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Órale, the onda this week is the expression, clausula Lincoln (Lincoln clause). It’s an expression you use as an indirect negotiation tactic when you’re trying to make a movida with a chota on the border. The Lincoln clause is a sly but clear way of offering a $5 bribe that you can plausibly deny making if necessary. To be sure, we use the Lincoln clause here in reference the entire series of dollar denominations. Because inflation has obliterated the viability of a Washington clause, the Lincoln is likely the bottom end or opening of such a negotiation. Presumably, the highest you can go is the Benjamin clause, unless of course the other party invokes section 2 or higher of that clause.

Órale, the onda this week is the zangolotear. It means to shake in old Castillian. But in Caló, it means to dance. There are other terms for dancing in Caló, including chanclear, which comes from people dancing in sandals or slippers, but they speak to dancing in general. Zangolotear is about dancing vigorously, athletically, with abandon. In other words, it’s what you dance to rock and roll or quebradita.

Órale, the onda this week of Caló is movida. In modern Spanish it means a maneuver or move one takes in a game. In Caló, it means a corrupt act or favor. The general idea is that of a shady deal transacted by two or more parties, where at least one of the parties bends or breaks the rules in favor of one of the other parties in the movida. In its worst color, a movida is an illicit favor in exchange for a reciprocal—maybe even a licit—favor. In its best light, a movida is a slight of hand or ruse that gives the impression that one thing is happening when in reality something else is.

Órale, the onda this week is chapete. It means a convenient romantic date, a hookup, or an erstwhile girlfriend or boyfriend whose feelings or opinions don’t matter to you. Some would say it’s the weaker half of an abusive relationship. But it can also mean a sycophant, someone who simply complies, submits and even compromises themselves, just to fit in. And when they do this, it’s said they’re chapeteando.

Órale, the onda this week in Caló is chipichipi. It means lightly, intermittent or with little physical contact, like a sparse weather event or a hollow threat. It comes from the Romaní words for nothing and tongue, respectively chi and chipí, as in no action, only a wagging tongue. Who knows, but it’s easy to see how chi chipí turned into chipíchipí, which then turned into chipichipi. How do you characterize a rain event where only a few drops are falling? Chipichipi. The same would be for an encounter where one side hurled threats and insults but kept a safe distance from the other side. Puro chipichipi.

Órale, the onda this week in Caló is úcale. It’s a convergence of a spectrum of expressions of dismay and upset, from “what’s the point” to “qué fregados.” It’s a ubiquitous expression that’s effective and appropriate as much in tense conflicts as in comedic situations. Woke up early for a meet-up but the other party arrived two hours late? Úcale. Your horse loses to the low-odds entry? Úcale. You were invited to a party, but there’s no dancing? Úcale.

The weekly program has aired on Marfa Public Radio since 2020. Writer and host Oscar Rodriguez joined us to discuss the back story of the show and this unique Rio Grande dialect.

Órale, the Caló onda this week is the verb arrear. It comes from the Spanish word for mule team driver, arrero, which was a brutish but well-known trade in Spanish colonial times. Arreros made their living driving the wagons that hauled goods from the provincial capitals to the outlying villages in the countryside, often days and weeks away. As the work was hard and perilous, so too were the men who arreaban those wagons. Out of that harsh experience, came many sayings and words. There are two primary nuances to arrear in Caló. One is what an arrero would yell to drive the mules through a muddy river crossing or up a steep hill. The other nuance is that of the action of driving a mule team, arrear, which many in the world of Caló today use to say they’re driving a car. We’ll focus on the later nuance in this episode and go back to the other, more colorful one in the next episode.

Each spring, hepatic tanagers journey from as far away as Central America to the Chisos, Davis and Guadalupe mountains, to breed in the Ponderosa pine forests of these West Texas sky-island ranges.

Órale, the feature this week in Caló is the expression, como la gente. In modern Spanish it simply means like the people. In Caló, however, the expression has a much deeper historical and anthropological meaning. To be como la gente, is to be like people who are not of your community—the others. The general idea being conveyed is that you and your raza (community) are one way, and the rest of the people in the world, la gente, are different. In a previous episode we talked about the term gabacho, which simply means others or non-Caló speakers. Como la gente means the behavior of the others. So when it’s said that a Caló-speaker is behaving como la gente, they mean they’re mimicking gabachos, the others.