I'm not sure what Merry Christmas means right now. We've gone and bastardized all of our traditions to hell, and just when we were going to have the picturesque white Christmas, it warms up 3 degrees, rains, and we are stuck with slushy gray Christmas.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Monday, December 21, 2009
Knock knock. Who's there? Plato.
Saturday night, it was roughly 11 pm, and I was making my way towards St. Michel for one last hurrah at the Canadian bar (yes, you read that right). I am sitting on a bench next to guy-with-10,000-lbs-of-luggage waiting for the 4 train, reading Plato and Platypus Walk into a Bar...understanding philosophy through jokes because I went a little crazy at W.H. Smith yesterday (yes, Shakespeare and Co, I cheated on you).
The guy looks over at me, I can tell he's lurking. I make sure to keep my head down. Then he speaks, in English with an accent I can't quite place. But not French. "What is that book about?" Or something of the sort.
I tell him philosophy. With a French-ish tint to the word. Since it's the same word, I am hoping to convey to him that he can also address me in French. He continues in English, to my annoyance, to say something to the effect of, what, philosophy so late at night? At this point I've gathered that he's pretty fluent in English, and not French. And if such is the case, how is it that he can't read the stupid cover of the book?
"Jokes," I say, defending myself, "It's about jokes, too." Oh, he says, okay. I just couldn't read something so intellectual so late at night.
Well, I wanted to say, then we have no business talking. But I stuck with the "it's got jokes in it."
Then, he made an effort to advance the conversation. I, trying to read my "intellectual" book, did not so much appreciate. "So, what do you think of the metro system?" Seriously? What do you think of the metro system? I told him that it got me where I needed to go. It wasn't as nice as the London system, but more extensive. He did one of those things where he didn't completely understand my point, and nodded in agreement while saying something completely contrary to what I had just said about London.
Trying to live by the categorical imperative, I didn't tell him he was an idiot. I smiled and made sure that I entered the train through a different door, and continued reading my philosophy jokes.
I then made my way to a Candadian bar, where I proceeded to have a conversation with some guy about football, which turned into why he hates the rive droit, and could never live anywhere except for Montparnasse. When Minnie arrived, I was somewhat relieved, because he was about 10 years too old for me to even think about it, but was also a little disappointed. I am finally to the point where I am comfortable having a conversation in French. And I was talking to a real, live French person about something unrelated to school.
Instead, Minnie, Jess and I had a grand old time with a couple of French Candadians that came to watch Montreal play the NY Islanders (hahahaha. Long Island is still funny). They stuck around for a few too many drinks, and I found myself at a café sharing an 8 euro bowl of ice cream with Jess at 5 am waiting for the metros to open.
I'm a little proud of myself for finally having the out-all-night night, the day before everyone leaves. On the other hand, I'm still tired.
The guy looks over at me, I can tell he's lurking. I make sure to keep my head down. Then he speaks, in English with an accent I can't quite place. But not French. "What is that book about?" Or something of the sort.
I tell him philosophy. With a French-ish tint to the word. Since it's the same word, I am hoping to convey to him that he can also address me in French. He continues in English, to my annoyance, to say something to the effect of, what, philosophy so late at night? At this point I've gathered that he's pretty fluent in English, and not French. And if such is the case, how is it that he can't read the stupid cover of the book?
"Jokes," I say, defending myself, "It's about jokes, too." Oh, he says, okay. I just couldn't read something so intellectual so late at night.
Well, I wanted to say, then we have no business talking. But I stuck with the "it's got jokes in it."
Then, he made an effort to advance the conversation. I, trying to read my "intellectual" book, did not so much appreciate. "So, what do you think of the metro system?" Seriously? What do you think of the metro system? I told him that it got me where I needed to go. It wasn't as nice as the London system, but more extensive. He did one of those things where he didn't completely understand my point, and nodded in agreement while saying something completely contrary to what I had just said about London.
Trying to live by the categorical imperative, I didn't tell him he was an idiot. I smiled and made sure that I entered the train through a different door, and continued reading my philosophy jokes.
I then made my way to a Candadian bar, where I proceeded to have a conversation with some guy about football, which turned into why he hates the rive droit, and could never live anywhere except for Montparnasse. When Minnie arrived, I was somewhat relieved, because he was about 10 years too old for me to even think about it, but was also a little disappointed. I am finally to the point where I am comfortable having a conversation in French. And I was talking to a real, live French person about something unrelated to school.
Instead, Minnie, Jess and I had a grand old time with a couple of French Candadians that came to watch Montreal play the NY Islanders (hahahaha. Long Island is still funny). They stuck around for a few too many drinks, and I found myself at a café sharing an 8 euro bowl of ice cream with Jess at 5 am waiting for the metros to open.
I'm a little proud of myself for finally having the out-all-night night, the day before everyone leaves. On the other hand, I'm still tired.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
And the band continues on...
I've showered at least. And, techinically, written something in English.
A small note on how my life is going right now
Things I would like to do right now:
- Sleep
- Shower
- Get through the rest of Confederacy of the Dunces and Anna Karenina
- Write something in English
- See my family
- Ride my bike
Things I would not like to do right now:
- Write 5 more pages of French
- Polish 45 pages worth of French
- Sit around Reid Hall
- Worry about a presentation that is "only" 15 minutes worth of on-the-spot French about some scientific things that I really only pretend to know about, going either before or after Minnie who actually knows about them
- Continue going to class tonight and for the rest of the week because the end of the semester is no reason to stop teaching
- Think about my grades this semester
On the bright side, the below freezing weather has at least brought the sun out to say hi for the first time since around mid-November.
On an even brighter side, I had the best experience in the metro this morning. I was sitting there, reading my book, acting normal(ish), and some rather lanky guy gets in at Rue Saint Maur (stop 4 of 10 before my correspondance) with a suitcase. He decides to stand in such a way that his ass is directly in my face. At first, I was surprised, then I decided that his ass wasn't so bad. That is, until he took his hand and (no, he's not really going to do that is he??) started picking. Yes, picking. Adjusting, if you will, though a little far back for that kind of adjustment. I was momentarily startled, and intrigued. My eyes wandered from ass-hand-man to scan the rest of the car. Thank God, some guy across the car from me had also seen it. We made eye contact, and both started laughing hysterically. I put my head back in my book, hoping that Ignatius P. Reilly could save me. But no, I couldn't stop laughing. When I got to 10 out of 10, I was still laughing. It wasn't until the awful stench of Parisian sewer hit me as I was walking from the 4 to the 3 that I finally wiped the smile off of my face.
This would have been a great story--but the fun didn't stop there. Towards the end of my morning journey, as I was walking near the Luxembourg Gardens towards the Institut Géographique at the Sorbonne, I passed a woman getting money out of the ATM. I started with the normal bottom-up size-up. cute black boots, interesting stripey tights/hose, and... and nothing. The skirt that should have been there simply wasn't. I know that leggings-as-pants have somehow made their way into mainstream acceptance, but these were decidedly more sheer than leggings. Definitely ho-siery. The kind that have been through a few wears, are a little more stretched in places that when you first bought them because you aren't a stick figure -kind of ho-siery. I continued upwards : leather jacket, beret worn in a French-French way, not off to the side all ghetto-like. I don't understand why this woman wasn't wearing any pants. Still don't.
Toutefois, I shrugged it off and continued walking. This is the city, after all.
Day complete.
- Sleep
- Shower
- Get through the rest of Confederacy of the Dunces and Anna Karenina
- Write something in English
- See my family
- Ride my bike
Things I would not like to do right now:
- Write 5 more pages of French
- Polish 45 pages worth of French
- Sit around Reid Hall
- Worry about a presentation that is "only" 15 minutes worth of on-the-spot French about some scientific things that I really only pretend to know about, going either before or after Minnie who actually knows about them
- Continue going to class tonight and for the rest of the week because the end of the semester is no reason to stop teaching
- Think about my grades this semester
On the bright side, the below freezing weather has at least brought the sun out to say hi for the first time since around mid-November.
On an even brighter side, I had the best experience in the metro this morning. I was sitting there, reading my book, acting normal(ish), and some rather lanky guy gets in at Rue Saint Maur (stop 4 of 10 before my correspondance) with a suitcase. He decides to stand in such a way that his ass is directly in my face. At first, I was surprised, then I decided that his ass wasn't so bad. That is, until he took his hand and (no, he's not really going to do that is he??) started picking. Yes, picking. Adjusting, if you will, though a little far back for that kind of adjustment. I was momentarily startled, and intrigued. My eyes wandered from ass-hand-man to scan the rest of the car. Thank God, some guy across the car from me had also seen it. We made eye contact, and both started laughing hysterically. I put my head back in my book, hoping that Ignatius P. Reilly could save me. But no, I couldn't stop laughing. When I got to 10 out of 10, I was still laughing. It wasn't until the awful stench of Parisian sewer hit me as I was walking from the 4 to the 3 that I finally wiped the smile off of my face.
This would have been a great story--but the fun didn't stop there. Towards the end of my morning journey, as I was walking near the Luxembourg Gardens towards the Institut Géographique at the Sorbonne, I passed a woman getting money out of the ATM. I started with the normal bottom-up size-up. cute black boots, interesting stripey tights/hose, and... and nothing. The skirt that should have been there simply wasn't. I know that leggings-as-pants have somehow made their way into mainstream acceptance, but these were decidedly more sheer than leggings. Definitely ho-siery. The kind that have been through a few wears, are a little more stretched in places that when you first bought them because you aren't a stick figure -kind of ho-siery. I continued upwards : leather jacket, beret worn in a French-French way, not off to the side all ghetto-like. I don't understand why this woman wasn't wearing any pants. Still don't.
Toutefois, I shrugged it off and continued walking. This is the city, after all.
Day complete.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Random thoughts that have come to me after a day of paper-writing, plus the Menorah Mobile!
I am obsessed with this drink that i have concocted. Lots of drip coffee, a little bit of cocoa powder, some milk, and a spoonful of sugar or honey (depending on my honey stores; low, at the moment).*
I am obsessed with it for several reasons, one being it allows me to mix up the coffee schedule a little bit. The second, though, being that I'm infatuated with how good it is. Not like "I just drank straight sugar" good, but a real quality beverage. It kind of reminds me of the Peet's mocha (reason #3 for obsession). Obviously, I use good coffee. I really lucked out with my famille d'accueil. My host dad keeps having to go to Latin America for business trips, and keeps bringing me back fantastic coffee. I love him. But the cocoa powder is what really impresses me. I bought it at Franprix, which is the crappy grocery store down the street. The New York equivalent is Morton Williams, the Ventucky one is probably that crappy little Vons on Telephone between Wells and Kimball. Anyway, it's no Whole Foods. But--then again, this is France. So the result of a splash of milk and two teaspoons of grocery store variety cocoa powder is absolute deliciousness.
Which brings me to my next point: Starbucks is terribly disappointing here. Now, maybe my standards have improved since I am in France. But I think the reality is simply that Starbucks is terribly disappointing here. For one thing, do they only put 1 shot in their talls everywhere? Because 1 shot of espresso + 10 oz. of scalding whole milk is actually kind of gross. If you get it with an extra shot it's better. But they still scald their milk. AND they don't put foam on it at all unless you ask for a capuccino. A latte should have at least a dollop. And I swear that their coffee is even more overroasted here than it is in the US. Once again, referencing above, I've lucked out on the coffee that I've been drinking at home lately, but still. I am fairly certain that the coffee isn't THAT bad at the Starbucks on 114th.
Anyway, I could be looking forward to Peet's more than I'm looking forward to Christmas. And I might have to swing by Abraço on my way back from JFK. Right...JFK. JFK to where? Still have yet to figure out where I am staying between Jan. 5th and Jan. 8th. Should do that.
In other news, it snowed here this morning. Leading to much screaming from the grandbabies as we were eating breakfast this morning, some playing outside in a skisuit from Sixtine, and me nearly freezing my toes off while running this afternoon. I forgot that the difference between 45 degrees and 35 degrees actually does matter.
The tree is finally bare (and you can kind of see that it's snowing...look in the lower left corner over by the trash).
* Note that despite being in France for months, picking up on the whole language thing, adopting the tendancy to capitlize only the first letter in titles, eating after 8 pm, and not ordering anything apart from what is explicitly written on the menu, I still CANNOT get rid of the Oxford comma. I GIVE A FUCK ABOUT AN OXFORD COMMA, Vampire Weekend, I do. It should be there.
OMG. As I was posting this the first time, the most exciting moment of my week passed by my window. A MENORAH MOBILE. With music blaring out of the speakers. This is better than the second coming. I didn't get a great photo, as it was moving as I was trying desperately to find the camera icon on my iphone. For a better photo, see here.
I am obsessed with it for several reasons, one being it allows me to mix up the coffee schedule a little bit. The second, though, being that I'm infatuated with how good it is. Not like "I just drank straight sugar" good, but a real quality beverage. It kind of reminds me of the Peet's mocha (reason #3 for obsession). Obviously, I use good coffee. I really lucked out with my famille d'accueil. My host dad keeps having to go to Latin America for business trips, and keeps bringing me back fantastic coffee. I love him. But the cocoa powder is what really impresses me. I bought it at Franprix, which is the crappy grocery store down the street. The New York equivalent is Morton Williams, the Ventucky one is probably that crappy little Vons on Telephone between Wells and Kimball. Anyway, it's no Whole Foods. But--then again, this is France. So the result of a splash of milk and two teaspoons of grocery store variety cocoa powder is absolute deliciousness.
Which brings me to my next point: Starbucks is terribly disappointing here. Now, maybe my standards have improved since I am in France. But I think the reality is simply that Starbucks is terribly disappointing here. For one thing, do they only put 1 shot in their talls everywhere? Because 1 shot of espresso + 10 oz. of scalding whole milk is actually kind of gross. If you get it with an extra shot it's better. But they still scald their milk. AND they don't put foam on it at all unless you ask for a capuccino. A latte should have at least a dollop. And I swear that their coffee is even more overroasted here than it is in the US. Once again, referencing above, I've lucked out on the coffee that I've been drinking at home lately, but still. I am fairly certain that the coffee isn't THAT bad at the Starbucks on 114th.
Anyway, I could be looking forward to Peet's more than I'm looking forward to Christmas. And I might have to swing by Abraço on my way back from JFK. Right...JFK. JFK to where? Still have yet to figure out where I am staying between Jan. 5th and Jan. 8th. Should do that.
In other news, it snowed here this morning. Leading to much screaming from the grandbabies as we were eating breakfast this morning, some playing outside in a skisuit from Sixtine, and me nearly freezing my toes off while running this afternoon. I forgot that the difference between 45 degrees and 35 degrees actually does matter.
The tree is finally bare (and you can kind of see that it's snowing...look in the lower left corner over by the trash).* Note that despite being in France for months, picking up on the whole language thing, adopting the tendancy to capitlize only the first letter in titles, eating after 8 pm, and not ordering anything apart from what is explicitly written on the menu, I still CANNOT get rid of the Oxford comma. I GIVE A FUCK ABOUT AN OXFORD COMMA, Vampire Weekend, I do. It should be there.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
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