That's
right everyone. I'm doing my own rehash of this
meme. Get over it.
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| found On Insanity |
Well,
before we really get to the core theme of this post, I owe you a
brief update/apology due to my—until now—inexplicable two week
absence. Things have continued in much their usual manner here in
the gorge, except for one or two changes. Since my last post, I've
written several essays for school here (some of which were graded
fondly, others of which received a sound thrashing), written several
emails to my home university (UCSD) regarding my readmission (which
has, finally,
been granted), and read several emails, letters, and poems of
consolation on behalf of Lander, who passed away during this hiatus.
Let's just say, as this is the second puppy we've lost in a matter of
weeks, I took it even harder. I'm pretty sure there was an entire
day where all I ate was white rice, hot chocolate, and red wine. On
top
of that, I had to read an absurdist novella the same weekend for
class, exacerbating my inevitable grief and depression. If you're
interested in feeling completely hopeless and dejected, be sure to
pick up a copy of Albert Camus's L’Étranger at
your local book shop! My French professor insists that “if you
read one book zis year, it should be zis one” (to which I replied,
“where's your Prozac?”).
And
yet, I am reminded that there is goodness everywhere. If I wanted
positive superstitious tidings, I'd have no farther to look than our
backyard, where I've seen several cape wagtails—traditionally
considered to bring good luck. We also had a thunderstorm-blackout;
this quickly transfigured into a serendipitous opportunity to
converse with our neighbors by candlelight and enjoy part of the
blustery evening together. In the same spirit of new beginnings,
Maggie and I have started a new project! I've been collecting
knick-knacks here and there and mixing LOADS of paint for our new
doll house :] Pictures of the finished product are guaranteed, but
I'll try and scrounge up some photos “in-the-making” as well.
Conversely, in the realm of happy endings, I just finished re-reading
Eragon
and Eldest,
the first two books in a four-part series that I have yet to
complete—of course, I was using the books as my own personal combo
of escapism and the need to accomplish something.
Now,
onward.
clerk:
“clark”
as
in, Clark Kent
South
African for “clerk”
as
in, legal clerk
the
professor who mentioned this in a law class I've been sporadically
auditing made it blatantly clear that it would be incorrect
to say clerk in the American fashion and seem extremely naïve and
unprofessional.
cross:
“cross”
as
in, cross your heart and hope to die, stick a needle in your eye
South
African for “angry, upset, crabby, or generally disagreeable”
as
in, “she was so cross with me yesterday!”
definitely
something I'd never
catch myself saying, unless I intended to be sarcastically formal in
some situation. The only time I've found myself getting “cross”
is when I'm dehydrated: saline drip please!!
pleasure:
“pleh-juh”
as
in, Hermione Granger's response on the Hogwarts Express after meeting
Ron Weasley
South
African for “No problem;” usually follows after someone doing you
a favor
most
awkward phrase I've encountered by far—it comes across as quaint
and sweet-natured when people use it—and yet, I can't bring myself
to use it without bursting out laughing
cheers:
“ch-earz”
as
in, “three cheers for the mighty Hercules!”
South
African for “adios muchacho(s)/a(s), hasta luego”
usually,
this is how people end a phone call, short chat in line, or as a
goodbye greeting to the security guards at the grocery stores. I
mentioned the security dudes, right?
shame:
“sh-A-m”
as
in, Phantom
of the Opera's
“Il Muto/ Poor Fool He Make Me Laugh” when the chorus sings
“shame, shame, shame” on the mistress for having an affair
South
African for “poor thing, too bad, I'm so sorry!, pobrecito mi
cariña”
after
much deliberation, I've come to agree with Carina that this is a
nicer alternative to the American habit of constantly apologizing for
someone's misfortune/loss/bad luck/whatever because you're not really
sorry,
you just empathize and feel for them. This way, you don't have to
get into the bad habit of your tongue tumbling over itself to say
that sour word, “sorry”
slops:
“sl-aw-ps”
as
in, “here Wilbur, come eat your slops!” “Oink, oink”
South
African for “flip flops”
I
recently got another pair of flip flops in blue—my three year old,
black Old Navy ones are really getting their wear and tear here—and
a girl friend at “varsity” (South African for “university”)
goes, “I like your slops.” I was pretty confused for at least
three minutes before figuring out she was giving me a compliment...
whoopsidaisies
margarine:
“maw-juh-rEEn”
as
in, a ridiculous, veggie oil processed substitute for good
old-fashioned butter—blechk
South
African for a majority of people's preferred spread for toasts and
other baked tasties
One
of the odd, early experiences I had here was how different the butter
tasted. I'm not one to skimp out on the good things in life, namely,
salt, sugar, and butter. When I'm sick, I can live off of rice with
butter and salt, and maybe some juice. So coming here and having the
general flavor/flavour of the butter be...not as delicious was
disappointing and has caused me to splurge on imported butter for
almost all of my baking endeavors here. Not a criticism, just
something I'm not willing to adjust to I suppose. Go figure
must:
“must-ard”
as
in, “you have to, ya gotta, pretty please do x”
South
African for “ I really really want you to do this thing so I'm
gonna tell you that you have to”
Now,
if someone in the States came up to me and was continually bombarding
me with the phrase “you must, you must, you must,” I think I'd
explode, or at least give them a snarky piece of my mind about it.
But here, it's the norm, and the simplest way to tell someone you
care about that you don't want them to miss out on some thing you
think is the height of awesome
kokis:
“coke-E-z”
as
in, the fond nickname one might bestow upon their obsessively addicted friends
South
African for “markers,” the childhood coloring implements
Tracey,
one of my neighbors who I carpool with to school every week, has two
daughters. The elder girl, Candace, was an au pair in Arizona for a
year and Tracey was telling me about some of the “language barrier”
issues she encountered. For example, telling the little boys to
“pick up their kokis” was much more confusing than she originally
anticipated
school
jersey: “skool-jer-Z”
as
in, what Americans would call a sleeveless sports top for one's
school
South
African for thick, pull-over sweater (not a button-up/zip-up)
Many
of the newer buildings on campus are air conditioned, which is
simultaneously refreshing and terrible; while it's nice to get a
break from the hot & humid outdoors, after a few minutes indoors,
you begin to shiver, goosebump, and wonder what the difference is
between lecture and the freezer. My friend Aideen (“A-deen”)
lent me her school jersey in the library the other day after I
started getting goosebumps
sweetheart:
“swEEt-harrt”
as
in, the non-seasonally-affiliated equivalent of “valentine*”
South
African for “gee, I wish we were much
better friends”
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| *As a side note, I'm pretty sure this is the first year of my life that I haven't consumed an embarrassing amount of these... My friend Mary Schreck's favorite has always been the one that says FAX ME |
So,
as some of you know, I studied abroad in Spain this past summer.
Before leaving, we were briefed on several customs of the country,
such as kissing on the cheek when meeting [Spanish] someone instead
of shaking hands [American] and other such things. Two behaviors we
were warned about in Spain that have proved much more intense in
South Africa were rampant catcalls and more blunt/rude comments. In
Spain, most of the people calling out to young women—which is very
common—are super old geezers who really don't mean any harm and,
probably, couldn't do much harm even if they wanted to. Harmelss
cajoling. The conversational rudeness manifested itself in a few
different ways; example, Mónica,
my host mother, telling me I was going to get fat from eating sweets
(she was upset I didn't eat the fourth
course of the dinner she made us). Obviously, I'm a bad person. But
anyways, back to my point. People here unabashedly catcall/casually
catcall and are rude WAY more often. Every time I go to the
on-campus bookstore for something, the clerk there calls me
sweetheart and chats me up as if we spent the entire past weekend
hanging out. Totally bizarre. The catcalls here also feel more like
threats, purely based on the fact that a lot
more men here are likely to be rapists. Like 1 in 4 men. Definitely
changes the reaction I have to what I wish were hapless jeers.
MORE ABOUT CANDY & ART
If you're not into the traditional candy splurge, there are several
artistic alternatives. I found these incredible shots on a wordpress blog that y'all may want to check out. ZEITGUISED
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