I noticed early on in my opera career that opera singers often peppered their conversation with bits in other languages. "Wunderbar!" one would cry; they would often bid me thank you or goodbye in something other than English. At first I believed this to be an affectation, but over time I've come to understand how the languages kick around in your brain, how the phrases become interchangeable. I say this now because I've spent the last few days muttering to myself in badly pronounced Italian, as I work my way word-for-word through the Calisto supertext score, checking the score we are renting from Glimmerglass against the realization we are using.
comedy of the day: tech support guy for our new shiny copy machine, which I as a "primary user" helped pick out, was overheard in a conversation with our IT guy today saying, "As long as Jessica's happy, we're good. That's what matters." I think without sarcasm.