To answer Manuel Ramos's question (Pedacitos y Pedazos II): there's reasons Europeans think Chicano literature is suave. Maybe it's 'cause we're chingos alike.
It starts with the fact we talk a lot the same, and I'm not even counting the gachupine types. Por ejemplo, we Chicanos say "hijo de SU" a lot, and the French use the word SOU, a whole lot too. We say "crepa", they say "crêpe". See what I mean, ese? Sure they say "café" and make it sound so-fisticated, and we say "café", more like a macho, but that's probably only 'cause they live too close to the English wimps. At least we spell it the same.
Even words like mierda and merde, Bush and Bush, and mexicano, sound alot alike from a Frenchie or a Chicanoie mouth.
Now, as for a German (do I hear a Chicano name there?), what's he always eating? Sausages. How come they look a whole lot like chorizo? And I bet if you put a German together with a Chicano, the two of them could solve the world peace problem while they drank their favorite beverage--beer. Just a coincidence?
Then there's the Italians. We both share the mafioso problem, and we both like garlic and tomatoes--un chingos. Is it strange that noodles and fideo look so much alike? I don't think so.
I don't have to count the English, right? Just the Irish, okay? They like their música, like to pachanga, drinking beer and fighting--real machos, no? And we can't forget they're the only ones who joined the good side in the Mexican-American war, right? Plus, they've been fighting Anglo oppressors longer than we have.
Now I know there's more Europeans, like the Swiss (we both love queso and vienna(!) sausage, eh?), the Portuguese (ever notice how their language is usually taught in the same dept. as Spanish?) and yeah, even I can't hide the Spanish connection.
Come to think of it, maybe we're related more than we know, way back when--you know before Cortez, even. Maybe some Aztecas or Yucatecas or Cholos got lost cruisin' one night in their (14)57 lowriders and wound up being the first mojaus, landing right on a Riviera beach.
Maybe the Irish can thank those ancient mojaus for a love of poetry, or maybe a tamalada inspired the French to learn to cook like they can now, or--who knows-- maybe the blood of a Bonampak muralista ran in the veins of Miguelangelo--eh, Miguel? Coulda happened, and it could explain a lot.
W. Ronaldo
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1 comment:
Sedano, you forgot to tell that Frenchie that not all our schools are so equal. Like here in Denver where they don't bother spending the money to even teach us English.
So, not all the Frenchies are perfect, like us Chicanoies? Sacred blues!
Remind me never to wait on you, Sedano, in Paris or here.
"Who is W. Ronaldo?" you ask.
W. Ronaldo is my name, though I've gone by others.
Mr. Sumac--'cause I love those giant weed-trees and have over 100 in my backyard.
When I was young they called me Weird Ronnie, but I've always HATED that nickname. (Don't get me started.)
Now I'm old, crusty and codgy--unless I've bathed and after I've had my Presidente--and I've got no life, so I'll be contributing to your Bloga to hopefully make your life as eventful as mine is.
W. Ronaldo
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