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Órale, we’re gonna talk about the once-famous term in Caló, con safos. It’s been around for centuries, but it became famous in barrios throughout the US beginning only in the 1960s, when a popular Los Angeles magazine with that expression as its name started publishing. Safos comes from the Spanish term zafar, which means to get loose, escape, untie or unburden oneself. In Caló, it’s a counter-spell you say in anticipation of a curse coming your way. In essence, it says that whatever ill or evil is wished upon you is dissolved or disassembled even as it’s being said such that it’ll come with ways for you to zafar from it. Unlike the common term in American English, “whatever pox you wish on me will come to you,” con safos means “I put up a spell that’ll render your curse useless against me even before you say it.” In its heyday, the term was so well-known that people came to abbreviate it with simple c forward slash s and ritualistically add it to graffiti, cap off poems, and even integrate it into paintings to serve as a protective spell. To be sure, con safos isn’t an innocent or purely defensive spell. It's a preemptive counterattack you lob after you’ve provoked retaliation, as in “I hope your pichirilo breaks down before you get to your date, ese, con safos.”

The Colima warbler isn’t flashy — it’s mostly gray, with a yellow patch on its rear. And the Big Bend has long been known as the warbler’s only U.S. abode.

Órale, we’re going to feature a very local term in Caló for this episode, marfita. It means somebody from Marfa. It’s an honorific, a label, for people who are connected in a meaningful way to Marfa.

Archeologists have identified numerous “shrine caves,” ancient pilgrimage places, where ceremonies were conducted and offerings made.

Órale, we’re gonna to talk about witchcraft for the month of May. Siról, a lot of the context underlying Caló is what is referred to as magical realism in Latin American literature, where people casually interact with devils, navigate curses and cast spells. In Caló, the devil’s always right there acting all mentotote, and pos you have to do something. The devil tries to put a spell on you, and you fight back with your own brujería. If you practice, you can come out ahead. If not, gatcho.This onda is called burlo or burlar. In Romaní, it means game. In Spanish it means to make fun of somebody. In Caló along the Rio Grande, it means to engage in The Borlo, where you try to be more devilish than the devil.

Órale, the feature of this episode is the term ir de onda. In Spanish, it means depart from or lose the wavelength, as in a connection with a radio station frequency. In Caló, it means to lose sense of direction or the thread of the conversation. You lose the onda when you’re distracted or suddenly something shinier, louder, or more urgent steals your attention.

Órale, the feature of this episode is the term por la brava. In Spanish is means by way of the brave woman. In Caló, it means in offense or, translated to the modern vernacular, in your face. When you act against the law, contrary to everybody's warning, or in pursuit of a fight, you do it por la brava. It’s indeed an aggressive term that should not be said—or taken— lightly. Also expressed in Spanglish as, a la brave, the term announces willful defiance and acceptance of the consequences. Vatos who do something a la brave, don’t whine later that they didn’t mean it.

Across three decades, the local nursery has acquired a unique intimacy with the Trans-Pecos flora.

Órale, the featured Caló word this week is raquetero. It means a dishonest raconteur, somebody who tells fantastical stories with the aim of actually deceiving their listeners. To raquetear is a talent, and in the past when there were no movies or other avenues for entertainment, raqueteros were in demand. And they would spin seemingly endless yarns, sometimes funny and sometimes merely exhilarating, but only believable enough to keep everybody’s attention. But after they went out of fashion, the raqueteros turned their talent to intrigue, gossip and conspiratorialism, just telling stories to disrupt the order of things. The mediocre ones merely annoyed everybody. The best ones cause major chaos without anybody knowing they’re doing it. Who hates a raquetero the most? Another raquetero.

Órale, the word of the week is totacha. It means scant knowledge, as in a dab of a given language or subject. Totacha is at the opposite end of the scale from full command of a subject. It can’t be said you’re totally ignorant if you know totacha, but know totacha sometimes gets you in more trouble than total ignorance.