Oscar Rodriguez

Órale, the onda this week is the word picudo. It comes from the modern Spanish word pico (peak) and means beaked, peaked or pointed, as in a stork or mountain peak. In Caló, it means someone who’s eloquent or a quick-witted talker. When you have something to say and can’t articulate it yourself, you recruit a picudo to say it for you.

Órale, the onda this week in Caló is the word grifo. In modern Spanish it means a tap or faucet. But in Caló it means someone who’s either sick with the gripa (flu) or deeply under the influence of drugs. The general idea is that flu and drugs lead to the same presentation. The drugs that may be causing someone to be grifo are called grifa, and there’s no distinction between any particular drug, that is, they’re all grifa. And when someone takes them and acts crazy, it’s said they’re engrifado or beyond being merely grifo.

Órale, the onda this week in Caló is the word vago. In modern Spanish, it means alternatively vague, vagabond or vagrant. In Caló, however, vago means somebody who’s mischievous or misbehaved. The key element of a vago is agency. That is, vagos don’t stumble into trouble or misdeeds, they willfully commit them. In this sense, a young child or pendejo adult—maybe also a tapados—can’t be vagos. But a pendejo can be a vago if, once told what is right and wrong, they do males anyway out of spite or defiance.

Órale, the onda of the week is the word tapado. In modern Spanish, it means covered or clogged, as in a lid or drain pipe. But in Caló, tapado means somebody can’t connect the dots or see what may seem obvious to others. The term doesn’t fit within the 5-tiered scale of stupid (baboso-pendejo-menso-sonso-tarugo). It’s not that a tapado lacks an IQ point or two. It’s that they are blind to particular insight, perhaps locked on the wrong paradigm or simply too wishful for the opposite result. In this sense, a die-hard fan of a team that always loses is a tapado. Someone who believes in a candidate or romantic interest and overlooks obvious flaws is a tapado. Fortunately, being tapado is not congenital or an irreversible state because tapados can overcome their deficit, but they inevitably need help or an intervention of some kind to finally see the light.

Órale, the featured word for this week of Caló is yonke. It comes from the English word junk. As it’s a recent adoption into Caló, you see it in signs through the border region on both sides of the Rio Grande today. Unlike the English use of the term, however, it applies as much to animate as to inanimate objects, including man-made objects, unwanted plants, cultural kitsch and even people. A pichirilo that won’t run at all anymore is yonke. Weeds and unpopular songs are yonke. A chirion former boyfriend or girlfriend you don’t wanna see anymore? Yonke.This is gonna be the last of the Spanglish worlds we’re gonna feature in Caló. There’s many others, but we’ll get to them further down the road.

Órale, the featured Caló word of the week is dompe. It comes from the English word dump, but in Caló it means more things than it does in English. A dompe can mean the class of hauling vehicles larger than a troca but smaller than a tractor-trailer. It can also mean a dump site, the public landfill or a dive, as in a place few people want to visit. And it can be a pejorative for an unattractive person, physically, emotionally or otherwise. Why don’t your popular friends ever go to the cantina at the end of the street? Cuz it’s a dompe.

Órale, the featured Caló word of the week is troca. It comes from the English word truck. Toca has become such a favored word that it’s used extensively outside of Caló. You hear it throughout Mexico and Central America, as well as the US side of the Rio Grande.

Órale, the featured Caló word of the week is raite. It’s adopted from the English word ride. But in Caló, its meaning is narrower than how it’s used in English. It means only the act of giving or partaking in a ride, never the vehicle itself. Although it’s a noun and is expressed as el raite or un raite, it’s solely an act, not a material object. You don’t park, sell or even drive your raite, only ask for, accept, give or experience it. Furthermore, it’s a grace, something that’s done for free. So a seat on a bus for which you pay a fare, is not a raite.We’re gonna continue with the theme of working in the files (farm fields). But a quick note on this. Field work comes in many forms and modes in the world of Caló, including work-for-pay work performed by seasonal migrant and weekend workers and self-employed farmers. A common mode of engagement was day labor, where workers, usually high school kids, were trucked into the fields on Saturdays and Sundays or weekdays during their summer vacations. And they got there via a raite provided by the raitero paid by the farmer to haul in workers.

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.