| Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of concerts in French.
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| Unfortunately, I don’t speak French.
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| I memorize it.
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| I mean, my mouth is moving but I don’t understand what I’m saying.
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| It’s like sitting at the breakfast table and
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| it’s early in the morning and you’re not quite awake.
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| And you’re just sitting there eating cereal and sort of staring at
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| the writing on the box--not reading it
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| exactly, just more or less looking at the words.
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| And suddenly, for some reason, you snap to attention,
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| and you realize that what you’re reading is what you’re eating …
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| but by then it’s much too late.
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| After doing these concerts in French,
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| I usually had the temporary illusion that I could actually speak
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| French, but as soon as I walked out on the street,
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| and someone asked me simple directions,
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| I realized I couldn’t speak a single word.
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| As a result of this inadequacy,
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| I found that the people I had the most rapport with were the babies.
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| And one of the things I noticed about these babies was that
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| they were apparently being used as some kind of traffic testers.
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| Their mothers would be pushing them along in their strollers--and
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| they would come to a busy street with lots of parked cars--and the
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| mother can’t see what the traffic is like because of all the parked
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| cars--so she just sort of edges the stroller out
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| into the street and cranes her head out afterwards.
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| And the most striking thing about this is the expression on these
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| babies' faces as they sit there in the middle of traffic, stranded,
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| banging those little gavels they’ve
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| all got and they can’t even speak English.
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| Do you know what I mean? |