So the other night a Spanish friend and I watched Raising Arizona, which in Spain is called Arizona Baby. My friend is a big fan of Los Hermanos Coen, but she’d never seen this one, and I thought it might contribute to her understanding of American culture.

Boy, did it.

As it happened, the most difficult part of the movie for my friend to accept was perhaps the most realistic aspect of the plot: the fact nearly everyone in the movie is armed. Mind you, this film requires the suspension of more than a little disbelief. A lot of unlikely things happen. Gale and Evelle Snopes tunnel out of prison. H.I. McDonough dodges a shit-storm of lead from the firearms in question, plus a pack of riled-up dogs. The Lone Biker of the Apocalypse snatches a housefly out of the air with two fingers. Nathan, Jr., an infant, survives being left on top of a getaway car (twice), and then one hell of a ride on the handle bars of a Harley. All of this was easy enough for my friend to accept. She did not question it. But the fact that H.I. McDonough is armed, Gale and Evelle Snopes are armed, the teenage cashier at the Quick Stop is armed, the manager at the supermarket is armed, and Nathan Arizona (née Huffhines) is armed—she had to wonder if this wasn’t exaggerating things a bit.

“I do not believe this,” she said. “All these guns? What is this?”

It had never occurred to me that the-better-part-of-a-population-packing-heat might seem a little odd, if not downright psychotic. My friend had a point. All I could offer was a lame, “Well—you know—it’s Arizona.”

She squinted at me, as if that had not really settled things. “Yes? So many guns? Like the Middle East?”

I offered something about a lingering frontier mentality in the West, a cowboy ethic that had never quite died.

“Ah,” she said—not totally reassured, but a little. “So then not in your part? Where you live not so many guns?”

“Well…” I hesitated. I’m from South Carolina. “How ’bout that Holly Hunter?!”

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Charlie Geer is the author of the novel “Outbound: The Curious Secession of Latter-Day Charleston.” His work has appeared in Tin House, The Sun, Bloomsbury Magazine, and The Southern Review.

Spanish will often modify an English word to suit her own needs, change the word’s spelling and/or pronunciation and/or part of speech. It’s as if the language will take a little globalization, but on her own terms. So: a tuxedo is known as un esmoquin, from the English “smoking jacket”; a standard is un estándar; a parking lot is un parking; a punk rocker, un punky. Paddle ball is padel, and a comic-book fanatic is un friki (pronounced like “freaky”). A popular nightclub is sometimes called un trendy; an after-party, un after; and the jet set, la jet*.

Then there’s el tapersex. What’s el tapersex? Is it some kinky Mediterranean love-sport that involves adhesives? Or video? Or maybe Tantric feats of stamina (“Easy, now…taper off…taper…taper…”)? In fact, none of the above. El tapersex is what happens when a group of women get together to learn about the latest sex toys over light hors’ d’oeuvres. That is to say, el tapersex is Tupper sex. The short “u” sound does not exist in Spanish—when hesitating, Spaniards don’t say umm…, they say emm…—and what happens is the short “a” frequently gets used instead. Hence, el tapersex. Pronounced “TAH-per-sex.”

*La because even thought the word for ”jet” is masculine (avión), the Spanish expression for high society, la alta sociedad, is feminine. Conversely, The Rolling Stones are known as Los Rolling despite the fact that the word for stones is feminine (piedras)—presumably because, whatever Mick was up to in the early eighties, they are a group of men.

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Charlie Geer is the author of the novel “Outbound: The Curious Secession of Latter-Day Charleston.” His work has appeared in Tin House, The Sun, Bloomsbury Magazine, and The Southern Review.

Fun with Gerunds

Fun with Homonyms

Fun with False Cognates

Fun with Hershey’s Kisses

No Fun at All

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Charlie Geer is the author of the novel “Outbound: The Curious Secession of Latter-Day Charleston.” His work has appeared in Tin House, The Sun, Bloomsbury Magazine, and The Southern Review.

Like a lot of historic marvels, the Alhambra in Granada swarms with visitors, and offers as much in the way of people watching as it does in the way of Moorish splendor. To best record the splendor, you are advised to take aim the camera up. Otherwise you will end up with pictures of your fellow visitors—taking pictures. What most people do at the Alhambra, most of the time, is take pictures. The digital camera, of course, allows this. Maybe the digital camera even expects this of you. With a digital camera, you can shoot hundreds of pictures, and later select a decent picture from the comfort of home, which picture you may then send to family and friends as evidence of your experience. In fact your family and friends, viewing the subject on a screen, are having much the same experience you did, maybe a better one—they are probably viewing the subject on a larger screen, without the distraction of fellow tourists taking pictures. All of which is simply to say that although the digital camera makes recording life easier, it makes actually living life harder. Socrates suggested that the unexamined life is not worth living. That may be true, but the over-examined life is not really lived.

I don’t have pictures of the Capilla Real, the Catholic jewel in Granada’s crown, because photography is not permitted in the Capilla Real. This might make for a more enhanced visit—an experience rather than a recording of an experience—but for the fact that, perhaps precisely because photography is not permitted, visitors tend to tour the chapel at a brisk, noisy pace. It’s as if, since the wonders of the Capilla Real cannot be photographed, they are of little value. Granted, the Capilla Real does not hold a votive candle to the Alhambra, but again, the contemporary tourist is not known to be selective with shots. Visiting the Capilla Real, a body almost gets to wishing photography were permitted, so that folks might slow down, and be a little quieter.

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Charlie Geer is the author of the novel “Outbound: The Curious Secession of Latter-Day Charleston.” His work has appeared in Tin House, The Sun, Bloomsbury Magazine, and The Southern Review.

This is one of the wonders of Córdoba. Córdoba was founded in 152 BC. The Burger King was built a few years ago. It is located in the historic Judería district, directly across from Córdoba’s famous mosque, the Mezquita (785 AD). At the Burger King you will find standard BK offerings. At the mosque, you will find not only the usual Moorish splendor, but several Catholic chapels and assorted Catholic iconography. This is because in 1523 the Catholic Church turned the mosque into a place of Christian worship. In Córdoba, as in much of the world, the quest for market share has been going on for some time, now.