Oscar Rodriguez

Órale, this month, we’re gonna focus on some Spanglish terms that have entered the Caló lexicon. Like all languages—maybe even moreso, Caló adapts to the times and takes in words that circulate around it and fits them into its internal logic and aesthetic. Some of these words have become so ubiquitous and ingrained that people come to think of them as Caló words. Of course, Caló is neither Spanish nor English, nor any other language for that matter, but it’s flexible enough that it easily takes in new words without causing much disruption or imbalance to its integrity. I’m sure that, when listeners hear the words, they’ll quickly agree they fit in Caló perfectly. Here they are, chiriár, troca, rite, dompe, and yonque. There are many others, but we’re gonna go with the obvious ones first.Also for this month, we’re gonna focus on a common setting that’s informed Caló for many generations; namely, the adventures of working in the farm fields—also going to and from them.The word for this episode is chiriár. It’s a verb that means to cheat. In the logic of Caló, the verb always attaches to the person who cheats, the chirión, and there’s no chiriada nor chiriadero, that is, the subjective version of the term.

Órale, the featured Caló word of the week is pocho. In Caló, it means alternatively Spanglish, a jumble of Spanish and English, or someone who can only speak Spanglish. It’s a contraction of the Spanish words poco (little or scant) and mocho (short of a whole). To be sure, you can be pocho as much to English speakers as Spanish speakers, but you can’t be a pocho if you speak either Spanish or English well.

Órale, the featured word for this episode of Caló is plegostia. It means someone who, despite your admonitions and pleas to the contrary, follows you into danger or where they should not go. The comparable term in modern Spanish is plegoste, which means a sticky or hardened spot or wrinkle. A different but close term in Caló is tirilongo, which means a hanger-on or groupie. The difference is that plegostia is associated with a conflict, fight or traumatic engagement. And it refers to an innocent at-risk follower, who doesn’t know what they’re getting into or isn’t a party to the conflict they’re headed into. You’re not a plegostia if you’re an informed participant in the conflict.

Órale, the featured Caló word this week is Mexa. It means someone from the interior of Mexico, that is, from south of the border region. As the world of Caló straddles the border, the people there don’t distinguish each other in terms of on what side of the border they were born. Of course, there are many other distinguishing characteristics, like extended family, neighborhood of origin, etc. Otherwise, everybody on the border sees each other as the same people, some of whom circulate primarily on the Mexican side of the border and others who circulate primarily on the US side. But if you’re a Mexa, you’re an outsider. And you see the people from the border as different from yourself. They likewise see you as not one of their own.

Órale, for March, we’re gonna touch on one of the central cultural experiences that informs Caló: poverty. Much of the aesthetic of Caló is an adaptation to this experience. That is, what’s thought to be pretty and ugly and good and bad in Caló reflects this experience of poverty. Of course, every language expresses poverty in its own way, not just Caló. In the case of Caló, however, poverty is expressed as hunger and scarcity of the resources needed to survive, like clean water, safety and effective medical care. Things like worn out shoes and coats come in a different order of need. Seeing your family go hungry is poverty, not poor shoes and coats. The Caló word for this episode is féria. It means cash or change, whether bills or coins. To say someone has lots of féria is to say they’re rich.

Órale, raza. This is the last episode on the toilet seat up or down onda. The featured word is patón. It derives from the Spanish word for an animal’s foot. In Spanish, some anatomical parts have one name if it’s attached to a human being and a different name if it’s attached to an animal. It’s considered a pejorative if the term reserved for animals is applied to a human. The word for mouth, for example, is boca for humans and hocico for animals. The word for foot, is pie if on a human, and pata if on an animal. If somebody annoying cuz they’re saying things you don’t like, you might say ‘shut your hocico, ese’. The standard rule for the use of aggrandizing suffixes, like -ón, apply for these terms, as in bocón, hocicón, and patón. But in Caló, the former two mean loudmouth—and disrespectfully, and the latter means big person—and slightly complimentary, not someone with big feet. A big woman or man is a patona or patón, as if the feet are the measure of an individual.

Órale, raza. Cuz there’s been some positive reaction to the topic of toilet seats up or down, we’re gonna do two more episodes about it. The issue’s important and needs to be talked about. Y pos we’re gonna put another pesteta into it to say that the most moral position is also the most elegant.The feature of this episode is bárbaro. In modern Spanish, it means a barbarous person or activity. In Caló, it means outstanding or extraordinary, good or bad. It’s in the same category as eeee, but more pointed. Comparable terms in colloquial English are sick, crazy and bomb, as in that feat was crazy. To be sure, the adjective modifies the onda, not the person causing it. You tell a very funny joke in public that makes everybody crack up? Bárbaro! Someone hands you an outrageous assignment? Bárbaro!

Órale, raza. This is the last episode dedicated to the pinche heavy onda of modern civilized convention regarding the household toilet seat: up or dow—or up. And the word featured word this week is perrada. In modern Spanish is means, pack of or a group of more and one rushing dog. In Caló it means a mobilized pack of beasts, dogs, people and otherwise. When they’re perreando, the individuals that make up the perrada are participating in a mob action. They’re blindly following the lead of the individual in front of them, leading the whole to do what none of its members would have tried on their own. It used to be used to call out a swarm of police, whether in cars or on foot, as in the arrival of a pack of sicced dogs. Today it refers to mob action in general, whether to party, fight or troll a discussion on the internet. What happened that you look all desmadrado, ese? Pos, the perrada came to my chante after bar hours and didn’t leave until sunup.

Órale, the feature of this episode is the expression haciendo males. The literal translation in Spanish is doing bad things, but in Caló it means to be on a rampage or wilding, as in on a campaign to do bad things. You’re said to be haciendo males when it appears you’re intent on doing bad things, not just actually doing them. Kids are doing males when they’re hunting vulnerable mailboxes with a baseball bat on a lonely country.

Órale, the feature word of this episode is currelear. There’s no comparable word in Spanish or English. It’s Romani for the act of trying to get somebody to fall in love with you. In Caló, it’s often mispronounced as “corralear” or corral, as in entrap or fence in, not at all what’s meant with currelear. To currelear is to get your mark to become attracted to you fulsomely, not deceitfully, mistakenly or haphazardly. For you don’t pursue fools or prisoners in a curreleada. You aim to win a committed lifelong friend or romantic partner.