English Wars, Part II of IX

In this, the second of a nine part series highlighting the absurdities of the language spoken in the UK and commonly known as "English," but more appropriately described as "British," we will take a closer look at "snap," "slap," and "click" and their blatantly incorrect usage.

When a game called "Snap" was introduced to our class, the seven E-mericans were confused because the game required what we call "slapping" one's hands on the table. When questioned, the Brits admitted that they call a "slap" a "snap." When further examined, they defined what we call a "snap" as a "click." They continued to jumble the words, saying that "sometimes a slap can be called a slap, but a snap will never be called a slap." And a "click" might be called a "snap." Absurd indeed.

I have decided to start a list of people that I have been told I look like. The list begins below. Feel free to comment on the list or suggest additions to it that you have heard before.

1. Rawson Daniel













2. Jon Hampton













3. The gap-toothed goofy kid in the SigEp composite on the third floor


4. Justin Timberlake










5. "Adam" from the TV show Smallville about Superman. The newest addition to the list...

in middle school all over again

Although I've generally felt welcome here, there are times when I can't believe the audacity and just plain disrespectfulness of the Spanish people. I wait in line to be served at bars, candy stores, sandwich shops, but apparently that's impolite or something. You're supposed to shove your money in the clerk's face, use elbows, sweat, and a 2-day-without-a-bath-stench to force the American out of the way. And the clerks don't really give a damn.

The third day I was here I tried to buy a candy bar. I made eye contact with the clerk, and asked "How much for this?" when a teenager planted his left elbow in my chest and shoved his money on the counter. The clerks broke eye contact with me and took care of him. I was in such disbelief I didn't even walk off, just paid for the candy bar.

When i walk down the streets, which are narrow already, for some ridiculous reason that likely has to do with my skin color, I always have to be the one to get off the sidewalk and walk in the street. If I'm on the inside, I have to open my shoulders. Bottom line: the Spaniards never break stride or flinch. I didn't realize it at first and thought it was just b/c i was walking on the wrong side of the road, but today i decided to test it out.

13:30 Walk on the R-side. Old man walking wrong way never looks at me. I sidestep into the street to avoid.

13:33 Decide to hug the wall, determined that I won't be the one in the street. Man about my age, larger than I keeps shoulder closed. I open mine to avoid contact.

13:35 Decide I'm gonna be the tough guy. Woman in her 40s with child. Oh yeah, I'm gonna be that guy. I hug the wall. She doesn't flinch. I tighten shoulders. She's on the outside but doesn't move towards the street. At last moment, I brace for contact. I give in and open shoulders. Spaniards 3, Morgan 0.

Me vs. Europe, Texans football

I just had a wonderful home-cooked whole chicken with stuffing and potatoes and some vegetable dish for lunch. It was almost like having Thanksgiving, but without Mo-mo’s chocolate pie. The girl that cooked it is really sweet but your typical Bush-hating European – we argued last night for an hour at dinner (to the chagrin of the 6 other people who sat in between us and had to idly listen to our conversation) about the two no-no topics: politics and religion.

Although I praised her for keeping a level head the whole time, she didn’t really buy my whole “it’s all relative” argument that, for example, the Europeans can have their 2 hour lunches and we can have our 15 minute power lunches and it’s all ok (something about food quality and the environment…) The good news is that she respected my viewpoint and calm, collected arguing style enough that I got invited to that delicious meal today…

The Texans get underway today and I'm all set up with the streaming radio online... free 7-day trial, but i'm sure i'll end up buying the whole season package for a ridiculous $35 (in contrast, I got 160 streaming video baseball games for $80)... Ok here's kickoff so i'm out...

PC, dartmouth, and brits

Did you know that in several states, when you grade students' work, you're not allowed to use a red pen because theyhave been outlawed. They 'diminish the confidence of the student.' Don't people understand that switching to a green or purple pen will just do the same thing after a few times? People are so shortsided...

The other day we read a study about how students read. It was attributed to Dartmouth, which was exciting. But in typical fashion, the article was about Harard. The quest to be Harvard Jr. continues...

The pretentiousness of the Brits is eclipsed only by that of the US. Despite being a small island a sixth the size of the US, the Brits have decided that theirs is the correct version of english and ours is wrong. The Spanish have the same attitude about Mexico. I teach my students E-merican english in class and make sure that everyone knows when something's not right in American.

After a two week hiatus, my phone is working again. I left my charger at Becka's, and after waiting 10 days for one I ordered off ebay to come in, i finally asked Becka to send it. It came in three days. I'm still waiting for the ebay one to come in... So not that i expect anyone to call me with a calling card, but i have email on my phone now....

comments on the euro, brits

I'm still trying to figure out why all of Europe adopted this currency system that consists of bills of different colors and sizes and dollar and two-dollar coins. I thought that was the worst part about the Canadian system - having to carry around a pocket full of change. Apparently the Europeans thought that was a good idea.

The Brits speak very differently than we do - I am constantly confused by their use of different words. We kept talking about "revising" yesterday's lessons at the beginning of each class, and I was like, "why would we want to change them? and how would we do it anyways?" Apparently, the word "revise" is meant to mean "review", but if you look it up on dictionary.com, 'revise' means what I thought it meant and the brits are wrong. I'm compiling a list of all the strange phrases the Brits use, and although i imagine someone's already done it more comprehensively, that's not going to stop me.

Round one with Spanish wine ended in a knockout: I woke up at 7:30 on the cold marble floor with my headset on from trying to call Becka. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to run 4 miles, eat a light meal, skip the water and go straight to the red wine. Nine times...

¨Brainstorm¨ is not PC

My course started yesterday, but we met our new English learners today. A collection of people from the area, these were generally wealthier than the average gaditano, as all eight had computers at home. One of the girls in the group likes Manowar, for those who remember my semi-obsession with the ridiculous heavy metal band…

I learned that it is no longer PC to say “brainstorm.” Apparently, the epileptic community was offended, since that term is “appallingly similar to what occurs during a seizure.” Therefore, we have been instructed to use the term “thought shower” instead. I’m not making this up.

My hosts are great: an Irish girl who speaks Gaelic and Spanish and her Spanish boyfriend Jimmy, who also speaks Spanish. We generally talk in Spanish, which is good for me. Jimmy doesn’t have a job. But it’s cool because no one does: the unemployment rate in Cádiz is 44%.

Instead of subtitling the movies (like the US does), Spain shows American movies, dubbed, on about a three month delay. So Señor y Señora Smith just came out and it’s pretty big here. And I watched El Simpson today, but it just wasn’t the same with a slick talking Hispanic Homer that sounded just like the Hispanic Brad Pitt, Morgan Freeman, and Bruce Willis all do. Apparently, however, the Spanish can recognize the voices of their favorite actors: the same guy dubs Eddie Murphy in all his movies. He’s terrible. As is the voice for Will Smith. The whole “black thing” doesn’t really translate too well…

I teach tomorrow for the gaditanos for the first time. Today I taught a bunch of Brits how to play Texas Hold’em in an 8 minute session to warm up for tomorrow. They seemed to like it. But I almost volunteered “playing strip poker” as a possible reason for wanting to learn to play poker when there was an awkward silence. But I decided better of it.

Real Madrid v. Cadiz CF

To get fired up about the game, I watched an at times inspiring, at times campy movie last night called Reál: La Película: a movie by Real Madrid TV about Real Madrid. Of course, I was not without my bucket of popcorn (salty but not buttery) and my refreshment: but unlike every theater save one in Chicago I’ve been to, I had a beer. That was enough by itself to make me enjoy the perspective-lacking movie, but the intense soundtrack of powerful neo-classical pieces and nasty goals did their part as well: I was ready to go buy me a ticket for the game.

With a little bit of American can-do attitude and a lot of cash, I went searching early this morning. I took a taxi to the stadium at a few minutes after nine in case scalpers were selling tickets early for cheaper and the price would go up closer to game time (although sometimes it’s in reverse…) After noticing the streets were mainly empty, I asked a couple of men if they knew where I could get tickets.

“For the game?! Hahah, you cannot get tickets, young man.” Knowing that they probably meant “tickets are too expensive, but could be had at the right price” I said “gracias” and had breakfast.

The Spanish have two of three meals down - lunch and dinner are excellent - but their breakfast is terrible. It consists of caffeine-laced coffee and a sandwich roll. Sometimes the roll has jam on it, oftentimes jamón, and at its best, has a tomato paste or olive oil. In any case, it doesn’t quite hit the spot. After breakfast, I asked the guys who served me where I could get tickets for the game. Again, laughter ensued, but this time I was told to “look for a big man” who might have tickets. I thanked him for the tip, which might could have been useful.

Around the plaza I looked around, asking a few others where to get tickets. Most of them weren’t sure/laughed at me, but one gentleman offered that if I came back between 12 and 1, I would have a better chance then. Thinking that the game started at 12, I didn’t think that much of an option. But he was right, at 9:30 in the morning, there wasn’t anyone around the stadium. Typical Andalucians, I guess…

I returned to my hostal, thankfully, in time to remove my stuff before it was confiscated (apparently my little note in Spanish saying that I went to the game wasn’t good enough) and checked my email to see if a last second attempt to get the book I needed for the course was successful (it wasn’t). Now that it was 11:15, I figured I would have a better chance, but when I arrived at the stadium, it was empty and there were just a few more people around. This time, though, I would be lucky. Sighting two men hanging out by a car, I asked if they knew anywhere I could get tickets.

“How many do you need?” he asked. I knew I was in at that point. He came in at 200. I thought I could talk him down to 150. No, this is a big match and the ticket was 94 face value. I ended up paying 250.

I miscounted and he, like a good scalper, wasn’t about to let me know. But I didn’t realize that until later when it was too late. I’ve decided to think that I payed 200 for the ticket and lost 50, rather than paying 250 for the ticket. Nonetheless, since I thought I might be looking at 400, it was a steal.

After trying to get in through a few gates (I did find the Real Madrid team bus that I saw in the movie last night) I asked someone what time the game was. “Nueve de la noche”: 9 o’clock. Right. I mixed up the numbers when I saw the poster: it said 21:00, not 12:00. That’s why I couldn’t find any scalpers at 9 in the morning, and that’s why there wasn’t anyone at the stadium 45 minutes before game time (I’m not really sure I was thinking about anything other than that I had just procured a ticket).

In any case, I returned at 8:15 for the game, looked for my seat for a half hour (there´s no such thing as sections; the seats are numbered 1-300 straight across the side of the stadium) and finally found it, on the second row, even with the penalty box, on the side that Real Madrid would warm up on.


Now I´m officially a Cadista - Cadiz soccer fan - because the woman next to me told me so. But I was just as saucer-eyed and camera-flashing as everyone else when David Beckham was practicing no more than 15 feet away. I tried to get pictures but none of them turned out well. He was a big ham - kept smiling, waving, and clapping at the fans, he was thanking everyone for coming out.


As far as the game itself went, Ronaldo broke through for Real Madrid early on, 4 minutes into the game. The fans had the wind taken out for much of the rest of the first half. But in the second half, everyone seemed to sense something was happening, and after controlling the pitch for much of the first 15 minutes of the second half, Cadiz finally broke through with an equalizer. The crowd erupted. It was pure ecstacy. You've never seen anything like it if you've only been to american football games. An explosion of sound.

But unfortunately, with about 10 minutes left in the game, Robinho, the young Brazilian transfer, created his fifth scoring opportunity and dumped the ball off to Raul, who delivered the game-winner. It would be a loss for Cadiz, 2-1, but no one went home losers: they were back with las estrellas, the big boys.