Recently, I decided to listen to French language CD’s in the car on my way to work. Since I haven’t made a special effort to learn it during my down time, I thought this might be a nice approach to improving my vocabulary. But it turns out that the CD’s I have are meant to accompany a text book. I don’t know how recently you’ve had the opportunity to notice this first-hand, but police officers tend to suspend their support of education and self-improvement when it comes to driving and reading text books simultaneously. So, for now, I’ve replaced those CD’s with Pink Martini as a surrogate. I can now, with confidence and perfect pronunciation, sing useful phrases such as, “I have body parts scattered all over the streets of Paris.” and, “I do not want to have lunch, I only want to forget.” and, “Where are my feet?”
I digress. I’ve been paying particular attention to the music I listen to and the effect it has on me lately. There’s a little project I have underway that merges my interest in music and photography. I should have more to talk about in a month or two, but for now, “J’ai perdu mes bras sur la Place de l’Opera.”
