Lengua con sabor a calle (y III)

REGRESA LA GUÍA MÁXIMA DE LOS TÉRMINOS PALURDOS DE LA CALLE, OSEA...

M

Más fino: Fino, pero más estupido.

Malpinchao: Individuo que se inyectó esteroides y quedó inflado como una cotufa o barquilla por no entrenar bien.

Mamá de los Helados, La: Modernización lingüística del viejo término "reina del arroz con pollo". La mamirruqui, la útima pepsi del desierto, la gran mier..., la verga de triana.

Mambotear: el descaro de bailar reggaetón.

Maruto: Ombligo.

Mente: Persona con labia o que habla que jode.

Merma: Algo demasiado bueno. Se recomienda leer con acento de Caurimare.

Muak: beso virtual.

N

Nasty: palabra anglo. Desagradable. Su pronunciación es omitir la "s" por una "h".

Nos vidrios: nos vemos (Despedida).

Nota: de pinga.

Nulo: cero a la izquierda. No me importa.

Ñ

Ñero: persona con abundante ingenuidad. Compañero.

O

Oh mai gad: versión sifrina de Oh my God.

Oro: dinero.

P

Palo: figura monetaria que representa mil bolívares fuertes en conjunto.

Pelo 'e carne: persona calva, con cabeza desértica. El del Federal.

Papá de los Helados, El: modernización lingüistica del viejo término "última Coca-Cola del desierto". También conocido como el sabrosón, el papirruqui, el que lleva todo el flow.

Pavoso: persona que no está a la moda.

Pendiente: pilas, te interesa?

Ppoint: sitio de encuentro.

Popy: payaso (Obvio).

Plomo: sí va.

Q

Quebrado: cansado, agotado.

Quesudo: con ganas de tirar.

Qué tal: asombro. Wow.

R

Rata: panita.

Ricarda: mujer que está buena. Para hombre, Ricardo.

Roncha: problema.

Ruédalo: pásalo.

S

Shakira: persona choucera

Sendo: tremendo.

Soyao: loco, desquiciado.

Suckea: eso apesta.

T

Taconear: llegar a un sitio batiendo los pies.

Teta de hombre: inútil, bueno para nada.

Tri Hello: saludo triple de niñas Somos Tú y Yo.

Tripeo: que te la vacilas.

U

Uvita: en buen estado.

V

Veneno. Accesorios de carros, propios de los que realizan piques. Tunning.

W

Warever: cambio de tema.

Wikipedia: persona que sabe mucho o cree saberlo.

X

X: no me importa, imbécil!

Y

Yesca: Yesquero, encendedor.

Z

Zancudo: aquel que le cae a todo lo que se le pone por delante.

Zuingue: relación informal con otra persona que incluye sexo obligatoriamente.

Claves dadas para ser utilizadas en aquellas situaciones en las cuales el malandreo esté de por medio.

Todo el vocabulario de las tres entregas de Lengua con sabor a calle fue consultado en: Cortez, G. (2007, 03, 08). Lengua de calle. Urbe, pp. 32.

"The Kite Runner": ¿Realidad o ficción?

Entrada publicada en gapsipe.org/virtual (Aula virtual de la asignatura Práctica profesional II - ULA - Táchira)




Hola muchachos. Mis comentarios acerca de la película "The Kite Runner" o "Cometas en el cielo". En primer lugar, la relación afectiva entre Amir y Hassan fue realmente muy conmovedora y sobre todo estremecedora. Aunque al principio se ve como una especie de relación homosexual, lo que verdaderamente se impone es una relación de hermanos, a pesar que los personajes no lo sabían. Además, es muy cruda en el sentido en el cual presentan la realidad de un pueblo como el talibán, al que se la da una mirada de un país azotado por la violencia y el horror. Al momento de escribir esta entrada consulté varias fuentes para informarme más acerca del filme. Una de las tantas citas que leí decía algo como: "... Lo que muestra es la cobardía del ser humano a reconocerse a sí mismo y a odiarse desde sus propias entrañas hasta el punto mas profundo de su crédulo cerebro... La gran cobardía que nos desborda a cada instante y nos proporciona a su vez la tranquilidad al descubrir que vivimos en otra realidad, la inventada por nosotros mismos para poder huir de la verdadera ficción que nos envuelve..." Lo que realmente impacta es la situación del hijo de Hassan (Sohrab), quien permanece mucho tiempo en un orfanato, a merced de Assef (Malísimo de la peli. Sádico, pedofílico, el cual maltrató y abuso de Sohrab y muchos otros de los menores). Impresionante cómo este niño supervive a tantos hechos en su vida: sus padres asesinados a sangre fría, estar sometido a abusos psicológicos y sexuales... Casi nada, no? Concluyo para dar paso a sus comentarios que impotencia, desidia, pena, tristeza e injusticia son algunos de los calificativos que le doy a la peli. Es demoledor, me hace pensar en que no podemos seguir de brazos cruzados, es una súplica de compromiso. La situación en países como Afganistán es algo que no podemos seguir obviando. Esta película, esta historia, es una aproximación a lo que viven y sienten personas afganas ante los acontecimientos que tienen lugar en un determinado momento histórico. Pero por otro lado, la historia nos refleja amistad, amor fraternal y casi olvido la descripción del desierto y los países... Muy recomendable para alguien a quien extrañemos o queramos mucho. 5 ***** (Estrellas). Hata Logo!

Mike Story

Written by Omaira Duque and Indra Sayago

Mike always came back home tired, after doing long routes across cities and small towns, all of them separated by isolated long old roads. Mike had to earn enough money in order to sustain his family. He was the only person who covered all the expenses they had. He sold drapery making delivery service, it was a difficult work for him, but he had to do it because his family depended on him. His two children, Peter and Carla, went to school; his wife, Johanna, did the household jobs and took care of her sick mother. Everybody loved Mike, who in spite of working hard always arrived home with a sweet smile. It was a Saturday evening; Mike was on the way home through the lonely road, with his wagon full of drapery, when he saw A man who asked him for a lift. Mike loved helping people, he was a kind man with fellow feelings, so he decided to stop his wagon in order to pick up that man. Mike was thinking about his thoughts, his family, and everything he had to do; being unaware that the man he picked up scarcely had little space to sit down because the wagon was full of drapery. As soon as he reached a stopping place, he decided to drink a coffee because he felt sleepy; so he decided to invite his partner. In fact, Mike was sure that he would accept the invitation. Nevertheless, when Mike turned over his head, he noticed that the man had disappeared. Mike filled with fear, his legs trembled, his heart got jumpy and a terrible cold went through his body. What was that? What was going on? He could not believe it. It was the first time that something strange happened to him. Although, he had a lot of courage, he felt scared. Hence, he decided to go home because the fright he felt did not let him to get off the wagon. By the time Mike arrived home, he could not speak. His wife Johanna was astonished when she looked at him and could see the paleness in his face. The silence covered the house completely. It was heard that barely some dogs barked and the whistling air rising through the window. “What happened to you?” asked Johanna. Mike scarcely could breath and could not pronounce any word. Some hours had elapsed and Mike did not speak yet; until he started to tell his wife what had happened; however, his fear did not let him to leave his home, take up again his job nor get back those lonely roads. Food started to be insufficient at Mike’s home. When he saw this situation, he decided to deliver the drapery he still put into storage. Although he felt frightened, he started to go through the roads again. He was afraid of running into that man to whom he considered as a phantom. When Mike went along that same place, almost at the same moment, he utterly terrified saw again that strange image. He noticed that it was the same face he saw some days ago. He knew he had no escape, because he had to get ahead of him, so he decided to gather up his courage and stopped his wagon without caring whatever could happen. Again, that man asked him for a lift.Mike trembled once more, as if it were that day and his heart seemed to explode. However, he decided to ask that strange man, “What do you want from me?” Therefore, the man felt surprised and replied, “I’m John, the same man who asked you for a lift some evening ago. I just want to know if you could take me to the nearest town, where my wife and .” Mike felt a bit confused; in fact, he did not know what to say. The man continued, “Remember that the former evening I asked you for a lift. Indeed, you stopped but you hastened your wagon very fast that I did not have any time to set myself up.” Mike laughed loud and he could not believe it; he had to suffer many things due to a mistake. Mike apologized to him for having been unobservant and peacefully opened the door. This time Mike made sure of that man sat himself up.After Mike arrived home, he told his wife and children what had happened and everybody laughed out loud.

Chuck Palahniuk: ¿Parte cínica o sarcástica de escribir?

Ensayo publicado el 14 de abril de 2005.


In 1998, while in Los Angeles for the filming of Fight Club, I went with friends to the Getty Museum. All those antiquities, the decorative objects, all the galleries of stuff being looked at by hushed tourists, my friends and me. That endless parade of masterpieces, it was too much. Grinding, the way a day of yard sales can be grinding as your eyes find a name for each object, a place in history, a story. Too many famous stories butted together on that hilltop above Los Angeles.Of course, I turned that day into a story.In the 1970s, during my childhood, museums were more hands-on. You went to galleries to destroy fine art. You took a sledgehammer and mashed the nose of the Pieta. Or you kissed a picture and left lipstick. You tried to spray paint the Mona Lisa, or planted a bomb that would trash some Miros. These days, of course, the Getty had guards and Plexiglas and motion detectors.So wandering with my friends, I asked them: "Instead of stealing or attacking established art — what if some frustrated artist tried to sneak his paintings into the world's museums?" This artist would paint each picture, matte and frame it, put two-sided mounting tape on the back and wrap the picture inside his trench coat. He'd arrive like us, then open his coat and stick his work on a wall, right there among the Picassos and Renoirs.This little yarn became a short story called "Ambition" and a screenplay. The story, about an artist desperate to find his place in history, I wrapped into a novel called Haunted.This May, "Ambition" and Haunted will be published.On March 13, the Metropolitan Museum of Art found a lovely, gold-framed portrait of a woman wearing a gas mask, stuck on the wall of their gallery. On March 16, the Brooklyn Museum found a portrait of an eighteenth-century military officer holding a can of spray paint. The Museum of Modern Art found a painting on March 17, depicting a can of cream-of-tomato soup. The Louvre and the Tate museums have found similar paintings stuck on their walls. According to the New York Times, this is the work of a British graffiti artist named Banksy, who wears a trench coat and fake beard as he hangs his work among the masterpieces. Are we more the same person than we'd like to admit?A coincidence? Or, are we more the same person than we'd like to admit? My thoughts are so much Are we more the same person than we'd like to admit?your thoughts that they hardly qualify as mine. The darkest fantasy you keep buried, someone else will get rich, singing about on the radio. Is it better to hide your dark idea and hope that all other people do the same, or to depict and share that dark idea? While writing Fight Club, I talked to friends about the idea of a movie projectionist splicing porn into family films. One friend told me not to use the idea, saying it would prompt people to salt porn into everything. When the book was published, countless people wrote to tell me they'd already been splicing sex into Disney films, pissing into restaurant food, or starting fight clubs. For decades. Still, do we do more damage when we share our dark fantasies – when we explore them through a story or song or picture? Or when we deny them?Stories are how human beings digest their lives: by making events into something we can repeat and control, telling them until they're exhausted. Until they no longer get a laugh or gasp or teary eye. Until we can absorb, assimilate even those worst events. Our culture, it digests events by making lesser and lesser versions of the original. After a ship sinks or a bomb explodes — the Original Tragedy — then we have the news version, the television movie version, the talk radio versions, the blog versions, the video game, the Franklin Mint Commemorative Plate versions, the McDonalds Happy Meal version, the one-liner reference on The Simpsons. Echoes that fade. Then, like the funny story you used to tell at parties, the story that would always get laughs, about how you took acid and ate half a fur coat one night, we stop telling that story. NOT because it stops making people laugh — but because we've digested the event. It's resolved, and telling that story in any form no longer serves the teller.Maybe why Radiohead no longer plays "Creep" in concert.Maybe it's why we dream — compulsively telling stories, processing our experience like the food in our guts, even while we sleep.But the stories we're afraid to tell, to control, to craft — they never wear out, and they kill us. At least this is what I tell my friends when they ask me to shut up. To not give people any new ideas. This is my story about telling stories about telling stories. My way to digest what I do.I tell people: The sooner we can tell a story, the quicker we can wear it out and make it a cliché, then the less power the idea will have.Until the past century, religions used to give us a place to tell even our worst stories. Depict our most-terrible intentions. Once each week, you could turn your sins into a story and tell them to your peers. Or to a leader, who'd forgive you and accept you back into your community. Each week, you confessed, you were forgiven, and you received communion. You never strayed too far outside the group because you had this regular release. Maybe the most important aspect of salvation is having this forum, this permission and audience, for expressing our lives as a story.It would be a forum safe enough for you to look terrible. It would be a forum safe enough for you to look terrible. But as church becomes a place where people go to look good — instead of being the one, safe place where they could risk looking bad — we're losing that regular storytelling forum. And the salvation, redemption and communion it allows.Instead, now people go to therapy groups, twelve-step recovery groups, chat rooms, phone-sex hotlines, even writers workshops, to turn their lives and crimes into stories, express them, craft them, and in doing so be recognized by their peers. Brought back into the flock for another week. Accepted.With this in mind: Our need to turn even the darkest parts of life — especially the darkest parts — into stories… our need to tell those stories to our peers… and our need to be heard, forgiven and accepted by our community . . . how about we start a new religion? We could call this the "Church of Story." It would be a performance place where people could exhaust their stories, in words or music or sculpture. A school where people could learn craft skills that would give them more control over their story, and thus their life. This would be a place where people could step out of their lives and reflect, be detached enough to recognize a boring pattern or irrational fears or a weak character and begin to change that. To edit and rewrite their future. If nothing else, this could be a place where people would vent and be heard, and at that point maybe move forward. It would be a forum safe enough for you to look terrible. Express terrible ideas.In modern history, frustrated, powerless people have turned to churches. During the last years of segregation, people found each other in churches and recognized they weren't alone. Their personal problems were not only their own. This "Church of Story" would give people a forum for connecting. Here, we'd have a regular time and place and permission to tell stories to each other. Instead of ignoring this need or fulfilling it at Starbucks in the window of time created by a cappuccino — or wearing a fake beard and gluing our story on the wall of an art gallery — we could give people the permission and structure they need to gather. To tell stories. To tell better stories. To tell great stories. To live great lives.



http://www.nerve.com/personalessays/palahniuk/churchofstories/

Pastafarismo: ¿Qué es esa vaina?

Sé que suena raro pero ya les explico. Lo escuché en La Mega 107.3 FM de Caracas. Se trata de una religión, en la cual sus seguidores creen que el mundo como tal se originó de un choque de un poco de espagueti y albóndigas. JAJAJAJA... Más adelante les muestro mas detalles.

INVENTOS (PARTE II)

Homero trata de votar por Obama pero al final beneficia a Mc Cain...

Seguro la máquina es de Smartmatic (JEJEJEJE)

Cortometraje de calidad (10 minuta)

Lengua con sabor a calle (II)

De nuevo traigo para ustedes las palabras ajenas al vocabulario cotidiano, para que te malandrees cuando sea necesario.

E
Echar dedo: Acusar. Hablar paja.
Emo:(Conocida), muchacho de apariencia oscura y que vive en penumbras. Solo y triste.
Engorilado: Histérico. También aplicado a la gente que se le infla el pecho cuando está arrecha.
Entrompar(se): Caerse a golpes.
Escanear: Mirar detenidamente a alguien. No perder detalle. (Bucear).
Equis: Cualquier cosa. Nulo. Que da lo mismo.
Elmío: Amigo mío.

F
Federica: Mujer fea aunque sea rica (JEJEJEJE).
Frito: Dañado por las drogas.
Fuerte: Noticia importante, insólita. Denominación de la moneda.
Fuckeado: Versión altamente sifrina de jodido.

G
Golilla: Algo fácil.
Gris: Sin importancia.
Guarro: Cochino, feo.
Guiso: Negocio paralelo a tu trabajo oficial. Levante paralelo a tu culo oficial.
Guateque: Parranda, bonche.
Googlea: Busca en Google. Infórmate.
Guindando: Estado en que una persona a la cual la dejan embarcada o esperando algoque no sucederá.

H
Háblame claro: Háblame claro.
Hernia: Persona fastidiosa, inoportuna que vive incrustado en ti y te causa dolor y malestar estomacal.
Hug: Abrazo virtual.

I
Importado: Foráneo. Turista. Musiú.
In: Estar en algo. Estar a la moda.

J
Jamón: Pierna femenina con sobrepeso.

K
Kitsch: Recargado, cursi.

L
Lacra: Mala persona. Indeseable.
Lenteja: Persona Lenta. ¿No entiendes? Estás lenteja.
Lol: Me c*go de la risa virtual.
Lucas: Figura monetaria que representa mil bolívares en conjunto.
Lumpia: Sustancia desconocida que al fumarse, genera locura.

Se me acabó la tinta... Ya vengo.
dANieL fErNandO

Lengua con sabor a calle (I)

A continuación presento en una lista, algunas de las deformaciones, mutilaciones, mutaciones y desviaciones del lenguaje venezolano. Asi que si pensabas que no me preocupaba por cómo hablas, te equivocaste...
En esta entrada: de la A a la D.

Y si te sabes otras, por favor déjalas en los comentarios.

dANieL fErNandO

A
Acabatrapo: Persona que arrasa con todo, casi siempre en una fiesta. Lo que no puede faltar, es que se tome hasta el agua de los jarrones con flores de los centros de mesa.
Acontecido: Individuo al cual le suceden demasiadas cosas.
Arrocero: Alguien que no pela ningún chance. Suele aparecerse o mejor dicho "colearse" en algún sitio.

B
Bañaperro: Persona pelab*la.
Boleta: Persona descarada.
Bruja: Mentiroso.

C
Calidad Canelón: Muy fino.
Canadá: Cárcel, prisión.
Carro: Si lo hechas, eres un irresponsable. Si no, es la carga o responsabilidad que delegas a otra persona.
Caspa: Malestar y/o/u arrechera muy grande.
Clarinete: ¡Claro!
Clickea: Dale click al botón del ratón.
Comodín: Cómodo.
Complocear (jejeje): Derivado de complot. Conspirar.
Coronar: Alcanzar una meta. También aplicado al momento de encontrar pareja.
Culo: Mujer que está buena. Novi@

CH
Chepa Candela: Persona que se lo pasa chismeando y que por una razón inexplicable se sabe la vida de todo el mundo.
Charlero: Persona que habla más paja que bueh... Cuentero, mentiroso.
Chuleo: Aprovecharse económicamente de alguien.

D
Demasiado: Muuuy bueno.
Dejó el pelero: Que se fue. También puede ser usado como sinónimo de Carro (echar).
Diablo: Pana.

Créditos: Urbe Marzo de 2007.

El álbum de la semana

Esta semana les presento el nuevo álbum de The Verve, el grupo de brit-pop quienes volvieron con un nuevo disco llamado "Forth". Está compuesto por diez sencillos, los cuales son por demás intuitivos y hechizantes y que por supuesto, no dejan de ser los himnos característicos de esta banda. El tema promocional lleva por nombre Love is Noise que, a mi parecer, es un conjunto de sonidos suaves, carismáticos y frescos. La cadencia y el sonido balsámico viene en “Judas” y en “Numbness” tienen esa estela narcótica que es marca de la casa. Pero el que me convenció por su innovación dentro de "lo mismo" fue Rather Be. Sin duda, es un disco que deben escuchar y sacar sus conclusiones.
Este link los llevará al sitio oficial de la banda
dANieL fERnaNDo
http://www.theverve.co.uk/