We´ve all got songs that remind us of the good times, right? We can all relate to how the Venga Boys makes us think of doing the bunny hop in JFK Middle School. I mean who wasn´t bouncing around like a sidways rabbit when those quacks (gender, anyone?) were screaming ¨BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM!¨ I can´t hear Electric Feel by MGMT, Sweet Child o Mine by GNR, or the number one club hit ¨I Love You (You Love Me)¨ by Barney ft the Purple Dinosaur Band without being immediately teleported to the times when those songs meant something to me and ruled my eardrums.
Well I´ve got a new one and I´d like to share it with you. But before I do so I will explain to you exactly how often this song invades my private space...
There have been about 12 mornings in the past 10 weeks that I haven´t woken up to ¨OOO WOWOWOWOWOWOWOW.¨ I don´t remember the last time I had a meal without singing ¨yo nací para ti y tú también para mi!¨ to a 4 year old girl while spitting enough tortillas on the ground to feed the three dogs of the house. It´s so bad that I regularly slip up and call my host mother ¨mi dulce princesa¨ (she has 7 kids and is happily married to a man that can actually speak her language fluently). So bad I once spent $4.36 saldo just looking to put the damn song as my Salvadoran cellphone backtone. (For the record I am still without. I´m just trying to share the experience.) I sleep to this song, I use the latrine to this song, I walk to this song, and am currently typing this blog to the song. If you don´t understand the lyrics, don´t sweat it... I didn´t either the first time I fell in love with it. I know you will, too. Just make sure you listen to it while you´re doing everything that you do all day and you´ll start to realize you have a theme song. Like the Jeffersons.
ENJOY...The taste of Salvadoran Radio
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VMknaRGpm5I
I think the full acceptance into the community has begun and I am livid... They started allowing me to retrieve the misled soccer balls that fly ever-so-woefully off the mountain side. Before yesterday I would make extraordinarily convincing attempts to start running down the mountain and under the barbed wire before someone would inevitably stop me and tell me that they would bite that bullet instead. The same old song and dance would ensue with me making very well practiced (and facetious) steps down the mountain before those quick footed buggers (accidentally) overtook me and went crashing through the zacate in pursuit of the pelota. This, as they say, was the life.
Yesterday I made three excursions down the mountain for four different balls and I have never in my life been so exhausted. It took me no less than 25 minutes to retrieve one ball and begin my off balance trip skyward when I looked up and saw another flying over the barbed wire and soaring so elegantly over my head and down the mountain to the exact same place the other had made its peace.
Long story short, I turned around, got the other ball and fell hard on my head climbing over the barbed wire to get back on the field. I still scored 4 goals, suckers. You can´t tucker me out!
HOLY HELL! No joke, this girls cell phone just started ringing next to me... Niña Bonita. I seriously hope that helps prove my point.
Naturally the conversation started like this ¨Halo. va pues!¨and ended like this ¨va. va. vaya. vaya pues. vaya. pues sí. vaya pues.¨
This place is stereotypical 1950´s in the United States. Imagine Grease with a Latin American twist. Men carry small pocket sized mirrors around and share them in public, constantly checking to make sure that their hair is in perfect position. That alone is funny enough, but they craziest part about it is this...
I live in a town of 170 people. There are no more than these 170 people without a serious walk of about 45 minutes. They see the same people all day everyday but after working their asses off in the fields, cutting trees down with machetes, they go home, shower, put at least 4 OZ of the best hair gel money can buy in their well kept black locks, stroll over to the nearest (and only) tienda in town and sit around doing pull ups, arm wrestling, and listening to Niña Bonita with the rest of the well styled boys of the town. There aren´t women around, there aren´t cameras, and there isn´t even a 1% chance of seeing someone that anyone is trying to impress but they, without fail, will sit around in small circles combing their hair in the reflections of mirrors about the size of a modest coffee table coaster.
(That said... They look infinitely better than I look at every single moment of every day. If they are looking to impress anyone I would call that a rather disappointing victory...they´ve impressed a male gringo.)
The women work entirely too hard to be concerned about their looks all day, by the way. So its a crazy reverse role here that I still not used to. The men are overly vain and concerned about their appearance and the women just work their asses off all day and probably haven´t seen since before last Sunday´s church service.
Through the help of a 17 year old aptly named Salvador and my host father Don Santos I have finally obtained my machete. It´s beautiful. Now I just gotta find some trees that need cutting down and I´ll put it to good use.
Perdimos, también. Real Madrid lost rather pathetically to Barcelona this past Saturday in the clasico. Thats a huge deal around here. The country is almost perfectly divided into Barca and Madrid camps. I swear to god these teams ruin marriages and make parents disown their children. Pick the wrong side during the clasico and you´re likely to be booed out of your own house and sleeping in the hammock.
I slept on the hammock Saturday night.
I´m craving a stupid ass story from home. Who cares to share?
I have quite a good one (or at least I think so).
ReplyDeleteYesterday while in the car a Justin Beiber song came on the radio. Bailee sang along like she does most songs, and after the song she says that she loves that song and wants to buy his cd.
Next we go to Market Basket. She finds a magazine with him on the front cover and begs for me to buy it so she can hang it on her wall. I told her that she didnt need it and Dan tells her that they have "magazines that have posters inside of it" and that he will buy her one at Walmart (our next stop).
We get to Walmart and Dan goes to find her the magazine and comes back with a poster. She flips out screaming like a teen because she is so excited. I ask her where she wants to hang it because she was going to Matt's last night and I was working on her room and I would hang it. She insists that it is right next to her bed so she can "sleep with Justin next to me".
Your niece has her 1st crush...and its a 16yr old boy.....
Greg! I literally sat here for about 1/2 hour to 45 minutes and read your entire blog. It is so crazy to hear about all the culture differences between us. When I finished reading this, I said to my roommate that it sounded like a book how eloquently it was written. You have to write a book!
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