Pumpkin Risotto

I have to do something to celebrate Halloween...


2 tbsp. Olive Oil
150 g Aborio Rice
150 g Pumpkin Purée
dash nutmeg
2 dashes cinnamon
dash garlic
sea salt, to taste
pepper, to taste

Heat olive oil in a large skillet. Add salt and add rice. Let cook in oil for 2-3 minutes. Add water just to cover rice, let simmer until water is nearly gone, add more water. As rice simmers, add spices and pumpkin. Continue to add water bit by bit until rice is cooked, stirring continually (about 2 cups of water, over 20-30 minutes).

Les livres

One of the strangest things that I have found about France is that it has driven me to once again become the voracious reader that I was in elementary and middle school. Perhaps this is because I have more time. In general, I am only taking four classes. And more specifically, I find myself on the metro for at least an hour daily to get to those classes, so therefore reading is a practical way to pass the time.

Reading is also something that I like to do when I am not stressed out. Here, I don't feel the constant pressure to get on my bike for 30 miles, do reporting, write an article, write an essay, and do the 100ish pages of academic reading (NOT the kind of reading that I'm talking about here) that needs to be done in order for me to continue existing at Columbia.

While this is all true, I think that I've also found myself reading more because it's comfortable. In a world where know relatively few people, and like even less of them, reading allows me an escape into whatever culture and experience in which the plot happens to be set. It's not that I don't like it here, I love it. It seems that every time I walk outside something happens to me worth talking about. I've been storing them up for when I decide to write the next Great American (expariate) Novel. Even so, it's still uncomfortable to be in a foreign country with few friends. So I delve into Anglo-literature.

Yesterday, I was sitting in my Stylistic class really lost. There was just something about the text that we were reading that I simply couldn't connect with. I understood the meanings of each sentence, after working with it for a while, but I still didn't get the point of the article. It was like I saw five different points, but I didn't see how they connected to become a star.

In the middle of class, my professor began circling to hand back essays from the week before. When he handed me mine, and leaned in to begin discussing, my mind just went blank. And then I felt myself trying to fight back tears. All I could see were the marks on my paper, and the grade. The worst part of being in France is the grading of my French. For some reason Columbia will not allow a person to take any language class for a pass/fail grade. Not matter if you have fulfilled the language requirement, if you have no interest in the major, if you are just trying to learn for your own cultural interest. It is impossible for me just to want to learn French. I have to excel at French. Ca m'enerve.

So, when it gets too much for me, I read.

The Mannekin Pis, among other things

While much of Brussels is rather ugly, there are brief points of architectural glory. The residential parts of the city remind me a little of San Francisco. There are long, narrow, and individualistic houses (that all kind of go together), and plenty of pointiness to the roofs.


This is a globe made out of old shells, a really interesting commentary on global violence.


How can you not think that these little Belgian kids are cute? We noticed early in the day that there were a bunch of sout-looking kids running around, and then, in front of the pissing boy fountain (see below), a group of them asked us for a picture--for us to take a picture of them. We figured out that they were on a scavenger hunt (we think). Otherwise, we are just creeper-cougers.

The Mannekin Pis (Dutch for Pissing Boy). Well, obviously many replicas of the actual mannekin pis, but I like him better in color. See here for history, as I don't have time to go into it.

Every once in a while they dress up the Mannekin Pis, and then when they are done they put a copy in a small corner room of the city museum. Photos are prohibited.

Excerpts from my letters home

Hey, so I feel like you asked me how France was a long time ago and I never replied. It's been a little crazy here. Not so much crazy as just exhausting. I'm tired all the time, even though I don't really do much, and I think it's just being exposed to different culture and a different language all the time. And when people ask me how I am I don't really know how to reply. The first things that come to mind are the complaints: things that are different, things that I wish were better, but I tend to skip over all of the really awesome things that I am beginning to take for granted, like casually walking by architecture every day that is older than the United States, and feeling like I improve every day with my French, even as I am getting more frustrated by my lack of fluency. So...Paris is an emotional roller coaster. But I am doing my best to deal with it proactively. I write as much as possible (though a lot of times I skip writing to watch American television). But now I'm doing this journalism project in French, so I am being forced to write, to think about journalism and my writing, and to try to build a bridge between this weird new place the life that I know that I love...

Le week-end dernier, j’ai dormi beaucoup pour que je puisse me rattraper les heures de dormi perdu le week-end avant. Mais la dernière semaine, j’ai aussi commencé les cours actuels. Les premières trois semaines (après de l’orientation) étaient plein d’un cours intensif de la grammaire. C’était horrible, mais c’était la même chose tous les jours. Quand les cours actuels ont commencé, tout est devenu un peu plus difficile parce que maintenant mon horaire est différent chaque jour, j’ai les lectures, les devoirs plus compliqués, et l’anxiété de trouver un cours à l’université, ce qui est un procès fou et désorganisé. Nous pouvons choisir un cours d’une de trois universités différents dans le système universitaire de Paris, et toutes la trois commencent les semaines différentes. Et le cours que je pense que je voudrais m’inscrire ne commence pas jusqu’à qu’après le jour à fixer l’inscription de tous les cours pour Reid Hall/Columbia. C’est fou.

So, how's life? Life here is a little crazy. It's basically the complete opposite of life in New York. I live in a house, and we have TWO whole bathrooms (and a washing machine!), and school kind of sucks so I don't really pay too much attention to it. There are a lot of grammar nazi's running around. But the wine is good, and so is the cheese. I went to a wine tasting class the other night, and learned how to talk about wine in French, which is just about the most pretentious thing one could ever know how to do, so of course I will be doing it often.

How is your life? Any good classes this semester? Have you eaten anywhere interesting lately? I miss knowing the restaurant scene. I also miss variety. Salad, beef, and chocolate mousse/creme brulee is getting old. As are sandwiches for lunch. But I really can't complain...

Bier, et plus

Ah! So many stories to tell. I can start with this one, but it really doesn't do justice to what really happened at Oktoberfest. It leaves out the grimier details--not that the trip itself was grimey. It leaves out things like the experience of sleeping on the floor of the hotel room because we had one king bed for 5 people (but only 88Euro a night!), or the incredible discomfort of sitting in one place for 6 hours straight, standing up on benches just to get away from the overweight 40-year-olds continuously blowing smoke in my face. It also leaves out the best detail: an unmentionable name that made staying out until 3 AM worth it, even though I knew I would be getting up at 8.

And other details to come, when I'm not late for a rendez-vous halfway across the city.

This one time, on the metro...

Communication is something that I have really been paying attention to lately. It's really interesting how much you can pick up from non-verbal cues. Tonight, while waiting for the subway, I noticed a young guy, early twenties, walk onto the platform with his grandparents. When the train came a minute or two later, I of course made sure to jump in the same car (fate can't happen without opportunity, bien sur).

Because of the other people in the car, grandpa was sitting in the back of the car, grandma was sitting in the middle, grandson was leaning on the wall next to grandma, and I had the perfect view smack in between all of them. Grandson was playing cool, arms crossed, looking more like security detail than anything else. Grandma was getting frisky, though. She kept saying something to grandson, and trying to get him to sit down on one of the empty seats around her. When that didn't work, she focused on grandpa. She patted the seat beside her, waved him over, and gave him what can only be described as a seductive look. Grandpa wasn't having any of it. She thought about it for a second, then decided to get a little more animated with her gestures. She tried again to elict a response out of grandson. He cracked a smile, and as she was laughing, she threw her head back and knocked her head against one of the poles behind her.

At this point, I could no longer pretend not to be watching. We made eye contact, and both started laughing as the train pulled into my station. Just as I was about to get up, she waved. I smiled and waved back as I exited. I feel like I made a new friend.

My life is average. Except it's SOOOOOO not.

%$#?!?!?

I am not a huge fan of English right now; rather, I'm trying to force myself not to be, but this caught my eye this morning. I read it and it made me rather triste. I love Maureen Dowd for addressing it, as well as just being rather awesome and a bit bitchy in general. It's not something that we can afford to ignore. Part of me thinks that trying to pretend that it doesn't exist just gives it tacit approval to continue. And yet addressing it would be a politically unstable move.

I wonder if race is something that we can ever overcome. I think that it's human nature to fear change and differences. That is not to say that it is right to act on that fear, or that somehow that makes it okay. But just because it is wrong, and tout le monde knows/is taught that it is wrong, doesn't mean that it will go away. There are still people that steal, rape, murder. There always will be. It is not like smallpox, it can't be eradicated (can it?). At the same time, condoning it doesn't help the situation. We have made great strides since the 1960's. I guess I'm just a little depressed that some people could still have such thoughts.