One evening, a few days back: after an extended period working here at the computer, I got up for my own personal seventh inning stretch, grabbed the remote, cranked up the tube to see what was happening on the local stations. A family sitcom played on one of the two state channels, the story featuring the father, a person slowly unraveling from overwork. I tuned in as something did not go the way he wanted and he momentarily lost it, raising his arms and shouting, "¡ME CAGO EN LA LECHE!" (Literally, "I shit in the milk!") Reminding me all over again of yet another difference between life here and life stateside: what would be considered foul, unacceptable language in the universe of mainstream America is here often seen as just another way to express oneself. Just another part of life. Which is not to say that spewing pithy colloquialisms centered around lower body functions is looked on kindly by all the locals in all situations, just that highly colorful language is integrated pretty thoroughly in the culture, to the point that it can materialize in surprising fashion via pretty much any given legitimate media outlet. It's such a normal part of life that I tend to forget about it. Until I happen across an example that, you know, stands out.
And speaking of pithy colloquialisms centered around bodily functions, language classes continue as the ongoing pre-DELE exam cram moves forward, me spending three hours every weekday in a small room with a blackboard, my adorable butt parked in a sophisticated instrument of torture posing as a folding chair. It's a major amount of input, entailing substantial work outside the classroom, and I've experienced the stray moment of wondering why I'm doing this to myself. Then the instructor will drop a bit of language on us that reminds me all over again, at least in part, why. (One word: fun.)
For example -- and I admit this may only be of interest to those of us who have at one point or another qualified as a teenage male -- the word for both toejam and navel lint: pelotillas (literally, little balls).
Do not ask me to explain why factoids like that make me happy. I will not answer.
On to studying. Later.
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A genuine shop-window display (in an otherwise normal make-up/wig shop) seen this morning along la Calle de Hortaleza, Madrid:
Madrid, te quiero.
rws 8:10 AM [+]
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