Phonetics as a Foreign Language

Phonetics is stupid. I officially hate the subject.

Example: the phonetic parsing of "lui" (the word him in French) is /lyi/

The professor gave us the final exam from last semester as an example of the kind of work the class entails. The paper looked like another language. Under every French sentence, the student was suppose to write the phonetics parsing. Like so:


So on top of learning French, I must learn this new "language of sounds".

The class always ends with the professor saying two French words that sound very similar, like "Louis" and "lui". The class must distinguish which word she is saying, the first or the second. If we think it is the first (Louis) we say "le premier" and if we think it is the second (lui) we say "le deuxieme". Here is a quick run-down of class today.

Professor: "Louis."
The rest of the class: "Le premiere!"
Me (meekly, quietly, with my head lowered): "Le deuxieme?"

I swear, she is saying the same word everytime, and this is some trick to try and make us think that "Louis" and "lui" sound at all different in pronunciation. The professor claims it is where the word exits your throat, I still claim conspiracy.

Although the two-hour phonetics class was frustrating, my four-hour language class was simply loooonnngggg, but at least it was in a language I semi-understood.

After class, Annie and I went to a mass at the local Catholic church. It was the equivalent of an American youth group with a meal of crepes provided after the service. I went to meet French people and to practice my language skills, and I think I might have accomplished my goal if the group wasn't celebrating the La Chandeleur-- or the national French crepe holiday.

The holiday was officially February 2nd, but during La Chandeleur the French take down their Christmas decorations and eat crepes.

Because La Chandeleur was yesterday, a lot of people showed up for dinner. It was a madhouse. After navigating through the crowd to grab my ham and cheese crepe, Annie and I ate and ran to prevent being trampled by the hungry French masses. Maybe we'll have better luck next week.