Jeff and I have recently decided to learn how to understand, speak, read, and write French. Fluently, if possible. In the last 3 years, we've been fortunate to travel to France twice and have had our French colleagues visit us twice. Jeff is going again (lucky!) in November and they are coming to Flint in May. Whew! Each time we have marveled at how well they speak English and have been embarrassed that our French is tres terrible.
So, we purchased (brand new off eBay for $100 less than retail, thank you very much) Rosetta Stone. It's really fun, actually. Their basic philosophy is that the most effective way to learn a language is the way you learned your native language, by complete immersion, i.e. without translation. So, for instance, up will pop 2 pictures: one of a boy and one of a girl. And then this French voice will say "une fille" and will highlight the picture of the girl. (Shoot, now I can't remember if it's un fille or une fille... rats...) Once you've mastered choosing the right person, they show that same girl holding an egg and the whole process starts over again.
Another essential component is learning how to pronounce words like an actual honest-to-goodness French person would pronounce them. So, they'll say "des femmes" and then this little bleep sounds which is your signal to repeat the word into the microphone attached to the headset you're currently wearing. If you pronounce the word satisfactorily, you move on.
Okay, fine. Not too hard. Yeah -- until you hit lesson 2! All of sudden in lesson 2, the French pronunciation police are out in full force and they aren't messing around.
So the other night I was working on my French lesson when the picture of a newspaper flashed on the screen. "un journal" says Ms. French. "un journal," I reply. BUZZ. Wrong. "un journal" repeats Ms. French. "un journal," I try again. BUZZ.
I notice this green play button on the picture that I hadn't seen before. I click on that. It takes me to this alternate world of pronunciation help for dummies. Not only do you hear Ms. French pronouncing the word successfully, you also see what her voice looks like in sound waves. Cool. Ohhhhhhhh, I think, as I see that first her voice scoops down a tiny bit then explodes up before sliding gracefully down at the close of the word. Feeling better prepared, I click on the record icon and speak. Let me tell you, I didn't even need the BUZZ! I could see I was nowhere close. My voice line didn't even connect; it looked like a stick drawing, one line straight down, one line straight up, one line straight down. Crap. I try replicating Ms. French about 5 more times. Finally, I feel prepared to go back to the regular screen to try again.
"Un journal," says Ms. French ever-so-coolly.
"Un journal," I say with utter confidence (well, with just a hint of desperation).
BUZZ.
"Shit!" I say.
BUZZ.
9.26.2008
9.21.2008
Pipe dreams
This Friday was Jeff's birthday. He turned 31.
I got him a pipe. He really wanted one and he's very happy.
Pipe smoke, it turns out, is a very pleasurable smell and I find that it actually compliments the style of our house quite well, just like a lamp with the perfect shade or a furry blanket that's nice to the touch. With the season turning to fall, there's so much comfort in the idea of a warm fire, a great glass of wine, and a quiet night at home with Jeff, smoking his pipe.
I got him a pipe. He really wanted one and he's very happy.
Pipe smoke, it turns out, is a very pleasurable smell and I find that it actually compliments the style of our house quite well, just like a lamp with the perfect shade or a furry blanket that's nice to the touch. With the season turning to fall, there's so much comfort in the idea of a warm fire, a great glass of wine, and a quiet night at home with Jeff, smoking his pipe.
9.13.2008
"I'd like the model with the built-in battering ram, please"
I just got back from a rainy excursion to my local Yankee Candle because I've recently decided that I can't play one more note in my practice room until it smells like Spiced Pumpkin. (Good news -- Spiced Pumpkin candles are currently buy one, get one 50% off!)
While there, a young dad came in pushing a baby in a pretty high-tech stroller. There he was minding his own business, sniffing the lids of various candles like the rest of us, when she pounced.
Ridiculously Obnoxious Saleslady (R.O.S.): (speaking directly to the baby in the loudest cutesy baby voice I've ever heard) Well, aren't you just the cutest little baby in the wo-orld! (the 2 syllable pronunciation)
Dad: (polite fake laugh of acknowledgment) Thanks. (baby makes the tiniest of sounds)
R.O.S.: (Bending over and shaking her finger at the baby with a super scary smile on her face) No fussing in he-re! (and then, one octave higher) No fussing in he-re! (stops and smiles at the dad)
Dad: (polite laugh number 2) Yeah, I think he's teething. (trying to maneuver the stroller around the woman, but it was tough because it's a really small store and the Spiced Pumpkin display was blocking his only escape route)
R.O.S.: (still smiling that creepy smile and still directing all comments to the baby) Oh, I remember that age, I sure do-oo! (and then...) Aren't you just a great big chunk? Aren't you just the fattest, little chunkiest baby I've ever seen! Fat, fat, fat!
(At this I stole a quick glance at the kid. I don't like to make eye contact with babies because I think they, like dogs, can tell when you're afraid of them... Anyway, he didn't look all that chunky to me, plus her comment seemed a little mean-spirited regardless of his overall trimness.)
Dad: (polite laugh number 3) Yeah... uh, excuse me. (he inched the wheels forward)
(R.O.S. took up her post at the cash register. A group of women was ready to check out and their daughters were hanging back behind them. They were minding their own business sucking on those gigantic ring pops that dentists love so much, when the baby made the 2nd of the tiniest of sounds.)
R.O.S.: (in a scolding tone, talking over the women's heads) Girls! Don't you hear that little baby trying to talk to you?
(I made a second stealth glance in the baby's direction. Hmm, he's not even looking at the girls, I thought. The girls, startled, looked over their shoulders disinterestedly at the baby who had begun to pull his socks off.
His dad began to slowly wheel the stroller backwards in preparation for a reverse y-turn out of the store. R.O.S. left her post and deftly moved to block his escape.)
R.O.S.: (again taking up her baby speak) Don't you want a car freshener today?
Dad: (seeming to suddenly realize that his high-tech stroller could easily run over this woman, inched forward, tentatively at first, then with more determination)
(Good god, he's going to do it, I thought! I admit, I wanted to see it happen. Just as he was picking up some speed a young woman carrying a Victoria's Secret bag poked her head into the store.)
"Honey? Ready?"
I let out a small sigh of disappointment as R.O.S. moved out of the way and the dad and his baby left the store. I was really looking forward to seeing that baby take her out.
While there, a young dad came in pushing a baby in a pretty high-tech stroller. There he was minding his own business, sniffing the lids of various candles like the rest of us, when she pounced.
Ridiculously Obnoxious Saleslady (R.O.S.): (speaking directly to the baby in the loudest cutesy baby voice I've ever heard) Well, aren't you just the cutest little baby in the wo-orld! (the 2 syllable pronunciation)
Dad: (polite fake laugh of acknowledgment) Thanks. (baby makes the tiniest of sounds)
R.O.S.: (Bending over and shaking her finger at the baby with a super scary smile on her face) No fussing in he-re! (and then, one octave higher) No fussing in he-re! (stops and smiles at the dad)
Dad: (polite laugh number 2) Yeah, I think he's teething. (trying to maneuver the stroller around the woman, but it was tough because it's a really small store and the Spiced Pumpkin display was blocking his only escape route)
R.O.S.: (still smiling that creepy smile and still directing all comments to the baby) Oh, I remember that age, I sure do-oo! (and then...) Aren't you just a great big chunk? Aren't you just the fattest, little chunkiest baby I've ever seen! Fat, fat, fat!
(At this I stole a quick glance at the kid. I don't like to make eye contact with babies because I think they, like dogs, can tell when you're afraid of them... Anyway, he didn't look all that chunky to me, plus her comment seemed a little mean-spirited regardless of his overall trimness.)
Dad: (polite laugh number 3) Yeah... uh, excuse me. (he inched the wheels forward)
(R.O.S. took up her post at the cash register. A group of women was ready to check out and their daughters were hanging back behind them. They were minding their own business sucking on those gigantic ring pops that dentists love so much, when the baby made the 2nd of the tiniest of sounds.)
R.O.S.: (in a scolding tone, talking over the women's heads) Girls! Don't you hear that little baby trying to talk to you?
(I made a second stealth glance in the baby's direction. Hmm, he's not even looking at the girls, I thought. The girls, startled, looked over their shoulders disinterestedly at the baby who had begun to pull his socks off.
His dad began to slowly wheel the stroller backwards in preparation for a reverse y-turn out of the store. R.O.S. left her post and deftly moved to block his escape.)
R.O.S.: (again taking up her baby speak) Don't you want a car freshener today?
Dad: (seeming to suddenly realize that his high-tech stroller could easily run over this woman, inched forward, tentatively at first, then with more determination)
(Good god, he's going to do it, I thought! I admit, I wanted to see it happen. Just as he was picking up some speed a young woman carrying a Victoria's Secret bag poked her head into the store.)
"Honey? Ready?"
I let out a small sigh of disappointment as R.O.S. moved out of the way and the dad and his baby left the store. I was really looking forward to seeing that baby take her out.
9.11.2008
Not exactly the Aha! moment I was hoping for...
So, yesterday afternoon I was having a lesson with a talented young lady. I was really getting into what we were working on and I noticed she was looking at me fairly intently. A good sign, I thought. We must be on the same page! I finished my statement with an air of immense satisfaction of having reached her and paused to hear her reaction.
"Do you know you have a really long gray hair on the left side of your face?" she asked.
"Do you know you have a really long gray hair on the left side of your face?" she asked.
9.10.2008
Happy Birthday
Today is my mom's birthday.
I was talking to one of my adult students today during her lesson. She and her family just found out that her niece is pregnant and she's only 20. She's in college right now, a junior, and is currently studying hotel management on a study-abroad program in Europe. The girl is scared and upset, wants to come home, quit school and find a job, any job, that will allow her to provide for this baby. The father's parents are saying discouraging things. It's a bit of a mess. I kept thinking, Wow. What is she going to do?
And then I remembered, my mom found herself pregnant with me when she was 20. While she was still in college. Without a job and without insurance. I doubt that was part of her and my dad's plan.
My mom's plans changed. We've never really talked about it, but I would assume she was going to college with the plan of beginning her career after graduation. She's a brilliant woman. She would have been excellent at whatever she chose to pursue. Instead, she stayed home with me. And then with my brother, my sister, and is finally seeing my youngest brother through high school.
And she's excellent at it.
So, on her birthday, I say THANK YOU! for making those sacrifices, and for making those hard decisions. I believe I'm finally beginning to understand what that meant.
I love you, Mom.
I was talking to one of my adult students today during her lesson. She and her family just found out that her niece is pregnant and she's only 20. She's in college right now, a junior, and is currently studying hotel management on a study-abroad program in Europe. The girl is scared and upset, wants to come home, quit school and find a job, any job, that will allow her to provide for this baby. The father's parents are saying discouraging things. It's a bit of a mess. I kept thinking, Wow. What is she going to do?
And then I remembered, my mom found herself pregnant with me when she was 20. While she was still in college. Without a job and without insurance. I doubt that was part of her and my dad's plan.
My mom's plans changed. We've never really talked about it, but I would assume she was going to college with the plan of beginning her career after graduation. She's a brilliant woman. She would have been excellent at whatever she chose to pursue. Instead, she stayed home with me. And then with my brother, my sister, and is finally seeing my youngest brother through high school.
And she's excellent at it.
So, on her birthday, I say THANK YOU! for making those sacrifices, and for making those hard decisions. I believe I'm finally beginning to understand what that meant.
I love you, Mom.
9.05.2008
Hair-don'ts
I'm having a bad hair day. Well, to be honest, a bad hair week. I don't know, maybe it's the humidity, or it's time for a hair cut, or I need to switch shampoos. In any case, it bums me out.
That is, until I remembered some quality hair moments from my junior high and early high school days and realized that a bad hair week cannot compare to these 'dos.
Here I am modeling my own designs at the 4-H county fair in Omaha. 7th grade, I believe. Yes, I did make the shirt. And the shorts. See how my carefully folded-down socks and earrings match perfectly?
This shot was taken in Nashville while visiting my aunt and uncle and cousins. I LOVED that hat. I cannot even begin to explain how much I loved that hat. The sunglasses, I believe, were a promotional item from a gas station. And finally, it really is a shame that you can't see the full outfit because I finished this classy ensemble with a pair of pig boxer shorts. It was oh-so-carefully planned. See how happy I am?
Ah, yes. Here I am preparing to go to Homecoming my freshman year. Freshly sunburned from a marching band competition earlier that day, I went with the motto "Bigger is better." It was 1991, though, so I was not alone. Loyal readers of this blog might catch the irony in my choice of puffed sleeves.
Here it is: the pièce de résistance of my bad hair-do Hall of Fame. Okay, people -- here's the worst part. This hair-do is not a fluke. I would carefully construct these gravity-defying 'dos each and every single day. On purpose. Because I thought it looked good.
There, now I don't feel so bad.
That is, until I remembered some quality hair moments from my junior high and early high school days and realized that a bad hair week cannot compare to these 'dos.
Here I am modeling my own designs at the 4-H county fair in Omaha. 7th grade, I believe. Yes, I did make the shirt. And the shorts. See how my carefully folded-down socks and earrings match perfectly? 
This shot was taken in Nashville while visiting my aunt and uncle and cousins. I LOVED that hat. I cannot even begin to explain how much I loved that hat. The sunglasses, I believe, were a promotional item from a gas station. And finally, it really is a shame that you can't see the full outfit because I finished this classy ensemble with a pair of pig boxer shorts. It was oh-so-carefully planned. See how happy I am?
Ah, yes. Here I am preparing to go to Homecoming my freshman year. Freshly sunburned from a marching band competition earlier that day, I went with the motto "Bigger is better." It was 1991, though, so I was not alone. Loyal readers of this blog might catch the irony in my choice of puffed sleeves.
Here it is: the pièce de résistance of my bad hair-do Hall of Fame. Okay, people -- here's the worst part. This hair-do is not a fluke. I would carefully construct these gravity-defying 'dos each and every single day. On purpose. Because I thought it looked good.There, now I don't feel so bad.
9.01.2008
"Mortify: to humiliate or shame, as by injury to one's pride or self-respect"
I make a living teaching flute lessons, as you may know. Since the mechanics of playing the flute occur mostly inside one's body, I regularly employ analogies and descriptive imagery to help illustrate my points. Over time, my students become accustomed to this and we grow to understand each other.
I recently had a lesson with a talented young man. We were discussing the ending of his notes, something that I consider a lot myself. cue wavy lines and tinkly music...
Me: Sam, (not his real name) I notice that some of your notes are ending rather abruptly.
Sam: I know. (a little disheartened)
Me: I've been thinking a lot about this myself lately, and think that when I end notes like that, it kind of sounds like I'm choking a chicken.
Sam: (blinking) What did you just say?
Me: (launching into my description using full hand motions) Well, you know. Imagine you have this chicken and all of a sudden, you grab it by its neck and choke it. No more air would get through, but it would be pretty abrupt and probably wouldn't make a very nice sound.
Sam: Oh. I see. (kind of laughing) Choking the chicken. Got it.
Our lesson continued. It's not my best analogy (I have both a Twizzler and Olympic gymnastic/ice skating analogy of which I'm especially proud), but I thought it got the job done. And I really do think that sometimes notes sounds like that.
So this weekend while we're driving, I'm telling Jeff about this particular analogy and Sam's reaction and Jeff spits out his drink because he's laughing so hard. Seriously, there was diet Coke on the windshield. And I'm like, What?!
It turns out that 'choking the chicken' is a popular euphemism among teenage boys for, well, yeah, you know. And I was like, ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Because, I have three pretty advanced teenage boy students right now, and I'm pretty sure I've said this to all of them.
Oh my god.
I recently had a lesson with a talented young man. We were discussing the ending of his notes, something that I consider a lot myself. cue wavy lines and tinkly music...
Me: Sam, (not his real name) I notice that some of your notes are ending rather abruptly.
Sam: I know. (a little disheartened)
Me: I've been thinking a lot about this myself lately, and think that when I end notes like that, it kind of sounds like I'm choking a chicken.
Sam: (blinking) What did you just say?
Me: (launching into my description using full hand motions) Well, you know. Imagine you have this chicken and all of a sudden, you grab it by its neck and choke it. No more air would get through, but it would be pretty abrupt and probably wouldn't make a very nice sound.
Sam: Oh. I see. (kind of laughing) Choking the chicken. Got it.
Our lesson continued. It's not my best analogy (I have both a Twizzler and Olympic gymnastic/ice skating analogy of which I'm especially proud), but I thought it got the job done. And I really do think that sometimes notes sounds like that.
So this weekend while we're driving, I'm telling Jeff about this particular analogy and Sam's reaction and Jeff spits out his drink because he's laughing so hard. Seriously, there was diet Coke on the windshield. And I'm like, What?!
It turns out that 'choking the chicken' is a popular euphemism among teenage boys for, well, yeah, you know. And I was like, ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Because, I have three pretty advanced teenage boy students right now, and I'm pretty sure I've said this to all of them.
Oh my god.
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