Opportunity to win a naughty postcard.

Hola.

Today I bought a Spanish Bescherelle (one of those amazing verb conjugators/the greatest thing since online flight booking) and a novel. In spanish. Maybe this is wishful thinking, but I figure that if I can struggle through the novella (Eva Luna by Isabel Allende), I'll have gotten a fairly competent grasp of spanish grammar rules. I did sign myself up in Spain for a class two levels  above my current "capable of asking for butter, beer and whether the song playing is cumbia or salsa."

Thursday's child has far to go.

But can you blame me for trying?

And anyways, for you naysayers and head shakers, remember the German proverb. "One learns grammar from language, and not language from grammar." Ja.

Today I passed my uni oral exam (apparently I had good organization and relevant examples, but used various anglicisms like the verb "expresser." Which ought to be "exprimer." The topic was whether sports players are paid too much, and so I used my football crazy brothers as examples.). I slept in, counted how many words I've written on my blog and emails (140,000-150,000 since August 4th), and listened to the french radio for four hours.

I have a theory that they interviewed a chicken on the radio. The reasoning behind this is as follows:

In place of a very croaky, unintelligible old french lady, they (the DJ/Interviewers) decided people would understand a chicken better. They would've done better with a crow.

Ten points (and a naughty postcard) to the person who can name this rap song. Lyrics translated into french by me, sorry if it is dreadful. The "no internet" rule of "Project Profane" kills me.

J'ai une injonction
contre la fille de diable
et je le garde au bas
de ce jameson et de l'eau
et quand on arrive là
tu peux t'asseoir et regarder
derrière ton mascara et tes cheveux épais.