Oscar Rodriguez
Oscar was born and raised in Ojinaga, West Texas and Southeastern New Mexico. He has lived in and out of Texas since he graduated from Ector High School in Odessa in the late-1970s, including a couple of years in the 1990s when he lived in Marfa and taught at Sul Ross State University. Oscar is also an enrolled member of the Lipan Apache Tribe and an avid researcher of Native history in Texas and New Mexico — specifically in the La Junta region.
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Órale, the feature of this episode of Caló is the verb abueyar. It’s based on the Spanish word buey, or ox, but it’s use as a verb in Caló. It invokes the image of a big water buffalo submitting to the whims of its master. A somewhat close term in English is kowtow. In Caló, the general idea conveyed by abueyear is that of a mighty and willful agent accepting its subjugation. The term refers as much to the act of the subjected as to that of its master. It speaks to an unnatural relationship, where a huge and powerful being comes under the control of a smaller, otherwise unlikely master. In this sense, you can’t abueyar a weakling or dependent being that’s already bent toward submission. They’re already owned, like a dog or parrot. Only the indomitable are subject to being abueyados. Nothing else fits the description.
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Órale, we’re gonna take on a very vexing topic this month to demonstrate the capabilities of Caló to deal with nuanced philosophical issues; namely, the sharing of a toilet in a mixed household. It’s a fraught question that arises in all Western cultures where males and females share a modern toilet that has a seat. As the seat can be put up or down, some prefer it to be kept up, while others insist that it be kept down. What’s the rule? Is it more conscientious to leave it up or down when you’re done? When questions like these come into the world of Caló, a refuge of resistance against popular culture, they’re submitted to a logical framework of traditional norms and susto-making. You’re expected to abide by what your grandparents did or intuit what the head of the household wants. If you miss it, you’re thought to be either casting a susto or being real gatcho. More than a faux pas, it’s an ethical test, where those who fail it are manchados forever.The feature of this episode is the expression arriendar. In modern Spanish, it means to reign in, as in pull back on the riendas (reigns). In Caló, which has an extensive rural past, arriendar means to halt a charge or forward rush. The image invoked by the expression is that of a galloping steed sat down by its mount after pulling back hard on the reigns. Arriendar speaks to the motion being halted as much as the act of halting it. You don’t arriendar a standing, slow-moving or backward-leaning being or object. You arriendar a hard charging or presumptuous being or an object hurtling forward with a lot of momentum.
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Órale, the featured Caló word of this week is gota. In modern Spanish, it means drop, as in a drop of water, and it's the basis for the word for tired, agotado, as in being wrung out like a wet cloth. In Caló, gota, means gasoline or energy. You buy gota, and you say you’re low on it when you’re out of strength or power. “I can’t go further up the mountain, ese. I’ve run out of gota.”
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Órale, maquina is the featured Caló word of this week. We talked about it in a previous episode as one of many derivatives of the term a la madre. It’s used to exclaim maximum astonishment, wonder or disbelief. It’s what you say when you’ve reached the end of your known reality and have no words to convey it. All there is from that point on is a primal utterance or scream. You see a vast spaceship suddenly rise out of the horizon? Maquina!
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Órale, the featured word of this week of Caló is manchar. In modern Spanish it means to stain. In Caló, it means to denigrate, deprecated or slight oneself, which is an unsightly, possibly even traumatizing event to witness. People can put a mancha on themselves without intending it. They can be merely stupid or venal about it, maybe even think they got away with something. But the people who witness their act walk away, perhaps silently, thinking less of them. A vendor short-changes you: manchada. You forget your date’s name, manchada. Caught cheating or in a lie, manchada.
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Órale, Caló this month is gonna about the “road of shame,” a street that runs parallel to and a short block away from the highway leading through town. The street got its name when the county government moved the jail from downtown to this highway just beyond the Southside, forcing many newly released detainees to undertake a long and public walk home. Until then, the raza who got out of jail walked home undistinguished from anybody else walking about in town. The north and east sides of town, where the higher valued homes sat, were never considered for the site of the new jail. The decision-makers quickly picked the Southside because they believed, as was said repeatedly in public hearings, “that’s where the jail’s customers come from.” What they didn’t think through was that, with the jail so close by, Southsiders didn’t have to walk far to get home, and the only ones who faced a long shameful walk home were non-Southsiders.Llevarse is the featured word this week. It’s Spanish for to take oneself, as in, “I take myself seriously.” In Caló, it means to grant or be granted permission to joke with somebody. Two individuals who tease each other—even to their limits—are said to be llevandose. And each would say that they se la llevan with the other.
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Órale, the featured word of this episode is levantar. It’s a verb in modern Spanish that means to pick up. In Caló, it means pick up the pace or attract sexual attention, male or female. The general image behind both is the picking up of feet. A comparable expression in English is a “pick up.” A fifty-something prances through a dance hall and turns heads, and people will say she or he still las levanta. They’ll say this because they can both pick up their feet and people are attracted to them.
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Órale, the feature of this episode is the word nambe. It’s a contraction of the modern Spanish words, no and hombre, as in “no, hombre.” There’s an equal expression in English, “no, man.” In Caló, it’s used to emphasize a contradiction. You think she’s gonna win. Nambe¸ no chance.
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Órale, the feature of this episode, is the expression hacer rancho. It means make ranch or space in modern Spanish. In Caló, hacer rancho describes a situation or person that has gotten so out of control they’ve taken over control. You invite a vato to stay at your chante, and he takes over the place as if it were his? He hizo (made) rancho.
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Órale, we’re gonna continue with the susto theme. The Calo word for this episode is a nuance of a term we introduced in the past, con safos. It’s a preemptive, protective susto, but it can also be a way to say that the bad wish directed at you isn’t having its intended effect.