Day 12, A Song by a Band I Hate

I have nothing against this particular band or this particular song. However, I absolutely detest this genre of music. Can't stand it. Not even a little bit. I hate that the rhythm follows the weird up beats on

Every.
Single.

Song. 

I hate the constant, repetitive accordion. I hate that the lead singers in these types of bands always force their voices through the larynx and into the nasal cavity. I hate that they never sound like they have enough air. I hate it all. It's nauseating.

I didn't even listen to the whole song because it makes me want to pierce my tympanic membranes with a blunt stick. I just googled this band and this was the first song that came up. So here it is, in all its gut-wrenching, brain-grating glory.

Day 11, A Song by My Favorite Band

Bendita la luz - Mana y Juan luis guerra by sanshiro

Just like favorite song, I cannot choose a favorite band. But if I had to choose one band to listen to for the rest of my life, it would be Maná. Or Adele. Or Depeche Mode. Or maybe Steely Dan. Or maybe they'd just have to kill me. What? You know, the people making me choose just one band's music for life -- they'd have to inflict whatever consequences there are when I couldn't choose one band to listen to for life. Side note: I don't really understand that whole dilemma when people say, "If I had to choose just one band/food/shirt/color/whatever for the rest of my life ..." Who is going to make you do that?

Or!  There's this song, done by the above band covering it after it was originally recorded by Marco Antonio Solis.

Day 10, A Song That Makes Me Fall Asleep

I can't think of a single song that will actually make me fall asleep or even feel sleepy.  The box fan in my bedroom, though?  Puts me right out.  But that's neither here nor there.

Once upon a time Miriam was the happiest, mellowest, most pleasant baby ever known to man.  Until it was time to ride in the car.  The instant she was strapped into that car seat she morphed into the angriest, scream-iest, most stressful baby ever.  And then one day the ex-husband and I discovered that this song instantly tamed her.  She stopped crying, she fell asleep and we arrived at our destination much less harried.  We wore out that CD.

Miriam still adores this song.  It's on her MP3 player and she listens to it regularly.  And you know what?  She's one of the happiest, mellowest, most pleasant little girls ever.  Until it's time to ride in the car.  Just kidding!  She did grow out of that.

Spoon

Spoon. Oh, yes.  I really like Spoon.

Let's see, where do I start? Oh, how about with the transportation? I planned out my trip so that I would arrive via train and bus just before 8, when the openers started. But I went to dinner first with friends, lost track of time and missed the train. So I took a later one and missed the bus. No problem, I'll just catch a later bus, right? Wrong. The next bus wasn't for another hour. So I walked. It actually wasn't too bad, though. It was just over a mile. I ate way too much at dinner and the walk was a good way to burn some calories.

Anyway, when I got there everyone else was already inside so Jennifer came out to meet me with my ticket and we got in without any problems and found our crew some where near the front.  The openers, as Caleb said, "Aren't bad.  I just don't like them.  Plus, that dude with the guitar is going to break.  Like a twig."  His description of the guitarist was right on -- he was really, really skinny.  And not very smart.  He tried to make a reference to Layne Staley but instead said 'Layne Stanley.'  People didn't like his talking and not singing so he started to get some heckling.  Someone flipped him off and he said, "Hey, why would you do that?  You know, there was this lady named Emily Post who wrote some books -- you should f@ck!n' read 'em."  That was kind of funny.

Somewhere during this I noticed puffs of smoke rising periodically from the crowd.  Now it was pretty smokey in there because of the fog machines and stuff but there's no smoking allowed.  However, it was quickly evident that this was not cigarette smoke.  But you know, Colorado does allow people to smoke medical marijuana with a prescription, so who knows?  Maybe our fellow concert-goers had chemo treatments earlier in the day or were suffering from cataracts.  You never know.

I think it was right about this time that I started to smell something really foul and no, I'm not talking about the pot.  It was really, really disgusting.  Like stockyard disgusting.  Jennifer smelled it, too and we decided that the girl in front of us had farted.  It was so gross.  I don't think I've ever smelled something that nasty from a person.

Standing so close to that many people is weird sometimes.  I mean, in addition to the pot and the farts.  The girl in front of me was really drunk and kept swaying and stepping backwards into my personal space, which is already tiny in a setting like this.  Her hair was getting in my drink.  Caleb offered to trade places with me and then he stood right next to her and didn't move when she backed up.  Finally she realized what she was doing and went away.  It took her a really long time to notice, though.

And then some where around here, I got hit in the back of the head by some guy's elbow.  I turned around to see what happened and there was a guy behind me with his arms flailing around.  At first I couldn't tell what happened.  It looked like either a seizure or body-surfing gone bad.  As it turns out, it was neither.  Two guys got into it over personal space and one started throwing punches.  Caleb picked up the aggressor and threw him off the other guy.  So he left.  The guy who got punched was bleeding and lost his glasses.  That sucked.

Just before the show ended I noticed this guy who wandered into my line of site.  I took a photo because the quote on his shirt is so cool.  It says, "Only when the last river has been poisoned, the last tree has been cut down and the last fish has been killed will man realize that he cannot eat money."  I just love that.  I wish more people thought like that.

And here is my very, very dark photo of the Capitol.  I have a thing for the Capitol.  I don't know why.  I just like it.

Google Voice Message 4

Hello to see of. Later is. Hey Leanne, Noon, and, but I'm writing. Hey. Jessie here. Lou Hey Bro, bye hello. I don't know, Hello Hi saying that he's you can, alright, it's, Hi, Hello yeah, Hi Yeah who. Hello something. Okay bye. Hey. Okay bye. Say hello i yeah 4, Hello, Yes, hello it. Yeah, but hey, believe it. We are going on. Hello bye bye electricity by do it. Yeah x Hey C, but yeah.

This was another pocket dial, from the ex-husband this time. He was in church. Singing. In Spanish. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Bye. Yeah.

I Forgot All About These

Back in the summer when I visited the kids in Albuquerque we walked from our hotel to the zoo. We passed a park that had been renovated by the people in the neighborhood. There were a couple of huge concrete pillars tiled with wishes and memories written by the people who live in the neighborhood.  They made me smile so I took some photos. And then I forgot about them until tonight when I came across them while browsing other photos.

This is America! Speak English!

Whatever.  This statement irritates me to the point of incoherence but I'm going to attempt to break down exactly why I get so annoyed, frustrated and yes, even angry when I hear it.  This should be self-evident to the general population but obviously it isn't, judging by the ignorance I see and hear around me every day.  Here we go.  (And please excuse my semi-graphic language.  I'm a little worked up.  And sometimes I can vent my worked-upedness with a few well-placed, gross descriptions.)

First, the great United States of America does not have an official language.  In case it's not clear, our language was borrowed from -- get this, you're gonna love it! -- the English!  And I'd wager money that a lot of Brits look down upon this bastardization of their language.

Second, one of the great principles of this country is that everyone is welcome.  If we're going to tell people they're welcome to join us and be part of our communities we can't very well hit them with the stipulation that they must learn "our" language first, can we?  The vast majority of people immigrating to this country do their best to learn and speak English as quickly as they can.  The narrow-minded punks that insist on mimicking their accents or sneering at their mispronunciations suck major donkey balls.

Third, most individuals looking down upon non-English speakers have never tried to learn another language themselves.  If they had, they'd think twice about slamming immigrants for their speech.  It's really freaking hard, and I know that first hand.

Fourth, having duplicate or even triplicate instructions on customer service menus, at the grocery store or any where else isn't hurting anyone who speaks English as a first -- or only -- language.  And it can mean all the world to someone struggling to learn English.  Being able to compare words and sentence structure side-by-side was a major factor in my learning Spanish as quickly as I did.

Fifth, learning another language can be pretty humiliating.  I still mess up my Spanish sentence structure and verb tenses way more than I care to admit.  I know I do it and I'm trying to do better all the time, but it's still embarrassing.  Fortunately, the patients I work with understand that, are grateful that I make the attempt and they are extremely patient and helpful when I do mess up.  If they instead laughed at me or made me feel like less of a human, I'd be really hurt.  Can you imagine how someone who's new to the country and doing the best they can feels when an American laughs at them?

Sixth, world-wide, the opinion of Americans is pathetically low.  Part of this is our arrogance and our basic refusal to learn the languages of our neighbors.  People who insist, "This is America, speak English!" are only serving to reinforce the idea that Americans are the festering canker sores on the hairy ass of humanity.

I understand that my opinion is the way it is because of my fairly unique background.  I married into a family of immigrants and learned their language by immersion.  I've spent most of my adult life in a community whose population consisted of nearly 1/3 Hispanic people, most of whom spoke Spanish and English.  Most of my career so far has been spent working in a school where white children were the minority.  I have a broad perspective.  And I refuse to cowtow to the pathetic ignorance of a sad majority.

I also understand that there are some people who come to this country and refuse, outright, to learn English.  I've met some of them.  But they are a tiny minority of the immigrant population.  It's unfair for everyone to be judged the same way because of them.

And this is why my blood pressure spent the better part of yesterday around 140/90.

Invasion of the Radio Snatchers

My Spanish radio station disappeared. It has been replaced by another Spanish station that plays music I do not enjoy. Not only do I not enjoy it, I actively dislike it. The rhythms grate on my nerves like a spoon stuck in the garbage disposal.

Vocabulary Lesson

I learned a new Spanish slang word. It is tumbaburros and it means to be drowsy. However, when broken down and translated literally, it means to knock down a donkey. Tumbar is to knock something over and burro is donkey. Spanish is funny like that. Gives whole new meaning to the phrase 'knock you on your ass,' doesn't it?