I took Spanish in elementary school and in seventh grade. In high school I switched to Français. Seeing as how I now live in driving distance of a nation of Spanish speakers, this may have been a poor choice. Somehow, by the end of the week, I was remembering palabras de Señora Rhoda, my elementary school Spanish teacher, whose fashion sense, even to my untrained, fifth-grade eye was a decade or two behind the times. I vividly remember the middle school Spanish teacher informing us how to use the phrase "que lastima!" "You don't have your homework done? ¡Que lastima!" Why my brain hasn't ejected this moment in favor of other current pertinent data, such as the serial number of my stolen alto saxophone, I will never know.
My favorite aspect of the trip was trying to communicate my ideas to the locals using my hyper-limited vocab. This mix of Spanish and English was also particularly apropos because I'm in the middle-end of reading "The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao" by Junot Diaz. This book has introduced me to vocabulary words such as culo and ripio (these are not family friendly words you learn in elementary school).
The tour was an unequivocal success. We played five sold out shows to about 10,000 peeps a pop. I've uploaded a video of what it looked like from behind the organ:
That was with the volume turned down to ten percent. I wear in ear monitors to keep from going deaf.
Now that I'm back in town, I'm about to get busy doing some ghost-writing (spooky-style, just in time for Halloween) on a movie.
Before I descend into the paincave of the studio for weeks upon end, I'll come up for air in time to play a show at the Hotel Cafe this Friday at 11 pm.
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