Recently in Language Category

While opening the store today, I had the following conversation:

Man: (in Spanish) Hello. Do you by any chance speak Spanish?
Me: Yes, a little.
Man: Do you know where the GLKSNDOGINSDG MARAY is?
Me: Do you mean the Marais?
Man: Yes, the GLKSNDOGINSDG MARAY.
Me: (Um... I don't know what a GLKSNDOGINSDG is... but is he askaing for the Marais? The neighborhood? Like, the 'Marais section'? That would make sense, but...) Well, go straight down this street and when you see the store BHV, turn down the street on your left. It's called rue Vielle du Temple.
Man: Ok, that's easy. No problem...What GLKSNDOGINSDG are we in now?
Me: What what?
Man: What GLKSNDOGINSDG?
Me: (shit, he totally knows that I don't know what a GLKSNDOGINSDG is) It's called Chatelet.
Man: (seeming satisfied): Oh, ok. Is the GLKSNDOGINSDG MARAY far from here?
Me: No. Five minutes, maybe ten.
Man: There is an old cafe there, a really old one, where TOINSG used to go?
Me: A café?
Man: Yes, an old one, really famous. TOINSG, you know?
Me: (Shrugs)
Man: (Laughs) Thank you (and a genuine pat on the shoulder towards me)

I hope he was just asking where the Marais quarter was. Spanish varies so much that I think it was just some other word for 'hood in whatever type of Spanish he spoke (Argentine? Chilean? No idea... definetly not from Spain, though)

Overall: way better than last year's conversation in Spanish in the Luxembourg gardens where I said, "There will be an exit, and then a street, and then you will see your building." Not so helpful, really but that was all I could say. And then "Left" or "Right". Still, I don't know what the man today was exactly talking about, and I sincerely hope he was looking for the Marais, or I was totally off.

Right now, there are lots of Spaniards in town. I have practised my Spanish three times this week alone, and I even used it to talk to some Portuguese people interested in Russian ballet. Also, a French woman came in today with a Japanese woman, and spoke in Japenese to her about Chinese art, while an Italian guy looked at architecture books in English. I felt like Spanish should have been useful there, too, but no. Not really.

I have a slight obsession with Zach Braff. So sue me. Yes, I read his blog. But he's so funny. See?

So after marvelling at the swiss-army knife metaphor for awhile, I got to wondering what the French equivalent would be.

I'm a little torn on the issue.

The first and most obvious option is the ever-famous "Oh la la." Depending on tone and emphasis, it can range in meaning from "Just who the hell do you think you are?" to "Nice ass, pretty boy." Surprisingly (and contrary to most American opinion), it is more commonly used as the former than the latter.

However, I'd like to call your attention to the often underestimated (or, as Bush would say, "misunderestimated") and overlooked French Sigh. Never in my life have I encountered a people so set on sighing. The primary meaning of the French Sigh is a demonstration of discontent. Waiting in line at the grocery, one would think the French believe their sighs have super powers: as the line builds, the sighs and accompanying tsk tsks grow with them, as if the Frenchies are collectively trying to will the line to go faster with their magical sighs.

If you have to give a presentation in a foreign language, make it interesting. My Spanish during yesterday's presentation was so bad that I just started spitting out verbs in the infinitive, none of this bothering with pesky things like conjugation. Miraculously, nobody seemed to mind. They kept interrupting me with questions and asking to see pictures. This technique, in the end, made it so I did far less talking than I had anticipated. It was wonderful. Fabulous. And because everybody is so fascinated with Barbie, my 15-minute-long presentation in terrible Spanish became an hour-long class discussion in mediocre Spanish - spoken primarily by people other than myself. Advanced Spanish, here I come. I just need to bring my classmates with me, or I won't make it through my next presentation.

This evening, after leaving my Spanish class, I went to the ladies'. While in the restroom, I had two thoughts:

1. No toilet paper? (checking around me) Oh, there it is.
2. I'm excited to read the last chapter of my book tonight.

The strange thing was that those thoughts both came to me in Spanish. Complex - or relatively complex - sentences have only recently started coming to me in Spanish, and I am thrilled. I know this is the beginning of a good path, and I can't wait to walk down it.

Next I got on the phone and called my friend, speaking to her in English. After I hung up, I read the rest of my book (highly, highly recommended, also in English), only to explain to The Boy how great it was in French when I got home. I cooked Mexican tonight, and twice I noticed myself reading the expiration date (of the cheese, of the meat) to myself in Spanish. Then I said to The Boy in Lingala, "We're going to eat," when the food was ready.

In English, "you" is the second person singular. In Spanish, "yo" is the first person singular. In Lingala, "yo" is the second person singular.

In Arabic, "nahnu" is the second person plural, and "ngai" is the first person singular in Lingala. "Nosotros/as" marks the second person plural in Spanish, and "nous" is the simple enough form for the same in French.

Whenever I want to say "her" in Spanish ("ella"), I get confused and say "hiya," which is Arabic for "she." I don't know why I do this, because my Spanish is far better than my Arabic, but I am, for some reason, very attached to the word "hiya." (said hee-ya).

These words may not seem close to you on the screen, but scramble them in your head, and they will pop out at the most bizarre moments.

A few days ago, when The Boy and I settled into our semi-weekly Lingala session, I kept interjecting with Spanish words. And finally, while trying to work out a simple enough sentence in Lingala ("he dances well"), out tumbled the following phrase:

"Just wait!! Je suis tellement perdue con toutes ces idiomas in my head!" It wasn't until The Boy looked at me quizically that I realized I had mixed them up not only mentally, but out loud as well.

This is heaven to me.

In the last 48 hours, I have had four people tell me my accent is sexy. S-e-x-y. All of them used that very same adjective.

Everytime I respond in the same way: I blush, look down, and then say, "I don't see why. I'm ashamed of my accent, and very self-concious about it."

They usually do what they're supposed to do: exclaim that I'm crazy, tell me why they think why my accent is h-o-t, and then assure me that it's light enough so as not to be atrocious, but present enough to tint my words with that special anglo charm.

It's funny: I love accents in other people. Especially light accents - the kind that don't interfere with comprehension but that do bring a different tone or color to someone's words. I wonder why I can't comprehend how someone could find that same thing agreable in my English-tainted French.

First, I would like to point out a few grammar mistakes I actually saw today on reputable blogs. I resisted, with all the force I could muster, from correcting:

- Ann see's everything as black and white...
- Theirs no point in...
and, my favorite
- They should of known that...

One could argue that the second one is just a typo, but the first and last don't make any sense. It just looks like those people didn't know how to write, doesn't it? Coincidently, they were Bush fans. So I naturally wanted to pounce on their errors, parade them around as obvious symtoms of their frightening lack of intelligence.

I actually wrote out a comment correcting that last one. Who writes "They should of..."? Someone who obviously thinks that's the way it's written, that's who. Scary. Then I erased the comment and quickly shut the window. I'm still considering making the correction.