Að læra íslensku

This girl is totally cute.



How is it that Icelanders speak such good English that they know words like fucktard?

Sometimes I wonder how it is that I find myself listening with rapt attention to kids on YouTube teaching me Icelandic or Scots Gaelic or Irish Gaelic or any of a million languages whose speakers are probably more fluent in English than I'll ever be in those languages. But I think it's fascinating - people holding on to that stuff. And having something small to call your own.

I could learn Chinese and I am listening to my Spanish tapes again, but there's something about these little languages that's absolutely addictive. Maybe it's that I love sounds. I love the butter of French and the zing of Spanish and the lilt of Icelandic and Swedish and the sweetness of Mandarin and the shapes of Irish and Scottish Gaelic. I'm a total player, flirting with all these languages without every really learning them up proper. I'd love to though.

I would like make out with languages. I'd find a quiet corner and stare into their eyes at parties. I'd get drunk and tell them jokes. We'd wake up late and cook breakfast together.

And I love English too. I love how intimate we are. How well we work together. How easy it is to spill English out. To be precise or delicate. And I want more and more and more. More turns of phrase and feeling.

Is there a job where I could work 13 hours a day getting it on with languages (instead of spreadsheets, contact flows and email programs)? And there would be people behind the sounds and shapes and touch of all the new words. Sign me up.

Ok, ok, I'll leave you with just one more.



This will really be the last one, I swear:



Sigh, I need to go to Iceland and make friends with a rabbit.