I saw this on the news this morning and I couldn't believe it.
Here's the gist: This guy in south Florida wanted to sell more Toyotas so he aired a commercial for his dealership on a channel other than Telemundo or Univision.
I wish I could focus on the Spanish that this guy tries to speak on the commercials, because it's pretty funny. It sounds like Spanish by the numbers, where he learned certain and repeated them over and over until he had it memorized, even though he has no comprehension of what he's saying.
But no, the story here is that there was a huge outcry from viewers calling the man behind the commercials un-American, greedy, and traitorous.
Another twist is that this guy writes a blog so he discusses it all on there.
But wait, un-American? There are a lot of stupid, ignorant comments out there on this issue, but some of them sound like they're coming from pretty intelligent, thoughtful people, which strikes me as incredibly odd:
"The whole issue is that this is America and Spanish ads should not be running on English TV stations, period. We are not a bilingual country. Run them on the Spanish stations, no problem. But Spanish ads thrown in with English programming – he's got [testicular fortitude] and so do the stations that allow them to run."
What's the problem here? Who cares? Don't we all hate commercials anyway? Someone please tell me what the outcry here is all about. Is it about the larger immigration issues? Racism?
I just don't get this one.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Friday, September 28, 2007
Unfair Analogies
When my dad was a teenager, he went to visit a cousin in the States and he used the experience to polish his English. He would attend the same university classes that his cousin did and so he slowly and surely practiced his English.
He mentioned that there was a test one time that had a question he didn't understand. It had something to do with a man putting salt on the driveway because it was winter. Now, I'm really not sure what kind of problem this was or what sort of answer they were looking for, but my dad could not answer it because he couldn't get past that one idea of a man putting salt on his driveway.
Why would someone do that?
To someone who has lived his/her whole life in Guatemala and has no experience with icy environments.
When I heard that story the first thing that came to mind was how unfair that was for my dad. He had no chance.
Well, today I was reading Fiasco and an analogy immediately reminded me of that story. The author is speaking of Bush's Mission Accomplished speech on the USS Abraham Lincoln:
In both image and word that day, what Bush did was tear down the goalposts at halftime in the game.
I immediately pictured someone in India (or Guatemala) reading this and thinking "Huh?"
Even if you know something about football, unless you know quite a bit about the college football tradition of taking down the goalposts after a huge win (thank you Boston College years), then you can't relate to this particular piece of writing.
And you can take it one step further, which BC taught me: it doesn't have to be a huge win for the football team or the basketball team, it can just be a huge loss by the hockey team.
Just food for thought.
He mentioned that there was a test one time that had a question he didn't understand. It had something to do with a man putting salt on the driveway because it was winter. Now, I'm really not sure what kind of problem this was or what sort of answer they were looking for, but my dad could not answer it because he couldn't get past that one idea of a man putting salt on his driveway.
Why would someone do that?
To someone who has lived his/her whole life in Guatemala and has no experience with icy environments.
When I heard that story the first thing that came to mind was how unfair that was for my dad. He had no chance.
Well, today I was reading Fiasco and an analogy immediately reminded me of that story. The author is speaking of Bush's Mission Accomplished speech on the USS Abraham Lincoln:
In both image and word that day, what Bush did was tear down the goalposts at halftime in the game.
I immediately pictured someone in India (or Guatemala) reading this and thinking "Huh?"
Even if you know something about football, unless you know quite a bit about the college football tradition of taking down the goalposts after a huge win (thank you Boston College years), then you can't relate to this particular piece of writing.
And you can take it one step further, which BC taught me: it doesn't have to be a huge win for the football team or the basketball team, it can just be a huge loss by the hockey team.
Just food for thought.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Language Issues in Pro Baseball
Here's a great article on the language gap that exists in some (probably most) Major League clubhouses.
It's an issue I'm interested in since I tried to put together a story on how journalists translate what players say and print it in the papers without explicitly saying (sometimes) that it isn't what a guy said, but a translation. All I found out was that MLB policy is pretty fuzzy—journalists can pretty much translate on their own as long as it's "basically" what the player was trying to get across.
Unfortunately, the players' personality usually gets lost in the process, which is what I was exploring. Sammy Sosa, for example, is a pompous, arrogant person when interviewed in Spanish. But in English he's the humble, simple man who was once a shoeshine boy.
It's all terribly interesting.
It's an issue I'm interested in since I tried to put together a story on how journalists translate what players say and print it in the papers without explicitly saying (sometimes) that it isn't what a guy said, but a translation. All I found out was that MLB policy is pretty fuzzy—journalists can pretty much translate on their own as long as it's "basically" what the player was trying to get across.
Unfortunately, the players' personality usually gets lost in the process, which is what I was exploring. Sammy Sosa, for example, is a pompous, arrogant person when interviewed in Spanish. But in English he's the humble, simple man who was once a shoeshine boy.
It's all terribly interesting.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Opening Doors
I don't think these kinds of stories will ever get old for me:
I went to get my hair cut yesterday and as I'm sitting there waiting for my turn I listened to the hair cutters chatting with their customers about all kinds of inane crap. The hair cutters were just trying to avoid boredom and increase their tips, the heads were trying to hit on the cutters indirectly enough to protect them from rejection, and I was getting nauseated by the whole thing.
Maybe I should do this another time. But my hair was bad, really bad.
I swear to god, I bet there are tons of socially awkward guys that come in to just have someone that will talk to them for 20 minutes so they can go back to their apartment and feel like they are still part of society. Still normal.
Well, to each his own.
But and so my turn came and luckily I didn't get any of the chatterboxes. I got a lady with black hair that had been quietly cutting hair the whole time. She spoke my name and I followed her into the back. Right away I knew she was hispanic. My guess was Cuban. She knew my name, Carlos, but you could tell she didn't suspect a thing.
So she has this very bored look on her face like "here we go again" and I'm just telling her what I want haircut-wise.
"Short."
I appreciate that she isn't small talking me for a tip, she's just getting down to business. Of course she's hispanic.
And it hits me that this is why Americans like to small talk with employees (waiters, hair cutters, grocery clerks, etc.): what else is there? In a mass of so many people that are all identical to the rest, what can you do?
The word that comes to mind is jaded.
So I break out my card: Where are you from? Puerto Rico. Oh. I'm from Guatemala. Really? No. Really? Big smile.
And then we talked for the rest of the cut. Not bullshit/tip talk, but talking the way two people who share a similar past talk. The way people here bond when they realize they went to the same school or came from the same town. Like long-lost friends that have become strangers.
She was very passionate about her country, her culture, and her family.
I looked around at the other cutters, the other heads, and I felt pity for them.
When I left it felt like I had just seen a powerful movie. I was walking on air.
I went to get my hair cut yesterday and as I'm sitting there waiting for my turn I listened to the hair cutters chatting with their customers about all kinds of inane crap. The hair cutters were just trying to avoid boredom and increase their tips, the heads were trying to hit on the cutters indirectly enough to protect them from rejection, and I was getting nauseated by the whole thing.
Maybe I should do this another time. But my hair was bad, really bad.
I swear to god, I bet there are tons of socially awkward guys that come in to just have someone that will talk to them for 20 minutes so they can go back to their apartment and feel like they are still part of society. Still normal.
Well, to each his own.
But and so my turn came and luckily I didn't get any of the chatterboxes. I got a lady with black hair that had been quietly cutting hair the whole time. She spoke my name and I followed her into the back. Right away I knew she was hispanic. My guess was Cuban. She knew my name, Carlos, but you could tell she didn't suspect a thing.
So she has this very bored look on her face like "here we go again" and I'm just telling her what I want haircut-wise.
"Short."
I appreciate that she isn't small talking me for a tip, she's just getting down to business. Of course she's hispanic.
And it hits me that this is why Americans like to small talk with employees (waiters, hair cutters, grocery clerks, etc.): what else is there? In a mass of so many people that are all identical to the rest, what can you do?
The word that comes to mind is jaded.
So I break out my card: Where are you from? Puerto Rico. Oh. I'm from Guatemala. Really? No. Really? Big smile.
And then we talked for the rest of the cut. Not bullshit/tip talk, but talking the way two people who share a similar past talk. The way people here bond when they realize they went to the same school or came from the same town. Like long-lost friends that have become strangers.
She was very passionate about her country, her culture, and her family.
I looked around at the other cutters, the other heads, and I felt pity for them.
When I left it felt like I had just seen a powerful movie. I was walking on air.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Elections
So Guatemalans went to the urns last Sunday and voted on who their next president will be. I was here in the US so I wasn't able to vote.
A lot of people are upset about that since the money that Guatemalans send back home are the single biggest income the country as a whole receives. Bigger than any import or industry.
So shouldn't the group of people that contribute the most to the country's economy have at least a vote on that country's future?
That's the debate.
I used to think so, and I may still. But it's interesting reading the Guatemalan papers online and reading the reader comments.
Some people are passionate about them being able to vote. Others think that it doesn't really matter since, how are we going to know who to vote for if we are here?
This touches on another particular detail about the typical Guatemalan in the US: most of us don't go back often, or ever.
Almost every Guatemalan I've ever run into in this country hasn't been back for at least 5–10 years. Some for 20 and some for 30. But they still send the money.
They have no idea how the city has changed in just the last 10 years, never mind more than that. So how are these people who never go back, contribute as they may, know who to vote for? One reader made a good comment about how they have their own politics to worry about. They need to follow US politics so they can make wise decisions about their own future.
It's very hard to know what's going on in Guatemala, even when you're there. The press is awful, inaccurate, and sometimes plain wrong.
But there's still something that bothers me about not being able to vote simply because I'm here. Maybe if the press was more reliable, better opinions could be formed. But as it stands now all you can go on is what you hear from your family and friends back home.
A lot of people are upset about that since the money that Guatemalans send back home are the single biggest income the country as a whole receives. Bigger than any import or industry.
So shouldn't the group of people that contribute the most to the country's economy have at least a vote on that country's future?
That's the debate.
I used to think so, and I may still. But it's interesting reading the Guatemalan papers online and reading the reader comments.
Some people are passionate about them being able to vote. Others think that it doesn't really matter since, how are we going to know who to vote for if we are here?
This touches on another particular detail about the typical Guatemalan in the US: most of us don't go back often, or ever.
Almost every Guatemalan I've ever run into in this country hasn't been back for at least 5–10 years. Some for 20 and some for 30. But they still send the money.
They have no idea how the city has changed in just the last 10 years, never mind more than that. So how are these people who never go back, contribute as they may, know who to vote for? One reader made a good comment about how they have their own politics to worry about. They need to follow US politics so they can make wise decisions about their own future.
It's very hard to know what's going on in Guatemala, even when you're there. The press is awful, inaccurate, and sometimes plain wrong.
But there's still something that bothers me about not being able to vote simply because I'm here. Maybe if the press was more reliable, better opinions could be formed. But as it stands now all you can go on is what you hear from your family and friends back home.
Moving In
So we moved about two weeks ago and as moving is for everyone, it sucked. We wanted to save some money (it can cost around $500 to hire movers to do all the work, get the truck, etc.) so I got a Uhaul truck, packed up my stuff, and headed over to Mindy's to get her stuff in there too. It was going well until I started to wear down and my mind couldn't figure out how to keep fitting stuff in the Uhaul.
I was reaching the end of my rope.
Then Diego came and saved the day. Mindy's work uses a warehouse somewhere and she got them to come help us out for a few hours.
It took Diego and his partner (who was Guatemalan, but I can't remember his name) 15 minutes to rearrange the truck so that everything fit. It was awesome.
We got to talking and Diego, who is from Ecuador, is married to a Guatemalan woman. Small world. So once I started to talk to them in Spanish and tell them about myself, they let down the facade that everyone has here when dealing with Americans that have hired them for a job.
Now we were buddies.
So they got us moved into our new place, handling everything very carefully, and then we paid them $80 each. They were expecting $20/hour and they helped us for less than three. So it worked out well for everyone.
It's interesting though the way that facade comes down so slowly because they don't really believe I'm from where I say I am. First they keep talking in English, kind of pretending they never heard me say anything. Then I keep talking in Spanish and they answer back, realizing that hey this guy ain't shitting us. Then they ask a couple key questions and then we are all good.
I pass the test, I am "one of them." Let the confiding begin.
I was reaching the end of my rope.
Then Diego came and saved the day. Mindy's work uses a warehouse somewhere and she got them to come help us out for a few hours.
It took Diego and his partner (who was Guatemalan, but I can't remember his name) 15 minutes to rearrange the truck so that everything fit. It was awesome.
We got to talking and Diego, who is from Ecuador, is married to a Guatemalan woman. Small world. So once I started to talk to them in Spanish and tell them about myself, they let down the facade that everyone has here when dealing with Americans that have hired them for a job.
Now we were buddies.
So they got us moved into our new place, handling everything very carefully, and then we paid them $80 each. They were expecting $20/hour and they helped us for less than three. So it worked out well for everyone.
It's interesting though the way that facade comes down so slowly because they don't really believe I'm from where I say I am. First they keep talking in English, kind of pretending they never heard me say anything. Then I keep talking in Spanish and they answer back, realizing that hey this guy ain't shitting us. Then they ask a couple key questions and then we are all good.
I pass the test, I am "one of them." Let the confiding begin.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Fight Club
When I first saw this story, all I could say was "That's fucked up."
The gist of the story is that, in a small town outside Guatemala City, three criminals kidnapped a local official. He attacked the driver because he thought they were going to kill him, and the locals realized what was going on. Two of the men got away and the townspeople grabbed the one bad guy left.
They took him to the municipality to demand action be taken, but also wondering what to do with the man. This isn't all that rare in Guatemala, towns take the law into their own hands all the time. But as the mob was standing out there holding this man, another man walked by. That man was accused of having scammed some of the locals.
So here's what they did: they caught the other guy, beat him up a little bit, and then forced the two of them to fight each other. One of the men was beating up on the other pretty good, was choking him, doused him with gasoline, and lit him up after someone gave him a match.
Cops finally showed up and arrested the man that "won." The townspeople demanded that this criminal (he was the kidnapper) be released since he had won. Cops said "Umm, no" and took him away. There was no mention of what happened to the guy that was lit on fire (this is a standard hiccup in Guatemalan journalism).
The inevitable question: if the town took the law into their own hands, should the guy be allowed to go, as they wanted him to be, because he had been "put through trial" by the town? Because he "won" the fight?
These are the questions we tackle in Guatemala, we hope you'll still come and visit.
The gist of the story is that, in a small town outside Guatemala City, three criminals kidnapped a local official. He attacked the driver because he thought they were going to kill him, and the locals realized what was going on. Two of the men got away and the townspeople grabbed the one bad guy left.
They took him to the municipality to demand action be taken, but also wondering what to do with the man. This isn't all that rare in Guatemala, towns take the law into their own hands all the time. But as the mob was standing out there holding this man, another man walked by. That man was accused of having scammed some of the locals.
So here's what they did: they caught the other guy, beat him up a little bit, and then forced the two of them to fight each other. One of the men was beating up on the other pretty good, was choking him, doused him with gasoline, and lit him up after someone gave him a match.
Cops finally showed up and arrested the man that "won." The townspeople demanded that this criminal (he was the kidnapper) be released since he had won. Cops said "Umm, no" and took him away. There was no mention of what happened to the guy that was lit on fire (this is a standard hiccup in Guatemalan journalism).
The inevitable question: if the town took the law into their own hands, should the guy be allowed to go, as they wanted him to be, because he had been "put through trial" by the town? Because he "won" the fight?
These are the questions we tackle in Guatemala, we hope you'll still come and visit.
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