Great post!

Another thought . . . do you tweet your new articles? I don’t recall seeing them tweeted each time a new post comes up. Time for some SSP (Shameless Self Promotion) . . your blog is awesome!
.-= Jeff timpanaro´s last blog ..Fatigue, Hospital Gown Push Me Over Edge, To Sabbatical =-.

Since we’re on the subject, how about a list of some Spanish I’ve learned over the years from a childhood missing a singular cultural identity…

pinata [peen YAH tah] – Everyone knows pinatas. They are the big papier mache characters you can only get at Pancho’s and Fiesta. They are usually shaped as either a big pink star or some amalgamation of Goofy, Mickey Mouse, and the Power Rangers all run through the teleportation chamber at the same time. (shout out to Brundle-Fly)

molcajete [mohl kah HE te] – This is a mortar and pestle made of stone and kept in the Mexican kitchen. It’s sole purpose is to grind tomatoes, onions and serrano peppers into one of mankind’s greatest achievements. You can also use it to make guacamole but I’m not too familiar with that usage as we did not eat much white boy food at my tita’s house.

cafe [coffee] – This is coffee. Folger’s I believe. In our kitchen there was no such thing as “hazelnut” or “dark roast” or “breakfast blend” or “flavor”. Coffee had a single purpose. It’s what you drink when you’re waiting for your brothers to show up to go to work. The men drank it black. Us kids had it slightly cut with milk. But we all got the morning started right.

preocupado [pray oh coo PAH doh] – This means worried. I learned this by continuously (and foolishly) expressing concern when my pops would begin ascending a half rotten ladder or carry nails in his mouth. “Careful” I’d say, which would quickly be dismissed with a smirk and the aforementioned term. Then my dad would toss a running buzz saw to my uncle and they would continue to finish the job. Oh, did I mention they were all drunk?

Looking back, my childhood, although at times confusing and perhaps even traumatizing to an extent, was pretty freaking bad ass. I go to count some pretty extraordinary people as family and had some pretty respectable role models. I also had some real worthless pieces of shit and utterly useless sociopaths to contend with, but I think that’s really what made it a successful adolescent experience. I learned a lot, linguistically and otherwise. Sure, we were poor; sure, we were Mexican. But, we always stuck together and ate bad ass food. I mean, what else is there?

Anyway, thanks to gunsandtacos for giving me an opportunity to remember my Mexican-ness, at least for a little while.