Like a Bird on a Wire.....

I can’t believe it, but here I am in Guadalajara. After an especially hectic rendezvous with my host, Paulina (note to self: always pick a meeting spot *before* you get on the plane), I fed-exed my passport home so my parents can begin the lengthy Visa application process that will allow me to study in Barcelona, Spain, for an academic year. While I wait for that to go through, I’ll be navigating a rigorous summer immersion program in Morelia, Mexico, that starts this Saturday. Until then I’m here, in overcast Guadalajara trying my best to sharpen my abysmal Spanish skills and spend time with Paulina, who thought I would be staying for a full week.


Paulina’s sad that my stay here is so short, made worse by her being in Mexico City today as a health liaison for Hershey’s. Paulina is cousin-through-marriage to my former roommate/bandmate/buddy Casey, and I met her on a trip we took down here last January. We’ve kept in touch through Facebook, and I think she wants to be my girlfriend, which is the coolest thing that’s happened to me in the women-department in… oh, I don’t want to think about it. Anyway, here's the view from the top of her family's house:


Last night we went to see “Amor Vida En Las Vegas,” better-known to American audiences as “What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas.” When I saw previews for this romantic comedy with Ashton Kutcher, Cameron Diaz and Rob Courdrey as comedic-sideman, I joked that Las Vegas probably bankrolled it, which I still believe. But it was still a fun and hilarious Knocked Up rewrite, with an unplanned marriage instead of an unplanned pregnancy.

It’s really strange going to the movies here, because a good ninety percent of the movies are American, and Paulina says that sometimes there are no Mexican films showing at all. Not only that, but driving to the mall and walking to the theater, we passed countless American chains - McDonalds, Abercrombie, and drive-through Starbucks are just ubiquitous here. I’m told that Taco Bell has somehow found a market here for there bastardized take on Mexican cuisine. No wonder so many people speak English here.

It makes it hard for me to stick to my Spanish, especially with near-bilingual Paulina. I get especially nervous when I’m trying to express romantic interest - it really kills the mood if you accidentally compliment someone’s chicken (“pollo”) when you meant their hair (“pelo”). But since she’s gone today, I’ve been forced to converse with her aunt Patricia and cousins Mariana and Juan-Pablo. They speak waaayyy too fast for me, but it’s forced me to buckle down - I’ve been consulting my 501 Spanish Verbs book all morning.