For the most part, I quit outright cursing, ever since the emotional expression of vulgar language was proven to momentarily shut off your brain; the occasional “fuck you” or “fuck off” escapes for the dry humor. Being the loudest person in the room has never been in my best interests either. Not to be disillusioned, my passive aggression is very smug despite my best attempts to seem aloof. When I’m in a groove, with kind honesty at my disposal, I can forego the first and last word, raised voices, and embellished lies. There’s a very important difference between snaps and insults, laughter has no place in contempt.

Fuck, as a noun, verb, adjective, or adverb, is too ambiguous. For one, the words sex and fuck are voluntarily interchangeable. Lustful connotations aside, exclaiming a fuck denotes an inability to properly express the grounds for disagreement. Shit and bitches aren’t literal observations of a human being, nor are they detrimental metaphors. On the other hand, reminding a remedially educated adult of their limited vocabulary can occasionally be self-gratifying. As a sadist, I imagine masochists can feel berated by figurative language; from afar, watching children cry themselves to sleep can be equally entertaining.

For me to truly hate something, is to prefer said object be at my disposal, rather than oppose me; then it’s a compliment. My ideas of insults don’t slap you in the face; they firmly clench your soft hands and shake your weak wrists. I’m the fifth horseman of the apocalypse, the harbinger of self-loathing; because when all else fails, I remind you that we're going to die, and this conversation won’t mean a thing; besides a wasted opportunity to be more than two negatives.

If you immediately thought, "two negatives make a positive;" not when they add.

Michael Bloomberg is a billionaire; his droning interpretative speeches are a devastating testament to acquiring a second language in America. I was born in Montreal, Quebec, which is the last remaining French region of Canada. Although French was taught in my Canadian elementary school, our remaining classes were taught in English. My family moved to Brooklyn, New York when I was nine years old. In America, the public schools I attended solely offered Spanish language classes. Without native French speakers at home, my lack of re-enforced practice and regularity upheld a language barrier. Any desire to independently learn was also thwarted by the social stigma; despite the French colonial assistance during the American Revolution, and congratulatory Statue of Liberty, French unfairly gets a bad rap in America.

Being bilingual is decidedly awesome, benefits include increased intelligence and delayed onset of dementia; then there’s automatic membership into an exclusive club. Imagine having conversations about sensitive topics, without relinquishing a clue of subject matter to anyone not involved. It’s especially wonderful when the person thinks they know what’s being said: No madam, he actually asked how you taste; watching you giggle at his accent is high comedy. There’s also the opposite effect of playing a fool, and overhearing conversations you weren’t thought to be privy to; which Americans would be smart to admit happens far more often than they’re aware of.

As an adult, in pursuit of every noted advantage that learning French has to offer, I have tried using the interactive Rosetta Stone, listening to Pimsleur audio lessons, and signing up for online DuoLingo courses. Each language program was started from the basic level. Difficulty was incrementally increased on schedule. Programs were repeated from scratch on numerous occasions. Every opportunity, though proven to instill and recall bits and pieces of information, has essentially gone to waste. The problem could be me; an undiagnosed brain tumor inhibiting my language receptors sounds better than a lack of discipline. My next course of action is pure overload: to concurrently try every option, while listening to French radio throughout the day. I expect to read, write, speak, and understand French within a month. A constant bombardment of language learning tools versus unreal expectations. See this space again in February for updates.

Because I believe the socially impaired have truly unique perspectives, sign is also on my short list of languages to learn. If there is another person out there who would like to partner with me for this learning experience, then please contact me through any channel on jorenerene.com.