That means “Beauty Contest.” That one I knew because I was robbed after one with my friend during the town fair. However that wasn’t mentioned. Aniversario del Instituto that one I picked up alright. It was just one word I couldn’t understand: Calificador. That means judge, well judge particularly for beauty contests. (Just tried to find it in the dictionary to check spelling. Not there. That consuls me abit.)
I think it can also be shortened to calidor, which they might have used when the student of the high school in Campachan asked me to be one next Wednesday, which was yesterday. In any case, I didn’t know the word, and I am sure elección was not used. However, I felt I just given a pretty good lesson in the high school, and didn’t want to show any Spanish weaknesses, so I just said: of course, I’d love to.
Later that day I asked the women in my office what calificador meant or something that sounded vaguely close to that. The first thing I thought was, oh no, first I don’t want to endorse that sort of woman demeaning activity, especially in a society so filled with machismo, and after being robbed, well even before being robbed after one, I was thinking one 5-hour beauty contest would do me for this lifetime.
But I’m glad I unknowingly said yes. It’s a completely different experience when it’s “performed” by a high school in village of 70 people and you have judge (calcular) it, and perhaps give a speech in Spanish at the end. It’s more like a talent show that has three girls that do most of the dance acts.
Unlike the Tejutla show, all of the entertainment was in town. Actually, they did get a pretty good lip-sync girl from the village on the other side of the mountain. In between the particapaciónes of the three contestants practically every student in the school: sang, danced sometimes quite provocatively (so much so that one time I couldn’t take a picture because I was sitting in the front row as a calificador’s table, and I didn’t want to seen as a one of those guys), or lip-sync which at it’s best is sexy dancing, and at it’s worst a 10-year-kid wearing shades, a telephone headset, and baseball cap to one side, stepping off beat and looking terribly nervous through two ranchero songs.
My favorite was the kid who looked 8 but was probably 13 at least. He sang his own songs, scared as hell, but not to bad a singer, probably the best. And what gestures. Every climax of the chorus his hand would raise in a fist every sinew taut, eyes squinting, teeth bared and still mostly hitting the notes. He was the highlight. I’d have given him Señorita del Instituto, first place, if I could have. (see flickr for more pics)
My nervousness about presenting the award turned out to be unwarranted. Nobody cared what I had to say, they just wanted to know who got what. Of course I said the expected and cliché thing anyway, “It was hard to the choose the winner among such beautiful and talented contestants…” They didn’t need to listen.
Also, the great thing about beauty contests in Guatemala is everyone gets something; there are no losers. If there are five candidates, there are five awards. You still have feel bad when you get Señorita Simpatía, “Miss Nice Girl”, or perhaps better translated “Miss Congeniality.” However, we made that one second prize, even though I think it’s usually last. How can you judge someone’s “niceness” from a couple dance acts in different outfits, and a memorized expressionless speech which you don’t understand all of anyway? I gave them all and 8 out of 10 in niceness.
I think it can also be shortened to calidor, which they might have used when the student of the high school in Campachan asked me to be one next Wednesday, which was yesterday. In any case, I didn’t know the word, and I am sure elección was not used. However, I felt I just given a pretty good lesson in the high school, and didn’t want to show any Spanish weaknesses, so I just said: of course, I’d love to.
Later that day I asked the women in my office what calificador meant or something that sounded vaguely close to that. The first thing I thought was, oh no, first I don’t want to endorse that sort of woman demeaning activity, especially in a society so filled with machismo, and after being robbed, well even before being robbed after one, I was thinking one 5-hour beauty contest would do me for this lifetime.
But I’m glad I unknowingly said yes. It’s a completely different experience when it’s “performed” by a high school in village of 70 people and you have judge (calcular) it, and perhaps give a speech in Spanish at the end. It’s more like a talent show that has three girls that do most of the dance acts.
Unlike the Tejutla show, all of the entertainment was in town. Actually, they did get a pretty good lip-sync girl from the village on the other side of the mountain. In between the particapaciónes of the three contestants practically every student in the school: sang, danced sometimes quite provocatively (so much so that one time I couldn’t take a picture because I was sitting in the front row as a calificador’s table, and I didn’t want to seen as a one of those guys), or lip-sync which at it’s best is sexy dancing, and at it’s worst a 10-year-kid wearing shades, a telephone headset, and baseball cap to one side, stepping off beat and looking terribly nervous through two ranchero songs.
My favorite was the kid who looked 8 but was probably 13 at least. He sang his own songs, scared as hell, but not to bad a singer, probably the best. And what gestures. Every climax of the chorus his hand would raise in a fist every sinew taut, eyes squinting, teeth bared and still mostly hitting the notes. He was the highlight. I’d have given him Señorita del Instituto, first place, if I could have. (see flickr for more pics)My nervousness about presenting the award turned out to be unwarranted. Nobody cared what I had to say, they just wanted to know who got what. Of course I said the expected and cliché thing anyway, “It was hard to the choose the winner among such beautiful and talented contestants…” They didn’t need to listen.
Also, the great thing about beauty contests in Guatemala is everyone gets something; there are no losers. If there are five candidates, there are five awards. You still have feel bad when you get Señorita Simpatía, “Miss Nice Girl”, or perhaps better translated “Miss Congeniality.” However, we made that one second prize, even though I think it’s usually last. How can you judge someone’s “niceness” from a couple dance acts in different outfits, and a memorized expressionless speech which you don’t understand all of anyway? I gave them all and 8 out of 10 in niceness.
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