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The first day of class was the usual rigamarole of having the professor spoon-feed us the syllabus. Given that we are all college seniors, I'd like to think that we have all attained literacy in the English language, and even if we were slow on the uptake, the syllabus is hardly Nabokov, dammit. Thank you, yuppie, baby-boomer parents for making such mollycoddling necessary.
The class ought to prove interesting. The professor comes from the Basque region of Spain, and though she speaks perfect English, it is heavily accented. Because I have spent ten years studying both Castillian Spanish and various South American dialects under professor from Madrid, Costa Rica, Puerto Rico, Malaga, Mexico, and Argentina, my ears can parse the sounds she makes and rearrange them into English with little difficulty, but some of my classmates are not so lucky. They come from the Russian and German departments, and her mutterings might as well be Swahili for all the sense they make to them. Want to bet somebody complains before long?
The only bump in the road is the book. A single book, soft cover, CD not included, is sixty-six dollars. Fuck you. I foresee a semester of reading my assigned chapters in the bookstore and returning it to the shelf. Unless Modern Linguistics can perform cunnilingus, file my taxes, and perform chiropractic treatments on my neck, all while surreptitiously flashing nudie pictures of Colonel Tavington, it's not worth sixty-six bucks. Not when they'll give me eight dollars for it on resale.
Well, off to tea and Advil. Class and my cycle have conspired to start at the same time, and I'm a ball of bloat at the moment. Gah.
The class ought to prove interesting. The professor comes from the Basque region of Spain, and though she speaks perfect English, it is heavily accented. Because I have spent ten years studying both Castillian Spanish and various South American dialects under professor from Madrid, Costa Rica, Puerto Rico, Malaga, Mexico, and Argentina, my ears can parse the sounds she makes and rearrange them into English with little difficulty, but some of my classmates are not so lucky. They come from the Russian and German departments, and her mutterings might as well be Swahili for all the sense they make to them. Want to bet somebody complains before long?
The only bump in the road is the book. A single book, soft cover, CD not included, is sixty-six dollars. Fuck you. I foresee a semester of reading my assigned chapters in the bookstore and returning it to the shelf. Unless Modern Linguistics can perform cunnilingus, file my taxes, and perform chiropractic treatments on my neck, all while surreptitiously flashing nudie pictures of Colonel Tavington, it's not worth sixty-six bucks. Not when they'll give me eight dollars for it on resale.
Well, off to tea and Advil. Class and my cycle have conspired to start at the same time, and I'm a ball of bloat at the moment. Gah.
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