Sammy, are you listening?

I've decided to compose a poem in French in response to one of Sammy Williams' songs. Only not really in French because that's pretentious. Pile of bones, bucket of dirt, pile of bones, bucket of dirt...

In the true french style, I had two tests and one canceled class that everyone knew was canceled except the exchange students who shook the locked door like idiots and then wondered why we all got up from our extended naps and wandered through the snow to get there. Ahh yes... the snow. Yesterday, tiny, perfectly formed, six-sided snowflakes fell all day. Today, snow that looked exactly like tiny, white cake sprinkles (hence, it "sprinkled"). Tomorrow I'm hoping for snow that looks like tiny submarines.

Though my residence hall might be the French equivalent of living with Flava-Flav as your mother, the other residences on campus are quite nice. Like St; Thomas, for example, where a group of Finnish girls made dinner for the entire building (of eight people) and me. There is nothing like a Finnish meal when you are broke, hungry and... um, actually it was just salmon and mashed potatoes but it was free and I was starving and there was wine. This is love. They even made something called "Apples, it's Good," which was like apple crisp with eggnog on it. Not as impressive as the hand-drawn Finnish flags but still, impressive.

I love a building where they give you food for free instead of turning off your appliances and insulting your mother.

Lies, no one has ever insulted my mother.

Anyway... Once again I was told that I speak French well which is funny because I only have to do it every once in a while. I attribute this to two things.

1) People expect us to speak the worst, most deranged French humanly possible. (I'm still not convinced that the Spaniards are speaking anything.)

2) They don't let you speak french because everyone on earth is eager to speak English. A guy on the subway informed me that it is the Langue Universalle. It's actually a bit depressing. French television is nothing but dubbed episodes of Wayans Brothers shows. The clothes say things on them in English like "I drive for fish" (Not really but I wish they did). In Italy, in Spain... always the same.

Such is the way of the world. But they do wear crazy french boots and they guys have some of the ugliest hair cuts I've ever seen, which makes up for all of the girls being amazingly skinny.

Phrase du jour: Rebaja, Soldes, Saldes, SALE! (The only thing other than Kabab and smoking that you find in every country.)

Note: I miss Scrabble on TV and I'm so, so tired of Peter Gabriel. Genesis is the french equivalent of Germany's David Hasselhof.