What is she saying?
As we all know children will be forthright and honest and say what others fear to say. One certain nina said to my friend who arranged my trip to London and Spain, "I don't know what that lady is saying." The kid didn't stop there she went on to tag me with the truth: "Why doesn't she know Spanish?"
Who could blame her, she's seven or eight years old and she doesn't want to screw around with an idiot who can't speak HER language. But she soon discovered that I speak "kidspanol" and there's not a child on the face of the earth who can't understand it.
She's absolutely correct, there's no reason I should not have studied harder and learned more Spanish. There's no good excuse for only learning one language, as it's limiting in certain senses--geographically anyway. But I did study heavily the language of humans which is more generalized in certain senses.
Part of the reason children find me so alluring is that I can empathize and see thru their eyes. Notice the last sentence I used the abbreviation for the word "through." Language is changing rapidly and even young Spanish people know what LOL means. They say it like an acronym rather than an abbreviation but it has the same humorous connotation.
As usual, I was overwhelmed by the experience with the children-they got a little hyper on me, but then again, I let them, no regard for my own safety! LOL or my new laughing short cut: muy feliz! MF. LOL (so redundant)
Language is alive
So, are we setting up a universal language within the social networks like facebook and so forth? Most probably. It looks like it to me, and as I coin new phrases on my blogs, such as a word I created for the reporters of our local newspaper, The Kern Valley Sun: Misconscrewbulated. Good word. And this is the reason I say that language has taken on a life of it's own. I'm learning one hell of lesson here in Spain with language. It's one I will never forget.
I'll be talking more about how time is subjective and changes from...time to time. (Lo Siento) Also, language or our ability to communicate with others- how we do this- is a large issue we will watch take on it's own life on this blog. I'm sure that not everyone has noticed I actually went in to take a second look at some of my stories. I could take out the shit, but at this point, the shit for readers still offers me a look at myself--which is an important part of this endeavor.
America my home far away
This is going to sound strange, but we had a sing along and the music was American. "Bye, bye Miss American Pie"-- we all sang it out. However, I suddenly felt homesick. It's been a tough week. There is a certain feeling of isolation that one cannot deny when you don't make more sense than give me food or "yes."
Out of the blue I suddenly FELT my patriotism on a level I have NEVER felt it before. America is the new world. This is the old world that still has many emotional ties to it's history/traditions which keep it stuck in "time." Noticably American's don't know shit. We don't know what happened to us yesterday let alone in 1776.
(BTW- I take liberties here in gross generalizations. These are just practice swings, so hang on for the real game)
In Spain, there is great regard for it's history, a pride that can't be deterred. But the people of Spain still have to deal with the universal issues the whole fucking world needs to understand.
First, we are trashing our living space with junk from Walmart. (another generalization, just hang with me) Whether that be in America or in Spain or anywhere else.
There has not been significant pollution here in Seville or London, but that isn't going to stay that way if we continue to use petrol based fuels. Unless of course, there is some way to invent around the by-products or filter the hell out of it.
The busses in London which take people back and forth to work, did not have the same lung choking effects that their American counterparts do have. I cannot even drive behind a bus due to choking on the deisel fumes.
Here in Spain, my friend says they actually celebrate Chris Columbus the "bi-polar explorer" with some extensive partying. (They just love to party and I love them for it)
They are not concerned with the effects such as massive killing of indigenous peoples. They had a great explorer who graced other lands with their cultural influence. Looking around the area, I am surrounded by citrus- palm trees- cactus- marble- ceramic tile- it's fucking California.
The train station is filled with all types of people and many of them were wearing the shoes I attempted to buy before I left two weeks ago: Vans. Pronounced here more like, "Vons" I could not find these shoes at any store I tried.
Now, I'm not as bad ass as Chris Columbus, nor do I have the financial backing of Ferdinand and Isabella, but I'm also an explorer.
We are all explorers of our own lives. Some of us are just more dangerous about it. Such as us Bi-polar Americans.
Explorers use the influence of the homeland to bring such things as I described, such as food or types of wood, etc. But they also collect items to take back home. The same goes for me.
My business mind
I cannot bring myself to put my creativity up for sale. That's for another blog. But I do have a capitalist nature and none of the English or Spanish creations have been lost on me. Whether they originated here or not makes no difference to me as I'm only interested in selling them.
But since they have products I have not seen in California, it's time for some research. It's time to potentially put together a business which utilizes certain items I deem to be transferable.
Hey if the kids have my fucking shoes- Vans- then I'm going to concern myself with finding items in my explorations which could be marketed in America.
The Bi-polar Explorer
I've purchased a pair of cargo pants with straight legs which make me look skinny. That's the style here. In fact, I accidentally wore a pair of pants to London which were too damn tight--the pants were also skinny leg makers which I don't like.
A few moments in London and I realized this was their style. Also, a lot of anorexic women in Spain--too skinny. Muy mala.
The film students just made a rap today on their project, so I gave them my email address: Muymala@msn.com
One of them asked me if I had the address before I got here or if I knew what it meant. Fucking hell yeah! It's no secret to anyone around me that I am and live MUY MALA. Now, I get to say it! Awesome.
Spanish language sounds so musical and I love the throat sounds too.
I've promised when I come back to have built a bigger vocabulary so that we can communicate more complex ideas beyond my eating and sleep needs.
But for today I am truly a muy mala and proud of it. And now I get to say it and have others laugh that I can't speak a bit of real Spanish, yet my email address is in Espanol!
Go explore your life, your surroundings, and remember you both take and leave things in this life. Make it good. Laura Hart (Muy Mala!)