Letters from London #4

Well, it's been a long week and I'm tired, so here we go again with the Letters from London...

January 2001:

1.     Twas the night before Christmas

And all through the Underground

Not a creature was stirring

Except for the old drunk next to me.

We were both waiting for the same train and while there were probably visions of sugarplums (among other things) dancing through his head, he was clear on one point:  "Ten years wasted on her, ten years of my life wasted on that woman."  Well, mama always said not to talk to strangers, but hey, I'm a sucker for an unlucky-in-love story, it was Christmas Eve and he was a sad old man, so I nodded and muttered sympathetically once in a while as he rambled on about it.  Anyway, when we got on the train, he insisted on giving me one of his beers and then, before he got off at the next stop, stood up and proclaimed to the entire car what a wonderful human being I am.  I was, to put it mildly, mortified (I mean, I agree and everything, but jeez, you don't have to make a scene about it).  At the next stop, another guy got on, saw the can of beer that I had put on the seat next to me, asked if it was mine, and when I shook my head, he popped open and guzzled it there and then.  So I hope this little story serves to remind you all of the true meaning of Christmas:  free beer provided by complete strangers. 

2. English Language: After writing about "Puppetry of the Penis", a small grammatical point occurred to me.  Since the plural of octopus is octopi, and the plural of Elvis (as everybody knows) is Elvi, why is it that the plural of penis is not peni?  Can anyone answer this for me? 

3. Why You Should Listen To Kenny Rogers – I was thinking about having a juicy, messy, horrible romance that would fill me with angst, spite, and creative energy, but I just can't be bothered right now.  To paraphrase Kenny Rogers (who can actually be counted on for good advice in most of life's dilemmas -- he's kind of like a country 'n' western Yoda), I'm a-folding and a-running.  Thanks, Kenny!

Language matters

Moving to a country where you aren't really fluent in the language is interesting in many ways.  I mean, I can get by in French, but I know enough to be embarrassed by my crappy command of the grammar, so I am not a confident conversationalist by any means.  Which obviously kills me, because you can easily tell from this blog that I like to talk.  A lot. 

But I understand quite well, and my comprehension is improving rapidly.  One reason for this is because I watch as much French TV as I can - I don't have cable, so when I'm home I just watch whatever is on the regular channels to try and follow along.  Fortunately, they air a lot of American crime drama dubbed into French, which I greatly enjoy.   It's pretty entertaining, and not just because of the storylines, but because sometimes the actor cast to dub the part into French sounds nothing like the actor on the actual show.  For example,  Dr Mallard on NCIS - David McCallum's agent should be raising hell with whoever does the foreign-language casting because the guy dubbing his character into French sounds like he just crawled out of his sarcophagus and is about to die because he's three thousand years old.  Seriously unflattering for poor Mr McCallum.  (And just another note on NCIS - they talk about a thousand words per minute on that show - never noticed it in English but in French I have a hell of a time keeping up.  Which is good practice for me, actually.)  

So anyway, the other night Star Wars III was on TV, so I settled in to watch.  The dubbing for the actors wasn't bad, but the droids?  In French?  Hee!  But the best part?  Which I am still giggling about?  Yoda in French.  Just take a moment to imagine.....got it?  Good, now you can all join me in a rousing chorus of: HEE!  Heeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehee!!!  Funniest. Thing. Ever.