Kindle editions of books by foreign writers are cheaper in the Spanish translation than in the English.
On one of our walks, we passed a Mexican family and I stopped to chat with them. N was stunned because my normal reaction to running across people is that of annoyance. It’s weird how happy I feel about meeting Spanish-speakers. It’s the same as most immigrants feel when meeting people who speak their own language. I feel so comfortable and at home that it makes my whole day. And it was the same when I was starting to learn Spanish and didn’t even understand much of what was being said.
I never had a serious Spanish-speaking boyfriend, though. The cultural differences are too strong. I don’t think I could have ended up with anybody but a fellow Soviet person.
And still the “psychological” explanations of why Trump revealed classified intel to Russians prevail. “He’s a braggart, he can’t control himself,” writes one chirpy fool after another.
As I keep saying, nothing will convince losers to get their heads out of their asses. The fellow is a billionaire and the president of the US, and they can’t let go of the ridiculous idea that he’s a bumbling fool who doesn’t know his ass from his elbow.
Since such folks are so into psychoanalyzing everything that moves, here is an explanation for their psycho fixation on seeing somebody enormously more rich and powerful than them as a loser: they have unresolved oedipal issues and keep battling the symbolic Daddy because he’s still too big and scary to be seen realistically.