Sunday, August 27, 2006

j'ai lu

So I've figured out how to read Superstars: in snatches, at work (uh, no pun intended there). Not too many people shop for groceries at 10:30 on a Thursday night, so I'm just standing there, bored witless, I might as well keep my French in practice. And it's working; I'm about a quarter of the way through now. If I sit down for an hour, dictionary in hand, I'm constantly fixated on the words and structures I'm not completely comprehending, looking up every other word, it goes so slowly and I wimp out after 15 minutes. Turns out that when I can only read it in four or five minute increments, I don't obsess so much over every word but get the meaning from context, and it's surprising how much I understand. Of course there's always the recurring verb that I can't make heads or tails of. I don't know what the heck se faufiler means, but apparently all the Parisian girls are doing it.

Also, the French tell the exact same dumb blond jokes as Americans. Who knew?

I'm not actually supposed to read on the job, heh, even though everybody does, and I got chewed out by my boss for paging through the magazines on the rack (well I do put them back for heaven's sake!) God forbid Oprah* not recieve her pound of flesh. But she didn't say anything about books. But I keep Superstars tucked away under the register, because, well, it is a French lesbian novel, and has a very naked woman on the cover (it's a shame All Consuming doesn't have a picture). They wouldn't blink twice in Verdun, but I don't think "Oh it's not pornographic! It's a French lesbian novel!" would really fly here...

*yes, I know, but my alternatives are tabloids with JonBenet or Nicole Richie on the cover.


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