Author: David Diego Rodríguez, Ph.D.

I teach Spanish and I am a standup comedian.

Junk


South Side, Chicago, Illinois.

Once, while traveling in the country, Mark Twain saw a sign that read, “Junk bought, antiques sold.”

To my mother, junk wasn’t merely just junk. To this day, I realize that there’s junk, and then there’s Mexican junk–there is no Spanish word for junk, although I did see a sign that read “Yonke” in my travels through Mexico).

My mother managed to salvage just about everything she found in the alley. No chair was so splintered, no dresser was missing too many handles or drawers, no bed frame was so rusty or bent that they could not be repaired, refurbished, or rehabilitated with a little paint, elbow grease, and TLC. If my mother found something that was too heavy or bulky for her to bring home, she would come home to get me and between the two of us we would put it into the back of her red Volkswagen Squareback station wagon.

My mother always knew some Mexican or an entire Mexican family who had just come from Mexico and needed furniture. She would help them set up a home by giving them whatever furniture she had found. She genuinely loved to help people and she would never ask for any money in return. Occasionally, someone would offer money, but she would refuse it saying that they could repay her when they were settled down. People would come from Mexico and look for my mother because they knew that she would help them.

When I bought my four-flat house in Bridgeport, I attempted to help Mexicans on a smaller scale than my mother. I only helped my Mexican tenants and a few of their friends. When my brother lived in one of my apartments, he wanted to get rid of his living room set, but didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t know anyone who needed furniture at the moment, so I told him to put it out in the alley only he didn’t want to throw it away. I explained to him that if we put it in the alley early Sunday morning, the Mexicans going to church would see it and take it home with them. Sure enough, all his furniture was gone within an hour.

When I got divorced and I needed to refurnish my new house, I got most of my furniture from my brother and sister. Sometimes I feel so Mexican!

DDR

¡Ask a Mexican!


The politically incorrect guide to Mexicans.

I recently read the book ¡Ask a Mexican! by Gustavo Arellano. Even though I consider myself to be of the Mexican persuasion, I learned so much about Mexicans! I didn’t realize how little I knew about Mexicans despite the fact that I am Mexican. Well, after reading this book, I underwent another identity crisis about my being American and mi mexicanidad. I am fully fluent in Spanish and English, but I don’t feel that I speak either language like a native speaker! Perhaps that’s just me being me whenever I read about Mexicans writing about Mexicans.

Anyway, this politically incorrect book provides “questions and answers about our spiciest Americans” such as: Why aren’t there Mexicans on Star Trek? Will Mexicans eat anything without  hot sauce? How come so many Mexicans send their money to Mexico? Why do Mexicans swim in the ocean with their clothes on? What part of illegal don’t Mexicans understand?

I really enjoyed reading the book because I learned a lot of new swear words in Spanish that only Mexicans use because they invented them. Mexicans are known worldwide for using the most profanities of all Spanish speakers in their everyday speech–I really should learn this new vocabulary so that I may curse fluently the next time I go to Mexico.

Actually, there’s a very good chance that I’ll probably meet a Mexican before I come back home tonight, so I should memorize these words immediately. I find it ironic that people who don’t speak Spanish listen to the busboys, landscapers, or laborers swearing at each other and then think that Spanish is a beautiful language. I’ve listened to these Mexicans “communicating” and at least every fourth word is a profanity! However, the language does sound beautiful and elegant because they are speaking a romance language.

DDR

Half-baked beaners


Kiss me… I speak Spanish

On the first day of the semester, I had students in three separate classes tell me, “I’m Mexican, but I don’t speak Spanish.” And they were genuinely embarrassed as they told me. I knew exactly how they felt because I once felt the same way when I had forgotten how to speak Spanish. I tried to comfort them by telling them about my three sons who don’t speak Spanish either. I always wanted to raise my children in a Spanish-speaking environment where no English was spoken. When I met my ex-wife she always told me to speak Spanish to her. Even though she never responded in Spanish, she understood everything I told her. I truly thought we would have children who spoke Spanish at home. However, she never spoke Spanish and later insisted on me speaking English only. So, I understand when Mexicans are embarrassed because they don’t speak Spanish.

DDR

Driving on fumes


Nachos in the USA

I was once driving in San Diego with my sons after leaving the hotel. I had to wake them up “early” so we could check out of the hotel on time. They were half asleep when we piled into the car.

We had spent the day before at the beach because, “How could we go to California and not go to the beach?” As I was drove away from the hotel, I saw a sign that said, “Old San Diego District.” My sons weren’t interested in seeing much of anything since I woke them up so early. They weren’t enjoying the scenery at all. But I continued my sightseeing tour.

Suddenly, I smelled some delicious Mexican food. I wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but I knew it was Mexican food. Since I was hungry, I followed the aroma and arrived at a Mexican restaurant that looked like it was transplanted from Mexico. It looked so Mexican!

However, my sons didn’t want to eat there. They would rather sleep than eat! I tried to convince them that they would never have an opportunity to eat a restaurant like this again. So I drove around the restaurant once and we left San Diego. I’m sure that was the best restaurant that I never ate at.

DDR

Spanish slang


Mexican Spanish slang

Sometimes when I teach my Spanish classes, students will ask me how to swear in Spanish. They express disappointment when I inform them that I will not teach them how to swear in Spanish. However, whenever I ask who knows how to swear in Spanish, at least half of the students always raise their hands. “If you want to learn how to swear in Spanish, see these students after class,” I tell the inquisitive student.

Occasionally, students will ask me about certain words they heard someone saying, but then couldn’t find in their English-Spanish dictionary for some strange reason. These words are invariably profanities. The word “güey” is a common topic in class because some Mexicans use it so often–so frequently, that students think that it’s okay to use it in any context. However, under the wrong circumstances, “güey” is an insult that could result in physical abuse to the speaker. Literally, “güey” means ox. That doesn’t really sound so insulting, does it? In Mexico, “güey” has been used as an insult for so long, that it no longer even refers to an ox. To put it in perspective, think of the word that refers to the female dog: “bitch.” That word has become so offensive that I would never call any self-respecting female dog a bitch. It’s that bad! So, remember: “güey” has the same negative connotations as “bitch.”

A few years back, the Mexican restaurant Chi Chi’s had a radio commercial with the following dialogue: “No way!” “Yes way!” “No way!” “Yes way!” And when the commercial was over, the announcer said, “By the way, never say way to a Mexican.” But I’m sure he really meant, “By the way, never say “güey” to a Mexican.” I think that’s good advice everyone should follow!

DDR