I don’t know if any of you have seen While You Were Sleeping, but it’s a really cool 90s movie about a woman who is thrust into a whirlwind of family confusion when she poses as an unconscious man’s fiance. There’s this one point in the film where Sandra Bullock is sitting helplessly overwhelmed at the family dinner table, trying to listen to each of the six conversations taking place between the rowdy relatives and you can’t help but feel for her as random snippets of the conversation are revealed through the chaos. For your enjoyment, I’ve looked up the dinner conversation:
“Sooo Lucy have you and Peter decided where you’re gonna go on your honeymoon yet? I went to Cuba.
Ricky Ricardo was Cuban. Didn’t Peter look great today?
Aww that kid. You know he should’ve been an actor. He’s tall!
All the great ones were tall.
Lucy you think you can help me find a nice girl for Jack?
Ohh mom…
Well I don’t really know Jack’s type so I’m not one that um…
I like blondes…chubby ones.
Mmmm these mashed potatoes are so creamy.
You like brunettes…
John Wayne was tall.
Dustin Hoffman was 5’6.
Would you wanna see Dustin Hoffman save the Alamo?
I could never make a good pot roast.
You need good beef.
Argentina has great beef…beef and nazis…
Mmmm these mashed potatoes are so creamy.
Alen Leb wasn’t tall.
Marshall Dillen was 6’5. Ceasar Romero was tall.
Ceasar Romero was not spanish.
I didn’t say Ceasar Romero was spanish.
Well what did you say?
I said Ceaser Romero was tall.
Well we all know he’s tall.
That’s what I said, Ceasar Romero was tall, that’s all I said.”
Cue hilarious confusion. Anyway, whenever we’re in a similar situation my mother always leans over and whispers wickedly, “Ceasar Romero isn’t Spanish!” Well Ma, I almost peed my pants thinking of you the other day at the table. My host parents’ daughter and her husband and six year-old daughter were over for lunch, and Hannah (my American roommate) wasn’t home, so I just sat there helplessly trying to keep track of the various conversations taking place in another language. To add to the confusion, the TV was on and playing the American children’s show Phineas and Ferb. Here’s a rough translation:
“Cristina, eat your soup.
But Mama, it burns my mouth!
Zapatero, he needs to go. This smoking law is--
But that other guy, he has no blood.
IT BURNS MY MOUTH!
Rosa, this pork turned out well, can I have the recipe?
You have it already. More beans, Clara?
What?
Beans, Clara. Beaaaannnnns.
Oh, okay, yeah.
Hola, Ferb!
What?
I swear Zapatero is going to run this country into the ground.
I said, HOLA FERB!
Oh, um, hello, Phineas.
I always get so cold when I eat.
This weather, right? Hell’s freezing over, and Spain with it.
That’s not how you say it! Phee-nee-aaas.
Phineas.
Noooo!
Cristina, I think Clara knows how to speak English better than you do.
But I can count ALL THE WAY TO TEN! Wan, two, tree...
More beans?”
I just smiled and pretended like I knew what was going on, trading amused glances with my host parents’ son-in-law, who was the only other person not speaking. Anyway, I was eventually able to pronounce Phineas to Cristina’s satisfaction and I even made a joke that translated well for once.
As amusing as this situation is to reflect on, in all seriousness the feeling of being lost in a foreign country is not a good one. Speaking in Spanish all the time is a lot, lot harder than I thought it would be. I don’t think I’ve actually gotten worse at it since being here, but it sure feels like it. My English skills are suffering as well, it feels like, especially as we start mixing up grammar rules and words of the two languages from speaking Spanglish to each other. One of my fellow Americans was joking that we’re just not going to be able to communicate in either language for a while, and then we’re just going to get better at both of them. Having Spanish classes every day is helping somewhat, but my brain is so tired out from trying to work in another language that by the time I get home and try to talk with my family, all I can say is: “Me want food, day good, potatoes Pope.”
I’ll be starting next week as a tutor for students trying to learn English, so I’m hoping that will help bolster my self-esteem a little and make me feel like less of a child that can’t even hold a steady conversation about Phineas and Ferb with a six year-old.
Anyway, I was going to put up more pictures, but for some reason the picture up-loader won't show any of my new pictures, I don't know what the deal is. As soon as I figure it out, I'll post some pictures of the beach and the castle and amazing hot chocolate.
In the meantime, let me share with you my current obsession: My Immortal, infamously the worst piece of fan fiction ever written in the history of everything. To attempt to explain it wouldn't do it justice, but I'll try anyway just to prod you into reading it. The author is a dyslexic, possibly-twelve or (maybe) thirteen year old "goth" girl who spends half of the text explaining her character's hilariously cliche punk outfits and the other half pissing on JK Rowling's masterpieces of Harry Potter. There are Vampires and time travel (with appearances from Marty McFly), and Harry "Vampire" Potter's signature lightning-bolt scar is now a pentagram. The characters do stupid shit for no apparent reason, and casual spelling errors quickly become bellylaugh-inducing fountains of hilarity (i.e., "'You fucking poser,' I muttoned."). The characters of JK Rowling's beloved series are transformed to the point of absurdity--take, for example, Harry's owl Hedwig who is reborn in "My Immortal" as Lord Voldemort's bisexual ex-lover in the 1980s. The first sex scene reads as follows:
Then he put his thingie into my you-know-what and we did it for the first time.
“Oh! Oh! Oh! ” I screamed. I was beginning to get an orgasm. We started to kiss everywhere and my pale body became all warm. And then….“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING YOU MOTHERFUKERS!”
It was…………………………………………………….Dumbledore!
Heh, heh. Judge me as you will for spending my free time in Spain reading this, but you know you want to. Here's the link: http://myimmortalrehost.webs.com/chapters122.htm
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