Without shows like the Jersey Shore, these guys will be forced to work for their Gym, Tan, Laundry lifestyle...pledge now....ok, on second thought, maybe it's a good thing I can't watch it.
This marks the third week of "visiting". This also marks when I realize I need a job. In an effort to become more employable (whether is be legit or le travaille noir, as they say...), I am going to become conversationally fluent in French! No, don't laugh, I will. Ok, maybe fluent for a 10-year-old, but children can get jobs! My tiny hands would be perfect for picking up stray bits of twine from factory floors (it really was a job).
Really, though, learning French is extremely frustrating. I've perfected the smile-nod answer to questions I don't understand, as well as the "ahh, yes, is good!" response when I reazlie I can't say anything, especially normal phrases people say. For example, if I asked you "who ate your pesto", you probably wouldn't respond with "i think it was the people who also live in the house where I live". But I might. Coupled with my wild hand gestures in order to explain "no, I wanted a sandwich, not coffee" and the inability to say anything involving too many vowels (feuille?!), I'm just...amazing. Translating, here I come! It has made pick up conversations that much better though.
Guy: Hello, what have you been doing tonight?
Me: No, I don't want any poutine, thank you.
Yesterday I played my second show with Mind That Bird. First show was at a dive bar somewhat equal to...an Irish Pub in midtown. Just the regulars, everyone's already kind of drunk, and no one's really listening. THIS show, however, had an actual audience. I was utterly terrified. There were at least two moments when I looked out into the crowd, realized people were actually looking at me, I kind of blacked out. I went blacker than (insert racial pun here). Plus the violin, fuck man...when there aren't drums, that instrument is LOUD. But it went off pretty well.
This marks the third week of "visiting". This also marks when I realize I need a job. In an effort to become more employable (whether is be legit or le travaille noir, as they say...), I am going to become conversationally fluent in French! No, don't laugh, I will. Ok, maybe fluent for a 10-year-old, but children can get jobs! My tiny hands would be perfect for picking up stray bits of twine from factory floors (it really was a job).
Really, though, learning French is extremely frustrating. I've perfected the smile-nod answer to questions I don't understand, as well as the "ahh, yes, is good!" response when I reazlie I can't say anything, especially normal phrases people say. For example, if I asked you "who ate your pesto", you probably wouldn't respond with "i think it was the people who also live in the house where I live". But I might. Coupled with my wild hand gestures in order to explain "no, I wanted a sandwich, not coffee" and the inability to say anything involving too many vowels (feuille?!), I'm just...amazing. Translating, here I come! It has made pick up conversations that much better though.
Guy: Hello, what have you been doing tonight?
Me: No, I don't want any poutine, thank you.
Yesterday I played my second show with Mind That Bird. First show was at a dive bar somewhat equal to...an Irish Pub in midtown. Just the regulars, everyone's already kind of drunk, and no one's really listening. THIS show, however, had an actual audience. I was utterly terrified. There were at least two moments when I looked out into the crowd, realized people were actually looking at me, I kind of blacked out. I went blacker than (insert racial pun here). Plus the violin, fuck man...when there aren't drums, that instrument is LOUD. But it went off pretty well.
My mind went blacker than...this guy?
