Higher Education

In Spanish, to be polite is to be educated, regardless of whether you passed the third grade or not. Sometimes I feel that Mexican culture seems so old world, with a level of chivalry and manners that we North Americans have completely given up on. But then something happens that makes me feel the opposite way, and I start grumbling about how they're all a bunch of...well, I think some ugly xenophobic thoughts. Sorry.

Part of the stated mission of this blog is to write my interpretations and misinterpretations of Mexican culture, but it is actually more difficult than it would seem. Are Mexicans more polite or more rude than people from the U.S.? To try to settle this question about the land conquered by Señor Cortés (literally, Mr. Courtesy), I've decided to start writing occasional posts in which I counterbalance one aspect of Mexican educación with one grosería.

educación (politeness)

Yesterday, I went with Jenny to a doctor's appointment, and we shared a spacious elevator with another couple. We hadn't said a word to each other, but they politely asked our permission before exiting. I was a little dumbstruck, because con permiso is often used when you need to get past someone. Were we somehow in their way? We clearly weren't, they were just being courteous. According to my Spanish tutor, it's also good to ask permission when passing through a room with only one person in it, for example an empty lobby with a secretary, to acknowledge that she is a person and not just furniture.

grosería (rudeness)

Mexicans love cell phones, a technology that assists them in being even more distracted. Imagine if we Americans had a device that automatically extended our stomach size whenever we walked into Hardees. Or a special machine that could help lower the IQ's of politicians whenever they were debating whether to invade middle eastern countries.

Cell phones are used everywhere here. It's pretty common to hear the guy in the bathroom stall next to you having some kind of business meeting. I took an informal survey of some students, and only one was grossed out by the idea. (And forget trying to get them to turn theirs off during the class). When going to the movies, you can pretty much expect not only that a phone will go off, but that someone will also answer it. Most annoying are the people who sit several rows in front of you texting their friends. Then occasionally they get entranced by the movie and just leave their phone on, so it's like someone pointing a flashlight in your face. Jenny even reported someone taking a call at a funeral. So in the alternative reality where I am appointed emperor of Mexico, my first act will be to ban mobile phones outright.

Movie review: Año bisiesto (Leap Year)

Well, this is not a "first date" movie. Nor is it fun for the whole family. It is the story of a woman who lives alone in Mexico City in miserable solitude, marking off the days of the calendar until the anniversary of her father's death. She works from home and really only leaves her apartment to pick up anonymous strangers for sex. We learn bits and pieces when her mother calls to pester or she talks to her work, but there is little conversation with most of the men she brings home. One in particular talks with his actual girlfriend on the phone longer than he does with her.

Even though we're held at arm's length from her character for a long time, there's still a feeling of being trapped there with her. She hardly ever leaves the apartment, so we don't either. We watch her watch TV, go to the bathroom, pick her nose, masturbate, eat cold soup out of a can, put groceries away, spy on the neighbors--we're forced to share in her loneliness.

I don't want to reveal what happens, but her life takes an interesting turn that becomes rather disturbing and then even rather more disturbing. I was actually kind of surprised that one scene in particular could be shown that graphically, especially in conservative-Catholic Mexico (those notches on her back aren't the only thing that is X about this movie). Maybe an independent film like this is under the radar of folks who howl about moral decay and whatnot.

The director is (strangely enough) an Australian, but has lived in Mexico for a while. The film feels really Mexican, and I wouldn't have known he was a foreign director if it wasn't for the fact that "una pelicula de Michael Rowe" kind of jumps out at you. (But then, what do I know, I'm a foreigner too).

Here's a link to a short trailer.

Do you use airplane or drinkmilk?

I've started a continuing education class in literature at ITESO, partly because I get an employee discount and partly to force myself to speak more Spanish. Unfortunately, it is a 3 hour class after I finish work on Fridays. Last night was our first session, and we started with Agustín Yañez, who I didn't know, but is apparently a native son of Guadalajara who is important in Mexican literature. My Spanish skills have been flagging lately, so I was a little nervous about joining the class, especially after the teacher started talking about how Yañez is remarkable for his immense range of vocabulary including a lot of typically Guadalajaran words that are now anachronistic. I stuck it out pretty well for the first hour though, listening in silence with most of the class not realizing that I'm a foreigner. And then my mind began to wander as she read a long autobiographical account of Yañez's childhood growing up in Barrio de Santuario...what pulled me back was the teacher going around the room asking everyone: ¿Usas avión o bebeleche?

Okay, the teacher is asking us a question. Avión= airplane, bebeleche=either baby milk or drink milk, which syllable is she stressing? Wait, either way the question makes absolutely no sense!

Meanwhile, everyone else seemed to have an immediate answer. I felt like I was the applicant in the Monty Python sketch about the job interview. I was afraid that if I confessed that I didn't know what was going on, it would prove that I didn't speak enough Spanish to be in the class, so I was preparing to answer "avión". Luckily she gave up asking before she got to me. My senses were very acute for the next few minutes, and making use of this adrenaline fueled acumen, I pieced together that these are two alternative names for the game of hopscotch. I definitely dodged a bullet; if I'd answered "avión" as planned, I rather doubt that anyone in the room would have believed I called it that in the barrio where I grew up.

What would Jesus pirate?

Wow, I've been incredibly lazy about posting since my return to Mexico. Here's a photo I snapped of the odd phenomena of street stands that specialize in illegally pirated religious music and videos.