English Is My Second Language

I spent five minutes trying to figure out how to capitalize that title. Should the 'is' and 'my' be lowercase? Proper nouns are capitalized, but 'language' is not proper and 'second' is not a noun. I usually go with the Associated Press style, but I AM in Chicago so I should probably go with the Chicago Manual of Style, right?

I settled on capitalizing every word, but I don't like it. I'm not happy about it. You could say that I am unhappy about it. It reminds me of a friend I had in high school who would capitalize the first letter of every word, no matter the situation.

"Hey Man Want To Go To The Mall Later?"
"What Was The Homework Mrs. Tucker Gave Us For Biology?"
"Can I Come Over At $:30?"

It's like he had one finger glued to the 'shift' key.

English is my second language, though I speak it far better than my first language. I grew up speaking only Spanish until I was five. Once I learned English, I dropped la pelota on my first lengua and my communication skills have suffered. It's particularly a problem when I try to converse with Delma's family.

I'm ok when I speak Spanish with my family, but when I speak to Delma's parents or her aunts or her uncles or her cousins or her grandmother, I get flustered. And when I get flustered, the little Spanish that I know gets flustered. I go from having the vocabulary of an articulate fourth-grader to talking like I am a struggling second-grader. Here's a sample conversation between me and Delma's dad.

Open on shot of Alf, Delma and Delma's dad sitting at a Starbucks. Delma's dad is drinking a small, black coffee. Delma is drinking a small, black coffee. Alf is drinking a Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappucino.

DELMA'S DAD: (in Spanish) The drive was fine. I had a slight scare from a semi on 55, but thankfully nothing happened.
DELMA: (in Spanish) I'm glad you're ok. I'm sorry for making you drive all the way up here.
ALF: (in Spanish) This drink is... good.
DELMA'S DAD: (in Spanish) How are you liking your new job?
ALF: (in Spanish) It is... good. I like to write. It is fun. (awkward pause) Yesterday, I write about...
Alf turns to Delma.
ALF: (in English) How do you say 'taxidermist?'

End scene.

Her family is super nice and understanding, but it's embarrassing. Even when I speak Spanish at work, I have to repeatedly pause while I try to recall how to say something or ask what certain words mean. I feel like an idiot.

You know what also makes me feel like an idiot?

Yoga.

I like doing yoga. I want to do more yoga. I NEED to do more yoga because I have protracted shoulders and I'm about as flexible as a cactus. But every time I go into the yoga studio at my gym, I feel like I can't reach certain positions or I reach positions, but don't feel like I'm actually doing anything so I must be doing the position wrong or this one time I was struggling to do the chaturanga pose and let out a fart that went "TOOT" during the exact moment the yoga instructor decided to stop telling us to breathe.

Makes me feel like a big, fat inflexible idiot.

Namaste, my friends.

Or as we say in Spanish, namasté.

This Entry Concerns Bagels

I'm in a 'bagel' phase right now. For the past seventeen days, I've had a bagel for breakfast. Not always an entire bagel (sometimes I split with Delma or Conor). Not always a plain bagel (I'm particularly digging sesame seed bagels). Not always with cream cheese (a bagel dunked in coffee is, honestly, better than a donut). But, in some capacity or another, bagels have been a part of my life for the past couple of weeks.

There's a restaurant called "The Bagel" in Lakeview. I don't particularly like their bagels, but they have the best matzo ball soup I've ever had. To be completely honest, it's also the only matzo ball soup I've ever had, but I love it and anytime I get sick, I go and order a large matzo ball soup and I sip it slowly and carefully and I can feel the warmth of the matzo ball soup radiating throughout my limbs, filling me with matzo ball life. I have a cold right now and I plan on going to "The Bagel" when Delma gets back from work. I'm going to have her carry me all the way down there. Because I'm sick. And I deserve to be treated like a princess.

There's a old lady who lives in our building that owns a beagle. That beagle's name is Bagel and it's the cutest beagle I've ever met. So nice and friendly. The lady walks Bagel the beagle 6-8 times a day. Seriously, it's like every time I look out the window, she's there, walking Bagel the beagle. I do my best to avoid her. I feel bad, because she's nice and because Bagel's the cutest, but if I say hi to her, she'll ensnare me in a conversation about the most inane topic for 10-15 minutes. Delma and I have timed these talks. I'm sure she does it because she's lonely and craves human interaction, but I'm a jerk and just want to get on with my day.

I used to live a couple blocks from an Einstein's. I loved going there and getting a chocolate chip bagel and a cup of fruit. It was my morning ritual when I worked from home. There was this one Filipino lady who worked there who always had a smile on her face. All the other workers would be sassy and give me looks whenever I walked in because I look like a bum, but she was so friendly. And she knew my order. I don't know if we'd be considered friends, but if there was a fire and that Einstein's started burning up and I only had time to save one person, it'd be her.

The best bagels are supposedly in New York City. The best advertising jobs are supposedly in New York City. Is that a coincidence? Yes. It is.

Why does New York City have the best bagels? I don't know.
Do I want to move to New York City? I don't know.
Why do I keep referring to New York City as New York City? I don't know.

The best bagel I've ever had was at a German breakfast restaurant in Mexico. It was so soft and moist. It was like biting into a cloud. Mmm. A cloud slathered with cream cheese and sprinkled with sesame seeds.

The worst bagel I've ever had was at a Best Western in Marion, Arkansas. It was incredibly dense and dry. It was like biting into a four-day old bagel. Because that's probably what it was.

When I lived in Sacramento, I found this bagel chain called Noah's and their bagels tasted exactly like Einstein's bagels and I was like "Whoa, guys. This is taking it too far." Turns out they're owned by the same company.

I have a funny story about donuts. But I'm not going to tell it because this entry is about bagels and I'm not going to break the rules for you. Jerk.

Everything bagels scare me. How can the bagel be everything? If the bagel is everything, does that mean I am the bagel? And if I am the everything bagel, that means that I am you and you are me and we are the same. We are the same being. And if we're the same being, then... What is individuality? Does it even exist?

These are the questions that the bagel road leads to.

"Are there bagels in heaven?" is another question down the bagel road.

I had a bagel this morning, but I want another bagel, but the best bagel restaurant close to me closed at 2pm and it's 4pm and I'm sick and I want to sleep, but don't I deserve a bagel because I'm sick?

Philosophical Bagel. That'd be a cool rapper name.