No Habla! Americano!

Your diarist was a sluggard getting to church this morning and thus had to go to the Spanish language Mass in Bellingham. Very few Anglos were in attendance: the priest with his fluent but imperfect Spanish and yours truly (“no habla… what’s that other word?”) and that was about it.

I have been christened an honorary Mexican by my actually Mexican cousins due to my general demeanor and my tolerance for extremely hot food, so you’d think I could do a better job at least understanding the language. Put Spanish journalism in front of me and I can hack my way through much of it, with a little help from a dictionary. But I’ve never developed an ear for it.

There were moments during Mass today when I was pretty sure I caught the gist of it (“El cuerpo es importante, muy importante!”) yet they were pretty brief. Maybe one of these days, when I get some free time, I’ll buy the Rosetta Stone’s Spanish lessons and bone up. That would make it muy easier to sleep in on Sunday mornings.

Trinities and Tooth Fairies
My Church Is All Wet
Why I Would Make an Awful Priest
Suffer the Little Collection Basket
About Jeremy Lott

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