickly that one attempts to express ideas before they are fully formed, for fear of losing them to the next.
This? This is how I feel all the time.
Except instead of saying them, I want to write them down.
I don't fancy myself a writer, of any sort, but I do write things. Blogs. Story-lines for roleplaying games (I've got three on the back burner right now, one I already ran, but am rewriting, and the world based on two passed. Avalokiteśvara, but I do miss the Kings/Emperors campaign.)
I always feel naked without my moleskin and pencil anymore.
Why am I telling you this?
I don't know.
A better question is, 'Why are you reading all this'.
Probably to get to know me better before you accept to my proposal. And that's just fine by me.
Anywhat, because I haven't got any real new to report to ya'll, here comes these scratchets from my moleskin and various other writing devices.
* 'Sometimes I forget that I am lucky enough to live in a world with a moon'.
* Various examples of perfect comedic acting executed by my Spanish teacher.
* 'Theatre [and art in general] *needs* to be accessible.'
* 'Prepositions in Spanish, as well as English, never come at the end.'
* 'Of course I'm a director. I love sandwiches.'
* 'A lack of personality' I still don't know what this note means.
* 'Curse you European Coke-cans and your weighted bottoms, you always trick me!'

Well that's enough wasting both your and my time.
I figure these things get so long because I don't have 24 access to facebook, twitter, or people who speak English, and all my thoughts kinda pile up over time. Back to homework.

Kishpike Out.

1 comment:

  1. I read because I miss you. And, of course, I need to vet all these other people who may become your future spouse.

    Also I really find Stats 251 to be a waste of time. Reading your blog is not and thus I find my time spent reading to be time well spent.