adventures in culture shock

perhaps you are wondering at my appearance today on blogger, because you knew I was supposed to be in Tijuana for three days. Well I was in TJ, but only for about 12 hours.

I met Dayami, one of the singers, at our appointed one o'clock and we packed up and headed down to the border. In between we stopped at a beauty supply shop for Oddy, the congas player, because apparently he need glue to put his hair back on. I'm still very baffled. We were also distracted (I use the term "we" lightly) by a clothes boutique wherein Dayami bought two very short sassy little skirts for her and the other singer to dance in. Off to Mexico with us, loaded down with our beauty and couture purchases. Easy through the border, and I proceed to have no idea what is going on with traffic. Cars everywhere. Signs in Spanish. Okay we're at the hotel. I should have paid attention, but I was too confused. I will have to do this on my own next weekend.

Hotel. Across the street from where we will be playing. We scamper back and forth across the road a few times trying to find the rest of the band. Meet up with the other trombonist. Wander around some more. Find band in hotel room. HURRAY! Everyone is slugging back tequila, no limes or salt, or even ice, just tequila in a glass. I am very impressed. I am introduced to the band members present but understand very little, as everyone is speaking rapid Spanish. As far as I can tell only three speak English, Dayami included, and she later started speaking to me in Spanish because she wants me to learn and be a part of the band socially.

Later, we go back to the other hotel for a rehearsal, but what it amounts to is me and the other trombonist playing a couple of phrases from a song with the keyboard player. The rest of the band sits and watches. They mess around with tempo and register, basically put me through my paces. They ask me to play ridiculously high. I laugh. They say okay, nevermind. Then the band all gathers in a circle of chairs; I am ushered to sit down next to Dayami and Oneilio (the band leader) asks me what my position on the band is. I.e. what is up with this stuff I hear about you being gone in February and Canada and language barrier stuff. So I explain that in February I need to be excused from playing because I will be traveling to audition for schools. And in September I will be going to one of those schools, and that's the end of my chapter in the band. Anyway, they are very understanding and I am cleared for February departure. Then they ask if I'd be willing to possibly travel in Europe in March with them. Oh hell yeah, people, c'mon! I should have thought about this a bit more, but I agreed. I do have to consider bargaining for grad school money and accepting admission and all that. Also I'm not sure if I want to stay in SD until September. But whatever. We'll cross that bridge later.

Back at across-the-street-hotel, frenzied preparations by Dayami and Angeles (the other singer). I am informed that all that talk about how it's good to have another girl in the band means that I will be dressing similar to them. They match colors. Last night they did not by any means dress sluttily, but the skirts we bought..well I ain't wearing nothing like that. Here's where I say, but I'm in the band, I was hired to play trombone, not jiggle! I am not a qualified jiggler! I'm not Jell-O! Because as much as these are two wonderful women, their presence in the band amounts to jiggling for the male gaze. You can get up on my ass about culture and Cuban style and all, but I still ain't doing it. The rest of the band dresses the same, the singers are glitzy. If I'm not a singer, I should be wearing what the band is wearing, or similar. Make sense? No jiggling! I refuse to jiggle!!

Well, I didn't play last night, I sat around and listened. I also racked my brain for useful Spanish. This is good-I imagine if I work my ass off at the language I will be pretty much fluent by May. I think it will be fun if I can get that together, but until then it will be pretty lonely. And my head will hurt. And I will attack anyone I hear speaking English and force them to talk to me. I will tie them down and rant and rant and rant. Ranty McRantypants.

Anyway, I came back with Daya today (she had to work) because I didn't want to sit around not speaking Spanish, not playing trombone, and not getting paid for another two days. Right now I am in the midst of a whirlwind of thoughts each prompting me to think very carefully about what I have agreed to and how this might affect my grad school plans. Which it won't, except if we go to Europe and I am unable to sign an admissions letter or something. Or negotiate about finances. Bloody hell.

I need to practice. And find a recital hall. And apply to DePaul and ASU. Shit. I miss school like crazy right now. I miss my little white bubble. That's right, I miss it! Wisconsin, you lovely white bubble you. You do not know Tijuana, and it does not know you. It's for the best, it really is. No panicking. Love the gig, love the opportunities. Peace.