be　ushered　from　the　waiting　room　into　somebody’s　office；　waiting　for　your　date　to
  arrive；　waiting　for　anything　at　any　time？
  You　will　learn　to　mobilise　these　precious　scraps　of　time　you’ve　never　even　been
  aware　you’ve　been　wasting。　Some　of　your　most　valuable　study　time　will　come　in
  mini　lessons　of　fifteen；　ten；　and　even　five　seconds　throughout　your　normal　（though
  now　usually　fruitful）　day。
  。HARRY　LORAYNE’S　MAGIC　MEMORY　AID：　An　ingenious　memory　system　developed
  by　memory　master　Harry　Lorayne　will　help　you　glue　a　word　to　your　recollection
  the　instant　you　encounter　it。　What　would　you　do　right　now　if　I　gave　you　a　hundred
  English　words　along　with　their　foreign　equivalents　and　told　you　to　learn　them？
  Chances　are　you　would　look　at　the　first　English　word；　then　look　at　the　foreign
  word；　repeat　it　several　times；　then　close　your　eyes　and　keep　on　repeating　it；　then
  cover　up　the　foreign　word；　look　only　at　the　English　and　see　if　you　could　remember
  how　to　say　it　in　the　language　you’re　learning；　then　go　on　to　the　next　word；　then　the
  next；　and　the　next；　and　then　go　back　to　the　first　to　see　if　you　remembered　it；　and　so
  on　through　the　list。
  Harry　Lorayne’s　simple　memory　trick　based　on　sound　and　association　will　make
  that　rote　attempt　laughable。　The　words　will　take　their　place　in　your　memory　like
  ornaments　securely　hung　on　a　Christmas　tree；　one　right　after　the　other　all　the　way
  up　to　many　times　those　hundred　words。
  。THE　PLUNGE：　You　will　escape　the　textbook　incubator　early　and　leap　straightaway；
  with　almost　no　knowledge　of　the　language；　into　that　language’s　“real　world”。　A
  textbook　in　your　target　language；　no　matter　how　advanced；　is　not　the　real　world。
  On　the　other　hand；　an　advertisement　in　a　foreign　language　magazine；　no　matter
  how　elementary　and　easy　to　read；　is　the　real　world。　Everything　about　you；
  conscious　and　subconscious；　prefers　real　world　to　student　world　contact　with　the
  language。
  An　actor　knows　the　difference　between　rehearsal　and　opening　night；　the　football
  player；　between　practice　scrimmages　and　the　kickoff　in　a　crowded　stadium。　And
  you　will　know　the　difference　between　your　lessons　in　the　target　language　and　the
  real　world　newspapers；　magazines；　novels；　movies；　radio；　TV；　and　anything　else
  you　can　find　to　throw　yourself　into　at　a　stage　your　high　school　French　teacher
  would　have　considered　horrifyingly　early！
  There　you　have　it：　The　Multiple　Track　Attack；　Hidden　Moments；　Harry　Lorayne’s
  Magic　Memory　Aid；　The　Plunge。　Visualise　the　target　language　as　a　huge　piece　of　thin；
  dry　paper。　This　system　will　strike　a　match　underneath　the　middle　of　that　paper；　and　your
  knowledge；　like　the　flame；　will　eat　its　way　unevenly　but　unerringly　outward　to　the　very
  ends。
  Just　as　food　manufacturers　like　to　label　their　products　“natural　and　organic”
  whenever　they　can　get　away　with　it；　many　language　courses　like　to　promise　that　you　will
  learn　“the　way　a　child　learns。”
  Why　bother？　Why　should　you　learn　another　language　the　way　a　child　learned　his
  first　one？　Why　not　learn　as　what　you　are　–　an　adult　with　at　least　one　language　in　hand；
  eager　to　use　that　advantage　to　learn　the　next　language　in　less　time　than　it　took　to　learn　the
  first？
  P　A　R　T　O　N　E
  My　Story
  A　Life　of　Language
  Learning
  A　brief　“language　autobiography”　may　help　readers　whose　language　learning　and
  language　loving　careers　began　only　a　few　moments　ago　with　the　opening　of　this　book。
  My　favourite　word　–　in　any　language　–　is　the　English　word　foreign。　I　remember
  how　it　came　to　be　my　favourite　word。　At　the　age　of　four　I　attended　a　summer　day　camp。
  Royalty　develops　even　among　children　that　young。　There　were　already　a　camp　“king”
  and　a　camp　“queen”；　Arthur　and　Janet。　I　was　sitting　right　beside　Arthur　on　the　bus　one
  morning；　and　I　remember　feeling　honoured。　Arthur　reached　into　his　little　bag；　pulled　out
  an　envelope；　and　began　to　show　Janet　the　most　fascinating　pieces　of　coloured　paper　I’d
  ever　seen。
  “Look　at　these　stamps；　Janet；”　he　said。　“They’re　foreign！”　That　word　reverberated
  through　my　bone　marrow。　Foreign；　I　figured；　must　mean　beautiful；　magnetic；　impressive
  –　something　only　the　finest　people　share　with　only　the　other　finest　people。　From　that
  moment　forward；　the　mere　mention　of　the　word　foreign　has　flooded　me　with　fantasy。
  I　thought　everybody　else　felt　the　same；　and　I　had　a　hard　time　realising　they　didn’t。
  When　a　schoolmate　told　me　he　turned　down　his　parents’　offer　of　a　trip　to　Europe　for　a
  trip　out　West　instead；　I　thought　he　was　crazy。　When　another　told　me　he　found　local
  politics　more　interesting　than　world　politics；　I　thought　he　was　nuts。　Most　kids　are　bored
  with　their　parents’　friends　who　come　to　dinner。　I　was　too；　unless　that　friend　happened　to
  have　been　to　a　foreign　country　–　any　foreign　country　–　in　which　case　I　cross　examined
  him　ruthlessly　on　every　detail　of　his　foreign　visit。
  Once　a　visitor　who’d　been　through　my　interrogation　to　the　point　of　brain　blur　said
  to　my　mother　upon　leaving；　“What　a　kid！　He　was　fascinated　by　every　detail　of　every　hour
  I　ever　spent　in　another　country；　and　the　only　other　place　I’ve　ever　been　is　Canada！’
  How　Latin　Almost　Ruined　It
  Walking　into　Miss　Leslie’s　Latin　class　on　the　first　day　of　ninth　grade　was　the　culmination
  of　a　lifelong　dream。　I　could　actually　hear　Roman　background　music　in　my　mind。　I　didn’t
  understand　how　the　other　students　could　be　anything　less　than　enthusiastic　about　the
  prospect　of　beginning　Latin。　Electricity　coursed　through　me　as　I　opened　the　Latin　book
  Miss　Leslie　gave　us。　I　was　finally　studying　a　foreign　language！
  The　first　day　all　we　did　was　learn　vocabulary。　Miss　Leslie　wrote　some　Latin　words
  on　the　blackboard；　and　we　wrote　them　down　in　our　notebooks。　I　showed　early　promise　as
  the　class　whiz。　I　quickly　mastered　those　new　words；　each　then　as　precious　as　Arthur’s
  foreign　stamps　had　been　eleven　years　earlier。　When　Miss　Leslie　had　us　close　our　books
  and　then　asked　“Who　remembers　how　to　say　‘farmer’　in　Latin；”　I　was　the　first　to　split　the
  air　with　the　cry　of　“Agricola！”　I　soaked　up　those　foreign　words　like　the　Arabian　desert
  soaks　up　spiled　lemonade。
  What　happened　thereupon　for　a　short　time　crippled；　but　then　enriched；　my　life
  beyond　measure。
  I　was　absent　from　school　on　day　four。　When　I　returned　on　day　five；　there　were　no
  more　Latin　words　on　the　blackboard。　In　their　place　were　words　like　nominative；　genitive；
  dative；　accusative。　I　didn’t　know　what　those　words　meant　and　I　didn’t　like　them。　That
  “nominative…genitive”　whatever…it…was　was　keeping　me　from　my　feast；　and　I　resented　it
  like　I　resent　the　clergyman　at　the　banquet　whose　invocation　lasts　too　long。
  The　more　Miss　Leslie　talked　about　these　grammatical　terms；　the　more　bored　I　got。
  Honeymooners　would　have　more　patience　with　a　life　insurance　salesman　who　knocked
  on　their　motel　door　at　midnight　than　I　had　with　Latin　grammar。　I　clearly　remember
  believing　languages　were　nothing　but　words。　We　have　words。　They　have　words。　And　all
  you　have　to　do　is　learn　their　words　for　our　words　and　you’ve　got　it　made。　Therefore　all
  that　“ablative　absolute”　stuff　Miss　Leslie　was　getting　increasingly　excited　about　was
  unneeded　and；　to　me；　unwanted。
  Miss　Leslie；　noting　that　I；　her　highly　motivated　superstar；　was　floundering　with
  elementary　Latin　grammar；　kindly　offered　to　assign　another　student　to　tutor　me　on　what
  I’d　missed　the　day　before；　or　even　to　sit　down　with　me　herself。　I　remember　declining　the
  offer。　I　remember　deciding；　with　the　logic　of　a　frustrated　fifteen　year　old；　that　grammar
  was　just　another　of　those　barriers　designed　by　grownups　to　keep　kids　from　having　too
  much　fun。　I　decided　to　wait　it　out。
  I　shut　off　my　brain　as　the　cascade　of　changing　noun　endings　and　mutating　verb
  forms　muscled　out　the　joy　of　my　beloved　vocabulary　words。　I　longed　for　the　good　old
  days　of　being　the　first　in　the　class　to　know　agricola。　More　and　more　that　Miss　Leslie　said
  made　less　and　less　sense。　I　was　trapped　in　a　Bermuda　Triangle。　My　aura　of　classroom
  celebrity　disappeared；　along　with　my　self　esteem；　my　motivation；　and　almost　my
  affection　for　things　foreign。
  I　limped　along；　barely　making　passing　grades；　I　only　managed　to　pass　thanks　to　the
  vocabulary　section　on　every　test。　My　knowledge　of　vocabulary　plus　some　good
  grammatical　guesswork　and　a　little　luck　got　me　through　Miss　Leslie’s　class　with　a　low　D。
  Some　of　the　other　students　seemed　to　be　enjoying　my　lameness　in　Latin；　after　my
  being　the　overpraised　and　preening　star　of　the　class　for　the　first　three　days。　To　assuage
  the　hurt；　I　got　hold　of　a　self　study　book　in　Chinese。　By　the　last　few　weeks　of　school；　it
  was　apparent　that　there　was　no　way　I　could　make　better　than　a　weak　D　in　Latin；　but　that
  was　enough　to　pass。　I　hid　my　humiliation　behind　that　outrageously　foreign　looking　book
  with　thick；　black　Chin