Catalan vs Pluricentric languages.

The main European languages spoken in the Americas—namely, English, Spanish, Portuguese and French—are pluricentric languages. In other words, they're spoken in different territories and by different communities. Each variety shows phonological, grammatical, lexical and semantic differences, as expected in any ethnic language, and are regulated by independent authorities. However, no variety is deemed inferior, discredited or less prestigious than the one spoken in the neighbouring state or at the other side of the Atlantic.

This is the case of British and American English, Peninsular and Brazilian Portuguese, Metropolitan and Canadian French and, last but not least, Peninsular, Mexican, Caribbean and South American Spanish. Not surprisingly, the Royal Spanish Academy regards the Rioplatense (Argentina and Uruguay) pronouns and conjugations as correct. Yet not only does Argentina have a different, as well as legitimate, standard language from Spain, but also Mexico. Actually, in Spain, we grew up watching Disney, Hanna-Barbera and Looney Tunes cartoons, as well as Peanuts, in Mexican Spanish (or rather 'neutral' Mexican-Colombian), because that's the traditional variety of dubbing. Hence, in Spanish, the Latin American varieties are considered as acceptable, prestigious and correct as the European one.

The situation in Europe is no different. The European varieties of French, such as Walloon (Belgium) and Franco-Provençal (Switzerland), aren't subordinated to the criteria of the French academy. Actually, the French typically say that both the Swiss and the Belgians have a thick accent, different from theirs. This is also the way German is conceived. As far as I know, nobody speaks proper German in Switzerland or Austria, but their own national varieties, which are often hard to understand for the Germans themselves. Likewise, nobody speaks proper German in Alsacia (France) and Trentino-South Tyrol (Italy). However, nobody questions the wholeness of these two languages and everyone accepts linguistic variation.

The main Western European languages serve as a model for other pluricentric languages, such as Macedonian and Bulgarian, Flemish and Dutch, Corsican and Italian, Serbian and Croatian or Danish and Norwegian, which, in turn, has two different standard languages: Bokmål and Nynorsk.

Nevertheless, there's one language that disrupts the harmonious pluricentric languages' status quo: Catalan. Catalonian nationalists, who are among the most snobbish, dishonest and manipulative people on Earth, are generally pissed off by the fact that Valencian has an independent standard language, which reasonably favours the local phonology, grammar and vocabulary. By confusing (historical) language and standard language, Catalonian politicians complain that their language has been split into different minor dialects.

What their arrogance doesn't allow them to understand is that the Valencian standard, as well as the largely documented historical name of it (valencià), is as legitimate as theirs. However, they appear to be much more satisfied with the situation in the Balearic Islands, where they've imposed the Catalonian variety at schools whereas children are taught to use their native dialect at home, in informal situations. This has made Balearic islanders diglossic.

From Pixabay. Free of copyright.

It's getting worse.

We all know they were a bit out of their minds in the loony left, but now they've definitely gone crackers. Pedro Sánchez, the magician that ended the Mediterranean migrant crisis by harbouring the Aquarius, has reached an agreement with Iran-funded neo-Commies Podemos on the General State Budget for 2019—which is still to be passed in Brussels and Madrid—whereby they've resolved to artificially raise the Spanish minimum wage up to €900 a month. The good news is that those that work for others will earn more, as though they lived in Switzerland or Luxembourg. The bad news is that this is post-recession Spain—let's not forget—and only big companies will be able to stand such a policy. Not sure about the newsagent's around the corner.

But what's more, since the minimum wage is linked to the self-employed social security contributions, these—which had already risen in the Rajoy era—will equally go through the roof. Most of us, freelancers, currently pay a monthly amount of €278 for social security, which is unthinkable in any other European country; but, from January 2019 on, we'll be made to pay the ridiculous amount of €314 a month [!!!] should we earn an income higher than €900. And, on top of that, little is known about what's going to happen with those that can't make as much money as the new minimum wage figure. There exist two options: to be exempt from paying, which translates into not having a pension after retirement, or pay a cheaper amount, which implies contributing for a poorer pension. The latter is, of course, the least bad option for those of us who dislike wasting our time and wish to keep contributing while seeking for a better source of income.

In my case, a miserable freelance linguist: should I teach foreign languages privately, I'll probably be exempt from contributing and, simultaneously, assume the consequences of it. Nevertheless, should I get to translate something or teach a course, I'll be made to pay €314 a month for my work instead of using that money for paying rent or investing in myself and my property. It's like being given a fine for... Working! 😰

From Pixabay. Free of copyright.

Hispanic Heritage Day.

It's been a while since I last identified as a left-wing Galician nationalist. I've discovered the liberal authors, such as Milton Friedman and Thomas Szasz, and have become a less collectivist person. Yet my aversion for authoritative states hasn't changed; just channel it differently. So, I'm not very excited about the 12th of October. Nevertheless, at the end of the day, I still am—and am perceived—as a Spanish man. So, on a day like today, I feel like standing up for Spain.

In spite of the black legend of the Spanish empire, the truth is that the American nations—Spanish, Portuguese, Dutch, French and English-speaking—are much more responsible for the Amerindian genocide than Spain, whose Catholic missionaries didn't wipe out the natives but rather baptised and taught them how to read (in Castilian Spanish, of course). I won't deny that Spaniards played a highly complex chess game, by allying with some indigenous nations under Aztec, Mayan and Inca rule, in order to bring those empires down; or that a lot of people died when getting infected by European diseases. However, making us, present-day Spaniards, bear the karma of the native American genocide is racist.

Needless to say, the history of the United States, where the bulk of the population is either white or black (at least, before 1892), is the record of the building of a new country at the expense of the native Americans' lands (e.g. Trail of Tears, 1831-50). But the history of some Latin American nations is no different. I find it equally necessary to denounce the human rights violations carried out by the Latin American republics, because there still are Amerindian peoples over there with their own languages and cultures. Those countries, often ruled by populist governments, have a very strong tendency to divert attention away from their own crimes by singling out Spain, a country that retreated from the Americas 300 years ago.

Among all the Latin American nations, as far as the rights of indigenous peoples are concerned, the most criminal nation has fairly been the Argentinian Republic, who're celebrating the Día del Respeto a la Diversidad Cultural (sic) today, and, nowadays, shame looms over Mexico, Chile and, very especially, Brazil. 

Image by Laura Hamilton from Pixabay.

La izquierda orco odia la belleza.

Yo, sin embargo, no odio a los millonarios, ni tampoco a la gente guapa; de hecho, soy fan de los Beckham desde los 12 años. Al principio, porque era un prepúber y, ahora, porque han sabido reciclarse y mantener su fortuna a largo plazo. A mí lo que me envenena es saber que hay militantes de determinada izquierda que han tenido una trayectoria académica mejor que la mía, y no tengo hígado suficiente para depurar tanto veneno.

Sois los hijos de los burócratas y lo habéis tenido todo: carrera (sin preocuparos por tener dinerito o no para vuestros gastos), matrícula gratis, pisito de papá en el centro, coche propio, que no habéis pagado vosotros; viajes intercontinentales en temporada alta, estudios de doctorado, y hasta habláis inglés mejor que yo, que soy profesor de inglés. Pero ¿os jode que haya gente más rica y más guapa que vosotros? 😏

Para la izquierda solo puedes destacar y/o prosperar si estudias un posgrado —habiendo tenido previamente la disciplina militar para memorizar 10 y conseguir un 10— o preparas oposiciones, con las mismas aptitudes. Pero como tengas cualquier otra dote —del tipo que sea— distinta de su sobresaliente capacidad memorística, vendrán a macharte con la envidia.

Os voy a decir una cosita: tengo derecho a disfrutar de la belleza, y a recrearme —como a mí me parezca oportuno— en la contemplación de la misma. Pero no me gasto mi dinero en «pluralidad». Para ver «pluralidad», me voy a Sangenjo en agosto, que tengo allí «pluralidad» de sobra.

Envidiosos de mierda.

From Pixabay. Free of copyright.

Me rayaron el coche.

¿Te puedes creer la envidia que me tiene la gente? 😏

A mí, que soy un pobre profesor particular y traductor en crisis permanente y que tengo un coche de principios de los 90 heredado de mi abuelo.

La envidia me halaga y por eso me lo tomo con humor, pero me parece absolutamente patético.

Y la hostia del retrovisor 😕

No sé si es envidia u homofobia, o ambas. Se me pasa de todo por la cabeza.

Apurando los últimos días de verano.

Ayer entregué la traducción del libro. Este año no he podido disfrutar nada del verano. He trabajado todos los días como un esclavo, encerrado, con muchísimo calor y sin poder traducir cómodamente en ninguna biblioteca pública climatizada, porque en julio reducen el horario y en agosto cierran. De hecho, trabajaba mejor de noche que de día.

Pero no tenía opción. Era un proyecto súper importante para mi carrera. Hasta ahora había traducido manuales de instrucciones, principalmente, descripciones de producto, documentos históricos, algún ensayo académico y algún contrato. Pero ningún libro.

El autor, que es criador y adiestrador profesional de una exótica raza de perros, ha quedado muy contento, y yo más todavía. El proyecto llegó por sorpresa, me cambió los planes estivales por completo y ha sido muy duro, sobre todo estos últimos días en que he corregido el libro cincuenta veces, capítulo por capítulo, antes de entregarlo. Pero estoy muy satisfecho.

Prontó hablaré de él en mi canal de YouTube.

Así que hoy decidí regalarme una tarde tranquila en el río, que me lo merecía después de tanto trabajo. No había prácticamente nadie y se estaba de maravilla. Necesitaba retirarme, salir del búnker, alejarme del ordenador y entrar en contacto con la naturaleza: respirar aire fresco, desestresarme, limpiar el cuerpo y el alma de energías maléficas, y recargar las pilas. La zona que escogí no tenía un cauce muy hondo pero sí lo suficiente como para tumbarme boca arriba sobre el lecho pedregoso y disfrutar de la corriente como si fuese un jacuzzi. 

Mira, estoy nuevo. Mi estrés se lo ha llevado la corriente río abajo y he quedado súper relajado. Hoy voy a dormir como un lirón, y probablemente haga algún viaje astral, a Ganímedes o, quizá, a Miranda y Oberón. No sé.

Ya te contaré.

Moment of insight.

Estoy ahí, como un poeta romántico, en comunión con la naturaleza y los animales, lejos de la urbe abominable. En cualquier momento tendré una visión onírica que me transportará a la Edad Media y compondré un bello poema en forma de canción popular que evoque los sonidos de la tradición. Criticaré la Revolución Industrial y la explotación de los niños deshollinadores de la vieja Londres, símbolos de pureza e inocencia corrompidos por la civilización.