Tuesday, June 03, 2008
My motorcycle is inop. I am NOT happy. My garage currently has two dead bikes in it and I'm stuck driving my old Honda Accord, which air conditioning is also inop.
My truck has a flat tire; not too inconvenient as I drive it very rarely. At $100.00 a fill-up and 10 mpg, I probably won't be driving it much at all. Sometimes you just need a truck, though.
My lawn tractor has a flat and a bad battery.
I'm currently taking a conversational Spanish course. I long since forgot everything I learned in HS Spanish, except that Sra. Patton was kinda hot. She once beat the crap out of me with two yardsticks taped together. I was in the process of trying to beat the crap out of another student, so I probably had it coming - although I might've quit hitting him sooner if she hadn't been pissing me off by whacking me.
So, I blame her.
Hard to imagine nowadays, but back in the day teachers used to carry weapons in school openly. Paddles with holes drilled in them, yardsticks and rulers, etc. Some of them were proficient at causing pain. I had one teacher who loved to take his paddle out - a fearsomely carved and drilled device designed for a two-handed swing - and play with it while lecturing or stalking the classroom while we were working on in-class assignments. It was certainly an attention grabber.
There was a 6th grade English teacher who taught me verb conjugation and sentence parsing through the seat of my pants, skills I retain to this day. Maybe if I'd had him for Spanish instead of Sra. Patton...
Mind you, this was a public school.
Spanish spoken by a fat old white guy with a flat Midwestern accent and an inability to trill an "r" is no doubt a source of amusement for native speakers. Turnabout really is fair play; I can now fail to communicate in two languages. I can't understand their English and they can't understand my Spanish. Life is good.
At one time - decades ago - I spoke passable German; now not so much. It's funny, but when I try to cast sentences en Espanol, especially using numbers, the German words pop out unbidden.
I also don't speak French worth a crap. Luckily I remember so little of it that I don't even try, much to the relief of Francophiles everywhere, I'm sure.
I should stick to moderate drinking and naive provincialism; it's much easier. Ja, ich hablo Aleman!
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