I actually saw the movie Stranger Than Fiction because it was about a writer writing a novel. I liked the way the line between reality and fiction was blurred. I bought the DVD when it came out and I actually saw it soon afterwards. I only say this because I have a stack of DVDs that I bought years ago and have yet to see.
Another reason I wanted to see it was because I have a personal connection with this movie. It was filmed partly at UIC. In fact, I had to change classrooms because they filmed in my classroom.
One day, as I talked to a student in the hallway, another student said, “Did you see who just walked behind you?” Of course, I didn’t. Because I like to make eye contact when I talk to someone. Well, it was Dustin Hoffman! And I didn’t see him! People at UIC who were around the film crew said that Dustin Hoffman was actually funnier than Will Ferrell in person.
So that was my brush with greatness. And I missed it!
Actually, that’s only the half of it. When I was in Celaya, Sometimes my cousin Ignacio caught himself in mid-word, “¡Chin … !“, when he saw children around, and not complete the final syllables of “-gado.” My father would start out, “Chi …” and then see my brothers and me, and immediately change to the word, “¡Chihuahua!” You see Mexicans are famous for being the most notorious practitioners of swearing of all Spanish speakers in the world. And their favorite swear word has to be, “chingado.” Occasionally, when my father didn’t feel like referring to dogs or cheese with the word “chihuahua” would say, “chispas,” which merely means sparks. So if you hear someone who is frustrated by their present circumstances, and they shout, “¡Chispas!“, “¡Chihuahua!“, or “¡Chingado!“, behold (and beware), because you are most certainly in the presence of a Mexican.
¡Ay Chihuahua! is a common Mexican expression.
The other day, my Spanish class asked me about the word “chingado” and I was brutally honest with them. I told them that it’s derived from an Aztec word. Since I had the interest of the entire class, I snuck in a Spanish class without them realizing it. I began with the infinitive chingar and I conjugated it for them: chingo, chingas, chinga, chingamos, chingáis, chingan. They were so enthralled by me lesson that they didn’t even complain that I had used the vosotros form of the verb, as they usually are scared of it. I even showed them how to use the past participle as an adjective: chingado gobierno, chingada migra, chingados rateros, chingadas cuentas. Once I had their interest, I was able to teach that day’s lesson easily. They paid attention the whole class. It was simply amazing!
I have always believed that I am very adaptable and that I could survive anywhere in the world.
In fact, I’ve always fantasized that if you flew me anywhere in the world blindfolded and pushed me out of an airplane, I would somehow live and prosper because of my survival skills. Since I have never gone skydiving, you would have to blindfold me and you would have to push me very firmly to get me to jump out of a perfectly fully functioning, flying airplane. Not jumping out of airplanes is one of my innate survival skills that I highly value. I have never had the urge to go skydiving. When I was in the Marines, a few of my friends wanted me to go skydiving, but I am afraid of heights, so I went to the library instead. And, thus, I live to tell this tale!
Anyway, despite knowing that I’m very adaptable and can get along with just about anyone, just about anywhere, I always get this vague feeling that I’m always in the wrong place and the wrong time. I often feel that I do not belong right here where I am right now, if you know what I mean.
It’s an eerie feeling that’s difficult to describe. No matter where I am, I feel as if I should be somewhere else. As a boy, I truly thought that I was born into the wrong family. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to be born to a Mexican family because I certainly didn’t fit in. When I was in Mexico, I thought I should be in Chicago, until I returned to Chicago where I felt that I really belonged in Mexico.
I wasn’t born in the right era either. I should have been a medieval scribe of some sort. Or, I should have been born in New York City in the early 1900s. If I’m with my friends, I feel as if I should be with my sons and family. If I’m with my sons, I feel as if I should be with my girlfriend, but when I’m with her I wish I could be with her, and my sons, family, and friends.
As I write this, I feel guilty for not working on my tax return or correcting Spanish compositions. When I’m teaching, I think about how nice it would be to stay home. Now, that I’m on spring break, I miss my students. What should I do? Maybe I should jump out of a plane.
University Hall, University of Illinois at Chicago
When I was an undergrad, I couldn’t decide on a major. After much deliberation, I finally narrowed it down to English or Spanish. After even more deliberation, I decided not to decide and I double-majored in English and Spanish. My emphasis in both majors was literature.
I love to read. And besides, my personal agenda includes writing The Great American Novel, that is, if I ever actually got around to sitting down at my computer and writing a novel. Nothing would help me achieve my goal more easily than majoring in Spanish, and oh, yes, English, too.
Anyway, by doing this double major, I straddled two academic cultures. I saw the best and worst of both worlds. Most of the students who majored in Spanish were from the middle or lower class and were very humble. The students who majored in English were also from the middle or lower class, but they thought they were really cool. Not every English major exuded this arrogant aura of “cool.” Just a handful, but just enough to annoy the rest of the class. Whenever they said something they thought was extremely brilliant or witty, they would proudly announce, “I’m an English major!” as if no one else in the classroom was also an English major.
Some of the English professors were of the plain vanilla variety who seemed tired of Academia, the “cool” English majors, and the literature they taught. The Spanish professors, on the other hand, were from Spanish-speaking countries who also seemed tired of Academia, but lacked “cool” students, and absolutely loved their subject. In general, there was much more laughter in my Spanish classes than in my English classes. The Spanish professors weren’t afraid to reveal their cynicism and world-weariness in satirical and humorous ways, and besides, the literature in Spanish is generally much funnier than literature in English.
Of course, whatever literary theory I learned in English classes, I applied to my Spanish classes, thereby making me one of the better Spanish students. I have never regretted my decision to major in both English and Spanish. Eventually, I will write a novel, even if it doesn’t achieve The Great American Novel status. But I did learn a lot about world literature as a double major in Spanish and English. I feel so “cool” since I majored in English!
Okay, so how do I write my blog entries? Well, I’ll tell you. I don’t know. I have no rhyme or reason when I sit down at the computer to write a blog entry. In fact, when I’m at my computer, I’m usually supposed to be doing something else, “important academic work” such as grading online Spanish homework or compositions.
However, I never do what I’m supposed to do in a straight-forward fashion. For example, right now, I sat at the computer to grade online Spanish homework, send an email to my cousin in Mexico, enter student grades on my Excel spreadsheet, and then with time permitting, write a blog entry for the sake of posterity that will better the world in untold ways. Well, I hate correcting online homework online, I can’t think of anything to write my cousin, and I dread the thought of staring at a spreadsheet this early in the morning, so I think I’ll start with a blog entry!
So how do I choose my topics? I don’t know! I have many ideas percolating in my head, some for many years now, that somehow manage to ooze out through my fingertips and out into cyberspace. I can’t always contain them. And so they wind up in a blog entry.
As you’ve probably noticed, I’m rarely topical or current. I’ve reached that age where I’m very fascinated with the past, the nostalgic elements of life. I rarely invent anything that I write. I’m just not that creative. I write about just about everything that I remember because I have a good memory.
How good is my memory? Well, I remember things that most of my friends don’t remember even the slightest detail. But a good memory is like a double-edged sword: it cuts both ways. I also have some painful memories that I would like to forget but can’t. I have issues with my good memory: 1. I remember most things that ever happened to me, and 2. I remember many things that never happened to me. My imagination invents events from my past and I truly believe that they really happened to me. I try to block those out, but I don’t always manage to censor them.
Well, I will end this blog entry rather abruptly today, as I do with most blog entries. I have some things that I really have to do. But first, I’ll go out for my morning run.
Chicago USA 