Learning Spanish and Things of Naturalization

After speaking in a completely alien language for a while, every time you speak it starts to feel like you're aping a bad joke way beyond any sane measure of overkill. A good joke is stolen from the heavens - to make a funny is to sneak something sacred out of the hands of the gods, and then put it back when they aren't looking. The angels love it, blow kisses to the furtive mortals. But to flaunt it is disgraceful. This language isn't mine, and until it is, I'm borrowing it. And to pretend it is would be simply immoral.

But as I find myself putting Valentina on my chips, capping even my English thoughts with "wey", and daydreaming of quesadillas at all hours, I have hope that perhaps I am not so far from my goal. I begin to understand on some superficial level.

Still, my spanish kind of sucks and I feel like a wigger. Someone just called and I had no idea what they were saying. It might as well have been pure gibberish or monkey chatter for all I understood. But then again, as I was writing that last sentence, someone else called and I understood perfectly.

Success comes when you say "fuck english" and break the frame. I think its pretty obvious, but you have to chisel your thoughts to their basic naked essence and clothe them properly from there. The garb makes all the difference. Can you imagine the horror of an argyle tophat?

That said, I need to flip ingles a fat digit and leave it in the crib for a while because its sucking up too much of my juice. See ya when I'm fluent.

Lately

I went to Torreon last weekend. My family were an amicable group of people. I don't really remember their names, except that the daddy was Jorge and so were his sons - I called them Jorgito and Jorgote to make things less confusing. The mother was sad to lose us as we left, I could tell, but it didn't quite hit me the same because I had spent most of my time in the house making friends with the bathroom, thanks to something that I ate at a taqueria. I had my first basketball game the other day and it was alright even though I only played for thirty seconds and culled a foul in my first 10. I have no idea how to act in team bball, I have lost all my skill. My profundity shows more in 1-on-1 or small-team games where every man is allowed a little more freedom and space and personality, where a fumble is less costly to the play. Regardless, I know have a sick hook and grasshopper legs when it comes down to it. I'm boggling my noggin trying to analyze my strategies and find solutions for these newfound neuroticisms. The weather is getting right chilly, and they tell me soon the poor thermometer is going to bottom out. Rotary has outfitted me with a stylish pallid jacket bearing my name and the mexican flag - a free gift! The rotary here gives and gives. In other news, terrorism is at an all time low in my house.