A week or so ago, I got a notice that a blogger named Manon Kubler wished to re-blog one of my earlier masterpieces. The post was my biting commentary on the government’s attempt to make bullying illegal, though truthfully, it could have been any of my blogs, they’re all just so damn re-bloggable. I’m doing the noble thing and not putting a link to that post in here – go over to the right border later and click on “Bully For You” if you want to read it.
As an absolute whore for blogging popularity, I was more than happy to give Manon Kubler the green light to reblog my work. I figured his scores of loyal fans would read my post, and maybe a few of them would join the fledgling ranks of my followers. I won’t build a massive loyal following overnight, but small moves like being re-blogged could add up over time. One complication of it all was that everything Manon wrote in his comments was in a foreign language.
At first I was too flattered to care what he had written. He had given me exposure to some new readers and I didn’t have to do crap’s worth of work to get them. That’s a win-win in my book. After a while, I got curious to see what his comments were. As my loyal readers can both tell you, I only speak English and not all that well. My writing is only slightly better than my speech, as I have the luxury of editing and sounding the words out in the privacy of my own home before I hit “send”. Curious as to what Manon had to say, I went to a few translation websites and started putting some of his words in there, but they didn’t get translated to English consistently.
The words looked kind of Spanish, but didn’t all get recognized by the Spanish translator website. Maybe he spoke Portuguese or some regional dialect like Catamaran or Pekinese. After a solid five minutes of trying, I was as stumped as ever.
I do have limited experience with foreign languages. Occasionally, I’ll be in the home of Spanish speaking clients. Many of these people have the Spanish television channel on at all times. The Spanish station around these parts is very entertaining to watch. Most of the women on it bear a resemblance to Sofia Vergara, only a bit sexier and they tend to dress more provocatively. They teeter across the screen in 5 inch pumps with skin tight skirts and low cut blouses barely covering their impressive chests, blathering on and on about God knows what – because they’re speaking Spanish.
If the woman on the screen is standing in front of a weather map and gesturing wildly with her blood-red painted nails, one might assume that she is talking about a tropical depression off the Carolinas. I tend to provide my own custom translation wherein she is talking about how handsome I am and wishing she had me alone in a deserted vacation home in Hilton Head. If the woman is holding a microphone as she stands in front of the burned out shell of a rowhome, I naturally assume she is describing how her desire for me burns within her like the flames which displaced a family of four in Brooklyn last night. As you might imagine, many of my Spanish-speaking clients get a little pissy with me since I tend to ignore them and just watch their TV’s. There’s just no pleasing some people.
It should come as no surprise then, that I have decided to interpret Manon Kubler’s words with meanings of my own choosing. Here’s the gist of his words:
Manon has written that he and his thousands of avid followers have recognized me, even before my own American countrymen, as a stone-cold genius – kind of like the French did with Grampa Al Lewis and Fred “Rerun” Berry. I am the next Ernesto Hemmingwayo in their estimation. Beyond seeing me as a literary giant in the making, Manon’s followers have essentially deified me into something like a cargo god. They feel they are not worthy of my incredible talent and only read my words on the sabbath. In the event that I ever deem it necessary to travel to the South Pacific island paradise they call home, I will be greeted in a manner worthy of a spiritual master, descended from the heavens. Manon didn’t come out and say it, but I’m pretty sure there will be a nice buffet with a roast pig and some of those fancy drinks served in hollow coconuts.
I’ll admit that I may have taken some poetic license with Manon’s words, but if he didn’t want to risk misinterpretation, he could have written his comments in English, or possibly Pig Latin.