To this date, nothing has worked.
I had to stop making leaky tire noises while I was driving because I was blowing so much air out of my lungs that it was making me light-headed. I hate to even imagine the excuse I’d have to give the police officer who showed up at a possible accident scene: “Officer, I was trying to figure out how to say “Rapido corren los carros, cargados de azucar del ferrocarrill” with perfectly luscious Spanish Rs — and I passed out.”
“You’ve been drinking, haven’t you? Step out of the car, sir.”
Whenever I tell people I can see okay without my glasses, the first thing they say is, “Okay, so how many fingers am I holding up?” Whenever I tell people I’m colorblind, the first thing they ask me is, “What color is my shirt?” Whenever I tell people I can’t roll my Rs, the first thing they do is demonstrate that they can, with long luscious motorboat-sounding Rs with enough fuel in them to meander around the lake all day looking for a good fishing spot, leaving me on the shore without bait or a fishing pole.
Many years ago, in a fit of desperation, I offered $25 to anyone who could teach me how to make a perfectly luscious Spanish R. Many rolled the dice, but all came up snake eyes, or worse. They all were kind-hearted, but saying things like, “Oh, it’s so easy. Listen to me doing it, and then you do it.” Or “Watch my tongue. Now make yours do that.” Or “Have you ever thought about taking up crotchet?” — None of that helped one bit. And now I’m up to $125 for a perfectly taught luscious Spanish R.
I’ve watched dozens of Insta-Tube-O-Gram videos on the subject. Some have furthered my understanding about the mechanics of trilling an R. Some have furthered my understanding that mechanics is not my thing. I’ve even seen diagrams and X-ray movies on the Who, What, When and Where. But the How? I still haven’t a clue.
(I saw a video where the “instructor” was advocating using the eraser end of a pencil to jiggle your tongue while you blew air over it in the hopes of giving it a kickstart — I kid you not. Jiggle it fast enough, and you’ll have success. She wasn’t a Spanish speaker. She was Croatian. I should have known better. Still, I tried it. I was that desperate.)
Often, after a few days of frantically trying to get my tongue to flap in the wind, I give up and give French Rs a go. I can make gargling sounds all day long. Often, after a few days of pointlessly trying to make a French R fit into a Spanish sentence, I give up on Spanish and French and try my hand at German. Often, after a few days of not sounding German at all — not even close — I give up and bark at the dog for awhile. By the looks she gives me, I may be fluent.
“You’ve been drinking, haven’t you? Step out of the car, sir.”
Whenever I tell people I can see okay without my glasses, the first thing they say is, “Okay, so how many fingers am I holding up?” Whenever I tell people I’m colorblind, the first thing they ask me is, “What color is my shirt?” Whenever I tell people I can’t roll my Rs, the first thing they do is demonstrate that they can, with long luscious motorboat-sounding Rs with enough fuel in them to meander around the lake all day looking for a good fishing spot, leaving me on the shore without bait or a fishing pole.
Many years ago, in a fit of desperation, I offered $25 to anyone who could teach me how to make a perfectly luscious Spanish R. Many rolled the dice, but all came up snake eyes, or worse. They all were kind-hearted, but saying things like, “Oh, it’s so easy. Listen to me doing it, and then you do it.” Or “Watch my tongue. Now make yours do that.” Or “Have you ever thought about taking up crotchet?” — None of that helped one bit. And now I’m up to $125 for a perfectly taught luscious Spanish R.
I’ve watched dozens of Insta-Tube-O-Gram videos on the subject. Some have furthered my understanding about the mechanics of trilling an R. Some have furthered my understanding that mechanics is not my thing. I’ve even seen diagrams and X-ray movies on the Who, What, When and Where. But the How? I still haven’t a clue.
(I saw a video where the “instructor” was advocating using the eraser end of a pencil to jiggle your tongue while you blew air over it in the hopes of giving it a kickstart — I kid you not. Jiggle it fast enough, and you’ll have success. She wasn’t a Spanish speaker. She was Croatian. I should have known better. Still, I tried it. I was that desperate.)
Often, after a few days of frantically trying to get my tongue to flap in the wind, I give up and give French Rs a go. I can make gargling sounds all day long. Often, after a few days of pointlessly trying to make a French R fit into a Spanish sentence, I give up on Spanish and French and try my hand at German. Often, after a few days of not sounding German at all — not even close — I give up and bark at the dog for awhile. By the looks she gives me, I may be fluent.
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