The best thing about being back in Marseille, besides the sea and the roofs (doesn't it seem like it should be rooves?), and the Deluxe Potatoes at McDonalds, is my immediate transformation back into Brughk, that awkward smiling girl who keeps saying things like "This song smells like a song I know" and "Is your family a boat?" What normal and stimulating conversation! Who wouldn't want to hang out with her for hours as she slowly and painfully explains jokes she's thought of that make no sense and complicated stories filled with nouns she can't remember?
People in Marseille are super patient but I've still resorted to mostly talking about feelings - because they only require the present tense and it just makes everything a lot easier. Especially feelings that involve fear, because it's easy to pronounce, or pretty things, because the word "pretty" is the same for both masculine and feminine words. My obvious go-to conversation is spiders, which are both pretty and scary. Marseille has heard a lot about spiders the last few days. And it smells like there are a few more spider feelings still to come.
I have a photo of a dolphin castle but it's not loading so take a minute to imagine it. The dolphins are pink.
Showing posts with label French. Show all posts
Showing posts with label French. Show all posts
September 12, 2013
May 3, 2012
We are going to be friends
Now that we've established how cool being a babysitter at age 24 is, I have an awesome babysitting story. I got a new (client, but my friends tease me for calling them clients so I'll say) family last week, and went to meet them for the first time Friday. I kind of hate meeting a new family, it's like a first date and once on a first date I hid behind a buffet table until the guy thought I was lost and wandered off.
This family had an 11-year-old girl. As I biked to their house I thought about what I was like at 11, just for reference. I was weird at 11. I know a lot of kids and I have yet to meet one who is as weird as I was as a child. All the kids I babysit are put-together, own iPhones, avoid carbs, and are a bit too cool for school. Sometimes too too cool for school in my opinion. Until Friday when I met the best 11-year-old in the world.
She answered the door wearing a shirt with a picture of a cow holding a loaf of bread and it said "Paris." I had that shirt when I was little. I wore it with a "Got Milk?" hat because I felt like they went together.
"Do you like chocolate?" she asked.
I didn't have to answer. As soon as we made eye contact both of us knew that we had finally met our best friend, a person who was exactly like us in every way.
Alright I did answer. I love chocolate.
But this girl has the most beautiful off-kilter sometimes-hilarious-sometimes-hopelessly-bizarre sense of humor. She has hair so thick it goes past her shoulders. She painted a life-size portrait of Obama and hung it over her desk. She is obsessed with baseball. She speaks French. "Why don't we decorate the kitchen like it's a café and invent every kind of hot chocolate we can think of?" she asked.
While watching her cat pee in the yard she sighed and announced "I pretty much live in denim." Not because it was relevant. Just because she had a thought and felt like she needed to say it. Where have you been all my life, 11-year-old girl? Love has a name, and it won't be revealed so as not to put any children in danger.
But I love this girl.
She is exactly like I was at age 11, and exactly how I guess I still am except now I'm slightly taller. She times her showers. Have you ever met anyone besides me who times their showers to see if they can set a personal record every day? I haven't. If you have, I'd like to meet them. I have a shirt with a cow and a loaf of bread on it they can borrow.
This family had an 11-year-old girl. As I biked to their house I thought about what I was like at 11, just for reference. I was weird at 11. I know a lot of kids and I have yet to meet one who is as weird as I was as a child. All the kids I babysit are put-together, own iPhones, avoid carbs, and are a bit too cool for school. Sometimes too too cool for school in my opinion. Until Friday when I met the best 11-year-old in the world.
She answered the door wearing a shirt with a picture of a cow holding a loaf of bread and it said "Paris." I had that shirt when I was little. I wore it with a "Got Milk?" hat because I felt like they went together.
"Do you like chocolate?" she asked.
I didn't have to answer. As soon as we made eye contact both of us knew that we had finally met our best friend, a person who was exactly like us in every way.
Alright I did answer. I love chocolate.
But this girl has the most beautiful off-kilter sometimes-hilarious-sometimes-hopelessly-bizarre sense of humor. She has hair so thick it goes past her shoulders. She painted a life-size portrait of Obama and hung it over her desk. She is obsessed with baseball. She speaks French. "Why don't we decorate the kitchen like it's a café and invent every kind of hot chocolate we can think of?" she asked.
While watching her cat pee in the yard she sighed and announced "I pretty much live in denim." Not because it was relevant. Just because she had a thought and felt like she needed to say it. Where have you been all my life, 11-year-old girl? Love has a name, and it won't be revealed so as not to put any children in danger.
But I love this girl.
She is exactly like I was at age 11, and exactly how I guess I still am except now I'm slightly taller. She times her showers. Have you ever met anyone besides me who times their showers to see if they can set a personal record every day? I haven't. If you have, I'd like to meet them. I have a shirt with a cow and a loaf of bread on it they can borrow.
February 17, 2012
It changes
TIME MACHINE POSTs are things I wrote in France and then never published because of laziness something besides laziness. Here is one of them.
Every Friday I go to a literature review session for college students who apparently have nothing better to do on Friday nights. Last week when it was over and everyone was leaving, the teacher asked me where I lived and how I was getting home. When I answered that I lived by the train station and was going to take the metro she told me that was a horrible idea and she would give me a ride. I said that was very nice of her, and I put on my coat and my backpack and was ready to go.
"Woah, don't put your coat on! We're having a picnic."
I looked around, even though I already knew what I was going to see. It was 9:30 at night. There was no one else in the building. She pulled a picnic basket from underneath a table.
This is something that happens a lot in France. Someone says something very clearly, and I understand every word, but I don't UNDERSTAND. Yes, I caught that you want to have a picnic with me at 9:30 at night. I was able to grasp every word in that sentence. And yet... it's 9:30 at night. And you want to have a picnic?
Dinner was a bag of tiny chicken drumsticks that you can put in the microwave, gluten-free bread because she knew I was allergic to wheat, and a package of garlic cheese. There was a ton of chicken in the bag, but she kept telling me to eat more, until finally they were gone. Then she pulled out a second bag of tiny chicken drumsticks, barbeque flavored.
"Barbeque is a different flavor that regular," she announced in case I had never had flavored food before. "So, it changes."
"It changes" (or ça change for people who wish I didn't translate all the dialogue on my blog) is a sentence that I UNDERSTAND does not mean the same thing as it does in English, but it's impossible for me to think otherwise. In French ça change means "It's kind of different, but there you go." France is kind of different. It changes. But I like it.
Every Friday I go to a literature review session for college students who apparently have nothing better to do on Friday nights. Last week when it was over and everyone was leaving, the teacher asked me where I lived and how I was getting home. When I answered that I lived by the train station and was going to take the metro she told me that was a horrible idea and she would give me a ride. I said that was very nice of her, and I put on my coat and my backpack and was ready to go.
"Woah, don't put your coat on! We're having a picnic."
I looked around, even though I already knew what I was going to see. It was 9:30 at night. There was no one else in the building. She pulled a picnic basket from underneath a table.
This is something that happens a lot in France. Someone says something very clearly, and I understand every word, but I don't UNDERSTAND. Yes, I caught that you want to have a picnic with me at 9:30 at night. I was able to grasp every word in that sentence. And yet... it's 9:30 at night. And you want to have a picnic?
Dinner was a bag of tiny chicken drumsticks that you can put in the microwave, gluten-free bread because she knew I was allergic to wheat, and a package of garlic cheese. There was a ton of chicken in the bag, but she kept telling me to eat more, until finally they were gone. Then she pulled out a second bag of tiny chicken drumsticks, barbeque flavored.
"Barbeque is a different flavor that regular," she announced in case I had never had flavored food before. "So, it changes."
"It changes" (or ça change for people who wish I didn't translate all the dialogue on my blog) is a sentence that I UNDERSTAND does not mean the same thing as it does in English, but it's impossible for me to think otherwise. In French ça change means "It's kind of different, but there you go." France is kind of different. It changes. But I like it.
May 31, 2011
learn French in one word
For my friends who don't want to hear a French swear word* 60 times, I'll post a video for you tomorrow**.
For friends who do:
The one where she steps in dog crap is the one I'm most familiar with.
*not really a swear word the way Americans define swear word
**or right now!
For friends who do:
The one where she steps in dog crap is the one I'm most familiar with.
*not really a swear word the way Americans define swear word
**or right now!
April 8, 2011
does such a sport exist?
Nothing drives home how bad my French is like 400 children who speak way better than I do. It's not always their grammar or pronunciation, but it's the way they always know what word to use, and when, and I'm so jealous of them for it.
I was running in the neighborhood where my kids live the other day, and I saw almost a dozen of them. So the next day I was expecting to have several come up and say "I saw you running yesterday!" Instead ten kids stopped me in the hall and announce "I saw you doing sport yesterday!"
"Doing sport?" Why is your language so strange and how do you keep track of it all?
My only consolation is that maybe none of them were positive I was running. They decided to keep their options open with the verb "doing sport." Maybe I was playing a city-wide game of soccer, where one goal is the sea and the other is Aix-en-Provence. Maybe I had just gotten a text that the ball was over by the Castellane metro stop, and was racing six blocks to make it there before the other team's forward. Maybe.
I was running in the neighborhood where my kids live the other day, and I saw almost a dozen of them. So the next day I was expecting to have several come up and say "I saw you running yesterday!" Instead ten kids stopped me in the hall and announce "I saw you doing sport yesterday!"
"Doing sport?" Why is your language so strange and how do you keep track of it all?
My only consolation is that maybe none of them were positive I was running. They decided to keep their options open with the verb "doing sport." Maybe I was playing a city-wide game of soccer, where one goal is the sea and the other is Aix-en-Provence. Maybe I had just gotten a text that the ball was over by the Castellane metro stop, and was racing six blocks to make it there before the other team's forward. Maybe.
March 17, 2011
guess I'll go eat worms
The other day when I woke up and for no apparent reason my eye looked like this:
"This is a face only a blind person could love." I told the creature in my mirror.
But then I remembered something that happened in the metro my first week in France. A blind man, trapped between two confusing sets of staircases, called out for someone to help him.
"Hey! I can help you!" I answered in my most eager, polite French.
"Can someone WHO ACTUALLY SPEAKS FRENCH help me?" he yelled.
So on second thought, no one loves me. My eyes are fine now.
"This is a face only a blind person could love." I told the creature in my mirror.
But then I remembered something that happened in the metro my first week in France. A blind man, trapped between two confusing sets of staircases, called out for someone to help him.
"Hey! I can help you!" I answered in my most eager, polite French.
"Can someone WHO ACTUALLY SPEAKS FRENCH help me?" he yelled.
So on second thought, no one loves me. My eyes are fine now.
March 10, 2011
OUISTITI!
My kindergarteners have memories so short they often forget what they were saying midsentence. This is ok if their sentence is about an unrelated trip to a pet store over the weekend. But it's terrible as far as English vocabulary goes.
We've sung "Head shoulders knees and toes so many times that my legs are in better shape than an Olympic athlete's, but every time I point to my head they yell LA TÊTE!
We've sung more songs about the color red than my sanity can handle, but every time I point to something red they yell ROUGE!
The only redeeming thing about their short memories, in fact, the thing that makes it all worth it, is when I hold up a monkey flashcard and they yell OUISTITI!
Goodness I love that word.
We've sung "Head shoulders knees and toes so many times that my legs are in better shape than an Olympic athlete's, but every time I point to my head they yell LA TÊTE!
We've sung more songs about the color red than my sanity can handle, but every time I point to something red they yell ROUGE!
The only redeeming thing about their short memories, in fact, the thing that makes it all worth it, is when I hold up a monkey flashcard and they yell OUISTITI!
Goodness I love that word.
January 20, 2011
Minnesota, that sounds made up.
As someone who has done a lot of easy things I can say with certainty that there is nothing easier than making five-year-olds love you. I teach them to sing London Bridge, I tell them to stop hitting each other, I remind them if we bite we don't get stickers, and then for some reason, when it's time for me to leave, everything I've done warrants "We're going to miss you ssssso muchhhh, you're so beautiful, I drew this picture of you will you come live in my house? I LOVE YOU." And a million kisses.
And they give me Silly Bands.
And probably head lice.
Speaking of tricking people, and unrelated to head lice, so far I've told four of my new flat-mates that I'm American, not French, and all of them think I'm lying to their faces.
It may not be the start of a great friendship, but it's building my self-confidence.
And they give me Silly Bands.
And probably head lice.
Speaking of tricking people, and unrelated to head lice, so far I've told four of my new flat-mates that I'm American, not French, and all of them think I'm lying to their faces.
It may not be the start of a great friendship, but it's building my self-confidence.
January 6, 2011
Hello, hi'm Hamanda.
The only thing my kids love more than glitter stickers and Simon Says is the letter H. In French it isn't pronounced at the beginning of words, and my kids LOVE this new consonant. So much it may need a restraining order. This week we're learning body parts - like head and hair. And hears and harms and heyes. And after about five minutes into any lesson there are so many H's flying around that no one knows what's going on anymore, me especially.
"I have a question," asked a ten-year-old amidst the chaos. "What are hams?"
I'm trying to be more vigilant about pronunciation lately, since I figure that's the only thing I definitely have going for me. So I'm constantly correcting outrageous French pronunciation. No it's not a feeesh, it's a fish. No, it's not sreeee, it's three. And no, it's not hams. I don't know what it is, but it's not hams.
"I have a question," asked a ten-year-old amidst the chaos. "What are hams?"
I'm trying to be more vigilant about pronunciation lately, since I figure that's the only thing I definitely have going for me. So I'm constantly correcting outrageous French pronunciation. No it's not a feeesh, it's a fish. No, it's not sreeee, it's three. And no, it's not hams. I don't know what it is, but it's not hams.
December 13, 2010
good tidings
I met a student teacher during lunch today - she's French but wants to teach English in elementary schools. After finding out that I teach English, she asked what kind of training I had. I said absolutely zero. She got super uppity, which I understood, because she's a real teacher and I'm just a well-payed babysitter that loves talking about colors.
But then she started randomly dropping English words. Like "I studied English in college and got a Master's in it." with the word studied in English. And I thought that was strange. Because yes she's better at teaching, but why was she getting catty about knowing the word studied?
"So," she said, "where did you learn English?"
"How did I learn English?"
"Yeah, where did you learn to speak English?"
I explained that I'm American; it's my first language. And she said she had thought I was French. After that entire conversation. Which can mean only one of two things:
1. I AM AWESOME AT SPEAKING FRENCH!
2. Everyone got drunk at lunch again.
I want it to be the first, but unfortunately the second happens almost every day.
But then she started randomly dropping English words. Like "I studied English in college and got a Master's in it." with the word studied in English. And I thought that was strange. Because yes she's better at teaching, but why was she getting catty about knowing the word studied?
"So," she said, "where did you learn English?"
"How did I learn English?"
"Yeah, where did you learn to speak English?"
I explained that I'm American; it's my first language. And she said she had thought I was French. After that entire conversation. Which can mean only one of two things:
1. I AM AWESOME AT SPEAKING FRENCH!
2. Everyone got drunk at lunch again.
I want it to be the first, but unfortunately the second happens almost every day.
not your Brooke.
Only two months after my post about the way French people butcher my name, I now completely accept it. I have started to introduce myself as, and internalize myself as, Bhruuke. It's my French personality. Bhruuke often realizes that everything she is wearing is black, and is prone to yelling "C'est pas possible!" when she's annoyed. If people have a really bad cough, Bhruuke thinks they're saying her name. It's happened several times, but does not get any less embarrassing.
Here are some of my other nicknames that are not catcalls.
Ma petite Bhruuke (my little Brooke): Some French friends call me this.
Maîtresse (teacher): Polite children call me this. Or ones that can't remember my name.
Madame (madam): About three kids call me this. I have placed them in a higher rank of politeness than even the polite kids.
Ma Bhruuke (my Brooke): A 10-year-old girl I teach calls me this. She thinks we're friends. We'll see.
Here are some of my other nicknames that are not catcalls.
Ma petite Bhruuke (my little Brooke): Some French friends call me this.
Maîtresse (teacher): Polite children call me this. Or ones that can't remember my name.
Madame (madam): About three kids call me this. I have placed them in a higher rank of politeness than even the polite kids.
Ma Bhruuke (my Brooke): A 10-year-old girl I teach calls me this. She thinks we're friends. We'll see.
December 8, 2010
choose your own adventure
Talking with people, in any language, is a lot like reading a choose your own adventure book. Because if someone asks if you like cabbage you can say "It reminds me of my mother" or "It gives me a rash." And depending on which you choose will determine whether the conversation is about childhood memories or skin ailments. Maybe their mother was a professional wind-surfer. Maybe they think people who talk about rashes are disgusting. There's no way of knowing what's going to happen next. Wild!
The worst thing about choose your own adventure is that you can only choose one adventure. Which is why the best thing about conversations is when someone mishears you. You say "I'm going out of town this weekend" and they hear "Do you want to write a screenplay together this weekend?" And then you get a sneak peek at how they would have responded. Maybe they've been dying to write a screenplay and you never would have known.
It's like accidentally looking at page 156 instead of 165 and seeing what would have happened if you had investigated that scraping noise. You would have died. When people mishear you everyone gets twice as many adventures. Now let's introduce a foreign language.
Tonight during dinner the woman I live with asked how my day was, and I said it was pretty good. She responded with "Yeah, I don't like thinking about what's in hot dogs either. But at least it isn't dogs!"
And now I know what would have happened if I had randomly brought up the content of hot dogs. It would have gone over surprisingly well. No luck yet on getting her to write a screenplay with me.
The worst thing about choose your own adventure is that you can only choose one adventure. Which is why the best thing about conversations is when someone mishears you. You say "I'm going out of town this weekend" and they hear "Do you want to write a screenplay together this weekend?" And then you get a sneak peek at how they would have responded. Maybe they've been dying to write a screenplay and you never would have known.
It's like accidentally looking at page 156 instead of 165 and seeing what would have happened if you had investigated that scraping noise. You would have died. When people mishear you everyone gets twice as many adventures. Now let's introduce a foreign language.
Tonight during dinner the woman I live with asked how my day was, and I said it was pretty good. She responded with "Yeah, I don't like thinking about what's in hot dogs either. But at least it isn't dogs!"
And now I know what would have happened if I had randomly brought up the content of hot dogs. It would have gone over surprisingly well. No luck yet on getting her to write a screenplay with me.
December 7, 2010
they really do say that
In case I've shattered too many of your dreams about France, I thought I would reassure you that some of them are real.
When I was waiting in the doctors office the other day, there were twenty of us in a tiny room with one window and twelve chairs. Not a good thing to see when you show up at the doctor. And every disheartened patient who came in after me said the same thing: "Oh la la...."
This morning I was watching the Home Shopping Network (favorite show in any country) and someone was demonstrating how easily you could paint zig-zags with some sort of complicated spray-paint machine (I'll give you a better description of it when it arrives here next week). And every curve in the zig-zag was accompanied by "et voila, voila, voila, voila voila, voila."
When I was waiting in the doctors office the other day, there were twenty of us in a tiny room with one window and twelve chairs. Not a good thing to see when you show up at the doctor. And every disheartened patient who came in after me said the same thing: "Oh la la...."
This morning I was watching the Home Shopping Network (favorite show in any country) and someone was demonstrating how easily you could paint zig-zags with some sort of complicated spray-paint machine (I'll give you a better description of it when it arrives here next week). And every curve in the zig-zag was accompanied by "et voila, voila, voila, voila voila, voila."
November 26, 2010
and now for something you'll really like
I thought I had already heard the most bizarre things kids could be thankful for, until a ten-year-old girl was making her list yesterday, and asked me for the translation of a "bald mouse."
Me: A bald mouse?
HER: Yes a mouse that is bald.
ME: Can you describe it some more?
HER: Well, it's like a mouse, but it can also fly, and to fly it spreads its arms.
If you speak French you already know what this animal is so please don't laugh at me. Actually, everyone, please don't laugh at me. I told her it was a flying squirrel. And she thanked me and wrote it down, and I made a mental note that she was crazy. But then I got home and looked up "bald mouse" and it's a bat.
And it wasn't that funny until I thought of my alternate-reality Batman: FlyingSquirrelman.
All the alternate-reality super-villains are trembling in fear right now.
Me: A bald mouse?
HER: Yes a mouse that is bald.
ME: Can you describe it some more?
HER: Well, it's like a mouse, but it can also fly, and to fly it spreads its arms.
If you speak French you already know what this animal is so please don't laugh at me. Actually, everyone, please don't laugh at me. I told her it was a flying squirrel. And she thanked me and wrote it down, and I made a mental note that she was crazy. But then I got home and looked up "bald mouse" and it's a bat.
And it wasn't that funny until I thought of my alternate-reality Batman: FlyingSquirrelman.
All the alternate-reality super-villains are trembling in fear right now.
November 13, 2010
Esssactly
Major spoiler alert for people who are months behind on reality television: I was catching up on Project Runway last week, and when Casanova was cut I was crushed.
Casanoava was a Puerto Rican contestant who spoke in broken English and was always yelling "Essssactly!"
The guy never made any sense. No one could understand him. In short - he was me.
Because that's how I see myself lately - I am the zany foreign character on my own French reality show. Always thirty seconds behind in the conversation. Laughing really loudly when I don't understand jokes. Only speaking in the present tense. Drifting off midi-sentence when the vocabulary gets too difficult. And always, with a bewildered look on my face, repeating my famous catchphase: "What is going on?"
Other likenesses include Gloria from Modern Family
and Consuela the maid from Family Guy.
Cross your fingers that viewers find my antics endearing, so I don't get voted off.
Casanoava was a Puerto Rican contestant who spoke in broken English and was always yelling "Essssactly!"
INTERVIEWER: You seemed to struggle with some of the challenges [...] do you think it was an issue with the language barrier or do you think that it was that you had a different interpretation of what you thought that they wanted?
CASANOVA: Definitely maybe I can say both.
The guy never made any sense. No one could understand him. In short - he was me.
Because that's how I see myself lately - I am the zany foreign character on my own French reality show. Always thirty seconds behind in the conversation. Laughing really loudly when I don't understand jokes. Only speaking in the present tense. Drifting off midi-sentence when the vocabulary gets too difficult. And always, with a bewildered look on my face, repeating my famous catchphase: "What is going on?"
Other likenesses include Gloria from Modern Family
and Consuela the maid from Family Guy.
Cross your fingers that viewers find my antics endearing, so I don't get voted off.
November 12, 2010
November 10, 2010
when the cat's away the mice will dance
Last night, after watching a French movie and all its bonus materials, I told the couple I live with I was going to go to bed early. "I don't know what it is," I explained, "but lately at the end of the day I'm just freaking exhausted."
"OH MY GOODNESS!!!" they both screamed. "Say that again! Say that again!" Knowing better than to repeat what I assumed had been an accidental swear word or innuendo, I asked what was going on.
"That was such an amazing sentence! You used all the right verbs, and all the right articles, and slang only French people know!" Apparently this perfect sentence called for a celebratory dance that consisted of holding their fists high in the air and prancing around the apartment. You can't take more than two steps without hitting a wall in our apartment, so it was more like spinning around in circles.
When my flat-mates hate my hair, they really hate my hair. And when they think my French is getting rad, they really think it's getting rad. And it's scary to watch.
"Well, like I said," I mumbled, since they were too busy dancing to hear me, "I think I'm going to go to sleep."
"OH MY GOODNESS!!!" they both screamed. "Say that again! Say that again!" Knowing better than to repeat what I assumed had been an accidental swear word or innuendo, I asked what was going on.
"That was such an amazing sentence! You used all the right verbs, and all the right articles, and slang only French people know!" Apparently this perfect sentence called for a celebratory dance that consisted of holding their fists high in the air and prancing around the apartment. You can't take more than two steps without hitting a wall in our apartment, so it was more like spinning around in circles.
When my flat-mates hate my hair, they really hate my hair. And when they think my French is getting rad, they really think it's getting rad. And it's scary to watch.
"Well, like I said," I mumbled, since they were too busy dancing to hear me, "I think I'm going to go to sleep."
only FOOLS use red
My favorite French thing isn't a word or a food, it's a hand gesture. It doesn't mean anything, but it means everything. The closest translation is "oh man!" or maybe just an exclamation point.
Yesterday my class of 7-year-olds was copying down the numbers eleven through twenty in their English notebooks. Things were going pretty well. They were all quietly using their little rulers to write in perfectly straight lines, and struggling to read my handwriting. The first time I wrote something they thought I used a different alphabet. Ouch.
I was writing "sixteen" on the board in my very best penmanship when a boy in the front row raised his hand and asked what color they should be using. The teacher said blue and he started squirming. "But I've been writing in red, is that bad?"
"Yes." she said. "That's VERY bad. Why would you use red, what were you thinking? Now you need to tear out that page in your notebook and start over completely. And your notebook will be missing a page, so you've basically ruined the whole year."
I smiled because I thought she was joking. Then I realized she wasn't. Time for a French hand gesture to sum up the situation.
yikes from Brooke Barker on Vimeo.
Yesterday my class of 7-year-olds was copying down the numbers eleven through twenty in their English notebooks. Things were going pretty well. They were all quietly using their little rulers to write in perfectly straight lines, and struggling to read my handwriting. The first time I wrote something they thought I used a different alphabet. Ouch.
I was writing "sixteen" on the board in my very best penmanship when a boy in the front row raised his hand and asked what color they should be using. The teacher said blue and he started squirming. "But I've been writing in red, is that bad?"
"Yes." she said. "That's VERY bad. Why would you use red, what were you thinking? Now you need to tear out that page in your notebook and start over completely. And your notebook will be missing a page, so you've basically ruined the whole year."
I smiled because I thought she was joking. Then I realized she wasn't. Time for a French hand gesture to sum up the situation.
yikes from Brooke Barker on Vimeo.
November 5, 2010
Kate Moss hates tomatoes
All I said was "I didn't eat breakfast this morning." but judging by her look of disgust and horror I might as well have said "I ran over a little girl with my car this morning."
The couple I live with is positive my diet of chocolate and cheese has me minutes away from starvation. They both agree that I'll never weigh enough to birth children. And the box of rice I was holding when I nonchalantly said breakfast was below me put the wife over the edge.
"If you want to eat like Kate Moss when you go back to the US that's FINE. But not while you're here!" she yelled, slamming down a plate of tomatoes and fried eggs. I can't tell you what makes chocolate diet food and tomatoes a hearty meal, but I will offer this advice: don't tell French people you didn't eat breakfast, and heaven help you if you say you don't want dessert.
My flat-mates say it's a good thing I have a fat face. "Even if you lose weight from not eating enough tomatoes, you'll still have that fat face." Thanks friends.
I quickly changed the topic to the pond scene the husband was engraving on a knife handle. I complimented him on the reeds and he said thanked me. But when he went back to engraving I had to stop him. "Can we all just take a minute and be impressed that I know the word 'reeds'? Because how often does that word come up?" And we did, thank goodness. I'm tired of this amazing vocabulary going under the radar.
I have a fat face full of French knowledge.
The couple I live with is positive my diet of chocolate and cheese has me minutes away from starvation. They both agree that I'll never weigh enough to birth children. And the box of rice I was holding when I nonchalantly said breakfast was below me put the wife over the edge.
"If you want to eat like Kate Moss when you go back to the US that's FINE. But not while you're here!" she yelled, slamming down a plate of tomatoes and fried eggs. I can't tell you what makes chocolate diet food and tomatoes a hearty meal, but I will offer this advice: don't tell French people you didn't eat breakfast, and heaven help you if you say you don't want dessert.
My flat-mates say it's a good thing I have a fat face. "Even if you lose weight from not eating enough tomatoes, you'll still have that fat face." Thanks friends.
I quickly changed the topic to the pond scene the husband was engraving on a knife handle. I complimented him on the reeds and he said thanked me. But when he went back to engraving I had to stop him. "Can we all just take a minute and be impressed that I know the word 'reeds'? Because how often does that word come up?" And we did, thank goodness. I'm tired of this amazing vocabulary going under the radar.
I have a fat face full of French knowledge.
October 18, 2010
I have chicken flesh
My French is nothing to brag about but my French idiom knowledge is DEFINITELY something to brag about. No one can butcher the French language while beautifully mastering its idioms as well as I can. And I show them off as often as possible.
Last night the people I live with asked me what time it was and I glanced at my watch. It was two minutes to ten. "Ten o'clock - on the dot." I said, hiding my wrist. I'm sure they think either my watch or my brain is broken. But they'll never know which.
Last night the people I live with asked me what time it was and I glanced at my watch. It was two minutes to ten. "Ten o'clock - on the dot." I said, hiding my wrist. I'm sure they think either my watch or my brain is broken. But they'll never know which.
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