I just wrote this incredible blog, and then blogger lost it, so this is my second attempt and it may not be as good....
Date: Mon, 29 Nov 2004 10:30:13 -0800
To: Lilia
From: Elizabeth Stark
...Though, actually, I have come to believe that what other people *do* is really only my fate unfolding, the universe taking care of me, however you want to look at it....
This reminds me of a bookmark that Grayson's stepmother Emily once gave me that said something? "... is what you do with what's been done to you." I have a problem with the idea of anything being done TO me. Afterall, I am aware of the risks of every choice I make. So, I prefer Elizabeth's way of putting it. I met this guy recently who my friends told me never took any risks. He works for a large company, has a good job, never has a girlfriend, invests conservatively, and while he was a very nice person, I couldn't help feeling like there was a certain lack of life to him. We choose these risks for higher possible rewards and the risks themselves in turn give us life, color in our cheeks, spring in our steps... This was the place in the last installment where I said "remind me never to be cautious" but then I realized that I never am (never? usually not...).
When I was in highschool I believed completely in fate. I believe it so much that I could justify not doing my homework, or studying, or even showing up at school. It was only after I finished college that I realized if I am ever going to be content with myself, I am going to have to work hard and believe that I deserve what I want. So, I guess I don't really believe in fate anymore.
Another thing I believed was that by the time I was 24 I would finish by PhD and get married. The problem with that is that I never figured out what to get my PhD in or who to marry. I don't know exactly what "in love" means, but I think I've been there with both people who loved me too and people who didn't. Well, even when we found an emotional common ground, we still weren't compatable for other reasons. And I cried and rended my clothing in the freezing rain and after a while I ventured out again for more punishment, as it were. My mother likes to remind me that even if I had gotten married or my PhD, I am statistically likely to be divorced and/or working in another field by now.
Another of Elizabeth's quotes is "when you ask the universe for something, she has 3 possible answers: yes, not yet, or I have something better for you." I guess that's saying the same thing again. The quote about fate that resonates with me most is from Heraclitus "character is fate" because I can see so clearly how others divine their destiny. I just wish I had a better mirror and could see it for myself.
When I quit my job at UBH back in 1996, people didn't understand why. I told them, "I have to make something out of myself." This incredibly beautiful African woman wearing a brightly patterned traditional wrap replied by the copy machine "like a scarf or a hat? do you knit?" 8 years and another degree later, I feel like am still struggling with the same question, except this time it is a little different. I am not longer interested in making myself into something else; now I just want to figure out how to be who I am.
Monday, November 29, 2004
Dear President Bush
[source unknown to me]
Dear President Bush:
Congratulations on your victory over all us non-evangelicals. Actually,
we're a bit ticked off here in California, so we're leaving you.
California will now be its own country. And we're taking all the Blue
States with us. In case you are not aware, that includes Hawaii,
Oregon, Washington, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Illinois, all of
the North East States, and the urban half of Ohio.
We spoke to God, and she agrees that this split will be beneficial to
almost everybody, and especially to us in the new country of
California. In fact, God is so excited about it, she's going to shift
the whole country at 4:30 PM EST this Friday. Therefore, please let
everyone know they need to be back in their states by then. God is
going to give us the Pacific Ocean and Hollywood. In addition, we're
getting San Diego. (Sorry, that's just how it goes.) But God is letting
you have the KKK and country music (except the Dixie Chicks).
Just so we're clear, the country of California will be pro-choice,
pro-gay marriage, and antiwar. Speaking of war, we're going to need
all Blue States citizens back from Iraq. If you need people to fight in
Fallujah, just ask your evangelical voters. They have tons of kids
they're willing to send to their deaths for absolutely no purpose. And
they don't care if you don't show pictures of their kids' caskets
coming home.
So, you get Texas and all the former slave states, and we get the
Governator and stem cell research. (We would love you to take Britney
Spears off our hands, though. She IS from the South, right?)
Since we get New York, you'll have to come up with your own late night
TV shows because we get MTV, Letterman, the Daily Show, and Conan
O'Brien. You get... well, why don't you ask your people at Fox News to
come up with something entertaining? (Maybe you should just watch
Crossfire. That's a really funny show.)
We wish you all the best in the next four years and we hope, really
hope, you find those missing weapons of mass destruction. Seriously.
Soon.
Sincerely,
California
*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=
"Our enemies are innovative and resourceful, and so are we. They never
stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people, and
neither do we."
-President George W. Bush in Washington, D.C., Aug. 5, 2004
Dear President Bush:
Congratulations on your victory over all us non-evangelicals. Actually,
we're a bit ticked off here in California, so we're leaving you.
California will now be its own country. And we're taking all the Blue
States with us. In case you are not aware, that includes Hawaii,
Oregon, Washington, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Illinois, all of
the North East States, and the urban half of Ohio.
We spoke to God, and she agrees that this split will be beneficial to
almost everybody, and especially to us in the new country of
California. In fact, God is so excited about it, she's going to shift
the whole country at 4:30 PM EST this Friday. Therefore, please let
everyone know they need to be back in their states by then. God is
going to give us the Pacific Ocean and Hollywood. In addition, we're
getting San Diego. (Sorry, that's just how it goes.) But God is letting
you have the KKK and country music (except the Dixie Chicks).
Just so we're clear, the country of California will be pro-choice,
pro-gay marriage, and antiwar. Speaking of war, we're going to need
all Blue States citizens back from Iraq. If you need people to fight in
Fallujah, just ask your evangelical voters. They have tons of kids
they're willing to send to their deaths for absolutely no purpose. And
they don't care if you don't show pictures of their kids' caskets
coming home.
So, you get Texas and all the former slave states, and we get the
Governator and stem cell research. (We would love you to take Britney
Spears off our hands, though. She IS from the South, right?)
Since we get New York, you'll have to come up with your own late night
TV shows because we get MTV, Letterman, the Daily Show, and Conan
O'Brien. You get... well, why don't you ask your people at Fox News to
come up with something entertaining? (Maybe you should just watch
Crossfire. That's a really funny show.)
We wish you all the best in the next four years and we hope, really
hope, you find those missing weapons of mass destruction. Seriously.
Soon.
Sincerely,
California
*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=
"Our enemies are innovative and resourceful, and so are we. They never
stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people, and
neither do we."
-President George W. Bush in Washington, D.C., Aug. 5, 2004
No dreams
I returned to class again today after being out late seeing some local bands at this scottish bar called the Lizard Lounge (which I might have mentioned before). My teacher Stephanie sang with a band called The Loved Ones about broken hearts and missed connections. Maybe it was part of her performance, but she spoke about trying to date an English guy who could never tell her how he felt about her. She has a very animated style of singing, and most of their songs seemed to be covers. Before her, a scottish singer/songwriter played some hilarious tunes about having nothing in his apartment, stray dogs, and trying to speak French. We got on his mailing list!
I got home about 12:30, and as usual (these days) had trouble sleeping. Looking at the clock might disrupt my imminent slumber, so I don't know how long it took me, but I think it was close to 3 by the time I finally lost consciousness. I don't remember any dreams, and waking up for class this morning was as painful as I ever remember getting up in the morning being. I think there is really something wrong with getting out of bed before the sun has risen.
One of the teachers/owners didn't show up, so classes were combined. I have a new teacher, Sandra, who comes highly recommended, and I am lumped in with the advanced students. Now, I can perfectly understand most everything that Stephanie says, but I can't understand Sandra at all. No, she doesn't have an accent or anything. I spent my 4 hours of class drifting in and out of consciousness, understanding about 50 percent when I paid attention. it's like being back in regular school again. Of course, I need to learn to understand other french people besides Stephanie, so, I think I will learn more in this new situation. Another trial by fire, if you will.
There are about 6 other students in my class, none of whom are named Lilia (did I mention that that was the name of the Mexican girl from last week? I opted to be called Lily to avoid confusion.). Some of them I already knew from chats at break time, and some are entirely new to me. I think 3 are American, 1 Polish girl, and 2 Kiwis. The Polish girl is incredibly cute and so are the Kiwis. Everyone speaks better French than I do. Again, I live in fear I will be demoted to the beginner class.
I have promised to cook a Mexican dinner tonight for Mido and Jean Pierre. Tomorrow I move to Montmartre. I was really worried about living alone and feeling isolated, but I seem to have been able to fill up my dance card for the week already. I am starting to feel like everything is falling into place....
I got home about 12:30, and as usual (these days) had trouble sleeping. Looking at the clock might disrupt my imminent slumber, so I don't know how long it took me, but I think it was close to 3 by the time I finally lost consciousness. I don't remember any dreams, and waking up for class this morning was as painful as I ever remember getting up in the morning being. I think there is really something wrong with getting out of bed before the sun has risen.
One of the teachers/owners didn't show up, so classes were combined. I have a new teacher, Sandra, who comes highly recommended, and I am lumped in with the advanced students. Now, I can perfectly understand most everything that Stephanie says, but I can't understand Sandra at all. No, she doesn't have an accent or anything. I spent my 4 hours of class drifting in and out of consciousness, understanding about 50 percent when I paid attention. it's like being back in regular school again. Of course, I need to learn to understand other french people besides Stephanie, so, I think I will learn more in this new situation. Another trial by fire, if you will.
There are about 6 other students in my class, none of whom are named Lilia (did I mention that that was the name of the Mexican girl from last week? I opted to be called Lily to avoid confusion.). Some of them I already knew from chats at break time, and some are entirely new to me. I think 3 are American, 1 Polish girl, and 2 Kiwis. The Polish girl is incredibly cute and so are the Kiwis. Everyone speaks better French than I do. Again, I live in fear I will be demoted to the beginner class.
I have promised to cook a Mexican dinner tonight for Mido and Jean Pierre. Tomorrow I move to Montmartre. I was really worried about living alone and feeling isolated, but I seem to have been able to fill up my dance card for the week already. I am starting to feel like everything is falling into place....
Sunday, November 28, 2004
Rain, nice
It's raining in Paris today, which, from my dry californian perspective, is a huge relief. I woke late after a series of strange dreams that seemed to require a lot of my attention (about 11 hours). I woke up feeling that my subconscious had resolved some things, and although I feel good, I have no idea exactly what was resolved.
Yesterday Gitte took us (me and Tina) to a Danish xmas Bazar at the Danish church. It was small, and very sweet. I fell in love with a little teddy bear designed to hang from the xmas tree. He was only 2 euros, so he is my new companion. There wasn't much else to buy, but we got some delicious food (beautiful open faced sandwiches with lox, roast beef, cheese, fish, etc.), then walked a long way before stopping for hot drinks at a cafe. It was an excellent day.
Yesterday Gitte took us (me and Tina) to a Danish xmas Bazar at the Danish church. It was small, and very sweet. I fell in love with a little teddy bear designed to hang from the xmas tree. He was only 2 euros, so he is my new companion. There wasn't much else to buy, but we got some delicious food (beautiful open faced sandwiches with lox, roast beef, cheese, fish, etc.), then walked a long way before stopping for hot drinks at a cafe. It was an excellent day.
Friday, November 26, 2004
Monet/I feel much better.
What I really need is someone to kick me in the butt and get me out of the house, even when the weather is bad. I had a beautiful afternoon (even though the clouds never thinned or parted). I decided to go to the Marmottan Museum because, while I swear I have been to every other museum in Paris at some point over the last 20 years, I had not been to this one. My guide said that it had a nice collection of Monets (yes, I have been known to call Monet boring) but it actually has a lot of other stuff too.
About Monet being boring... I totally respect the way he blasted through the convensions of the art world and talked about light and mood, shadow and form when this was considered outragous. I love that. But when I look at his skillfully crafted images, all I see is pretty. I am not that interested in pretty. I want pretty, i can look in the mirror ;-) or go see some real flowers that are alive right at this moment. (I like things that are alive now.) But, well, I also want to see and do everything. And he is a really good painter. So, that necesitated seeing this museum.
It is so incredible that a person can learn to speak in brushstrokes like that. It's like another language in another dimension. I makes me think of friends who can paint -- when asked what languages they speak they should say "English, German, and I paint with watercolors" (thinking of Grayson because it is his birthday today). Monet spoke about light, color, form and hue with amazing articulateness, but I don't think he had much sense of people or emotion. At the same museum, they have a nice collection of Berthe Morisot, Jean Puy, and a couple paintings by a smattering of other impressionists. While Morisot's sensitivity to light does not hold a candle to Monet's sun, she captures a glance, a pouting lip, the turn of a shoulder in a way that Monet never did. Yet there is a fluidity in both their brush strokes that resembles each other.
I hadn't seen Monet's painting of agapanthes before, and for such a common flower (in CA anyway), I like them more than the waterlilies (my namesake!). Quand j'etais petite I used to scorn common flowers, the ones that grew on hedges or in front of apartment buildings. I didn't really consider them flowers, the thing that I love. Now, I find beauty in the common flowers, possibly more than the exotic. I don't know what this means... am I growing old and inflexible? Is it a buddhist thing? Does it mean I might someday be happy with stability? Am I getting boring?
Looking at all those paintings of that pond at Giverny, I wondered how Monet didn't get bored with it. That same Japanese bridge over and over, Monet examining carefully for changes in the reflected light. I would become stir crazy, even in a garden. Of course, he was in his 80s by the time he was going full-swing on that series. Maybe I will have more patience in another 50 years.
For a long time now I have known that I wanted to get back into doing portraits -- drawing people. It's just hard to find a time and get people to cooperate and I guess I am too timid to ask usually. I should start with some self-portraits so as not to waste anyones time while I get back into the swing of it. My paintings are flat like Gaugin....
After the museum... well... there was this manual merry-go-round, which I took a picture of, which is absolutely extraordinary. I guess I will leave it to the photo to describe later. I wonder about pictures and their allegorical thousand words. Doesn't each word also have a thousand pictures? If it were a database, and you know how I love databases, it would certainly be a many-to-many relationship.
Then I went to a cafe and got a grand chocolat chaud, and had the nicest waiter I have ever had. Juliette would call it charm, but I think that we instantly had a deep and spiritual connection (me and the waiter, but also the hot chocolate). It was the best hot chocolate I have had outside of my home, ever! (and you would be surprised by the crappy ones I have been served in france, the supposed culinary capital of the world -- more on that another time.) I sat and wrote in my journal until the cafe closed (some of the stuff you have read here) and the new waiter/love-of-my-life (kidding) helped me get my coat on.
I strolled the beautiful, shop-lined, lit-up for xmas, winding streets of the uber-fancy 16th arrondissement until I _stumbled_ upon - can you believe it - the eiffel tower! I am thinking of buying a new pair of boots. The other thing I want to mention is that throughout today I spoke French with, and mostly understood, everyone I interacted with. Hurray.
Tomorrow, Gitte is taking us to the Danish Christmas Bazar.... Tomorrow night, I am meeting J&G's friend Pierre for I am not sure what but I told him it has to be strictly Parisien, creative, and alternative. But for tonight I am just an internet geek.
About Monet being boring... I totally respect the way he blasted through the convensions of the art world and talked about light and mood, shadow and form when this was considered outragous. I love that. But when I look at his skillfully crafted images, all I see is pretty. I am not that interested in pretty. I want pretty, i can look in the mirror ;-) or go see some real flowers that are alive right at this moment. (I like things that are alive now.) But, well, I also want to see and do everything. And he is a really good painter. So, that necesitated seeing this museum.
It is so incredible that a person can learn to speak in brushstrokes like that. It's like another language in another dimension. I makes me think of friends who can paint -- when asked what languages they speak they should say "English, German, and I paint with watercolors" (thinking of Grayson because it is his birthday today). Monet spoke about light, color, form and hue with amazing articulateness, but I don't think he had much sense of people or emotion. At the same museum, they have a nice collection of Berthe Morisot, Jean Puy, and a couple paintings by a smattering of other impressionists. While Morisot's sensitivity to light does not hold a candle to Monet's sun, she captures a glance, a pouting lip, the turn of a shoulder in a way that Monet never did. Yet there is a fluidity in both their brush strokes that resembles each other.
I hadn't seen Monet's painting of agapanthes before, and for such a common flower (in CA anyway), I like them more than the waterlilies (my namesake!). Quand j'etais petite I used to scorn common flowers, the ones that grew on hedges or in front of apartment buildings. I didn't really consider them flowers, the thing that I love. Now, I find beauty in the common flowers, possibly more than the exotic. I don't know what this means... am I growing old and inflexible? Is it a buddhist thing? Does it mean I might someday be happy with stability? Am I getting boring?
Looking at all those paintings of that pond at Giverny, I wondered how Monet didn't get bored with it. That same Japanese bridge over and over, Monet examining carefully for changes in the reflected light. I would become stir crazy, even in a garden. Of course, he was in his 80s by the time he was going full-swing on that series. Maybe I will have more patience in another 50 years.
For a long time now I have known that I wanted to get back into doing portraits -- drawing people. It's just hard to find a time and get people to cooperate and I guess I am too timid to ask usually. I should start with some self-portraits so as not to waste anyones time while I get back into the swing of it. My paintings are flat like Gaugin....
After the museum... well... there was this manual merry-go-round, which I took a picture of, which is absolutely extraordinary. I guess I will leave it to the photo to describe later. I wonder about pictures and their allegorical thousand words. Doesn't each word also have a thousand pictures? If it were a database, and you know how I love databases, it would certainly be a many-to-many relationship.
Then I went to a cafe and got a grand chocolat chaud, and had the nicest waiter I have ever had. Juliette would call it charm, but I think that we instantly had a deep and spiritual connection (me and the waiter, but also the hot chocolate). It was the best hot chocolate I have had outside of my home, ever! (and you would be surprised by the crappy ones I have been served in france, the supposed culinary capital of the world -- more on that another time.) I sat and wrote in my journal until the cafe closed (some of the stuff you have read here) and the new waiter/love-of-my-life (kidding) helped me get my coat on.
I strolled the beautiful, shop-lined, lit-up for xmas, winding streets of the uber-fancy 16th arrondissement until I _stumbled_ upon - can you believe it - the eiffel tower! I am thinking of buying a new pair of boots. The other thing I want to mention is that throughout today I spoke French with, and mostly understood, everyone I interacted with. Hurray.
Tomorrow, Gitte is taking us to the Danish Christmas Bazar.... Tomorrow night, I am meeting J&G's friend Pierre for I am not sure what but I told him it has to be strictly Parisien, creative, and alternative. But for tonight I am just an internet geek.
More thoughts on weather
I don't want to have any profanity in my blog, but I just have one quick thing to say: THIS WEATHER IS SHIT! IF IT WOULD JUST BLOODY RAIN OR SOMETHING.... now that i got that off my chest, I will observe that we californians know that we have perfect weather, intellectually, but I don't think we really realize what a big deal that is. Laura said that the 6 months they lived in Paris it rained every single day between January and the end of June. She said it rained the day they left. I can report that Sept 1, it immediately got cold and stayed cold. This means the Parisiens, and probably all of Europe, have bad weather 10 months out of the year. And August is impossibly hot. That means 11 months of bad weather. Now, why would people stay in a place like this? Why would they build a beautiful city? I have trouble believing that it would be lack of creativity or resources given the way this city looks.
I'm tired. I sleep all the time. I can't stop crying. My life lacks meaning. And you know what? It isn't me! It is the evil dark weather. This knowledge is the only thing getting me through. This would never happen in summer. (I am wracking my brain to remember if that is true, and I really think it is. But those who know me well can feel free to correct me.) Forgive the melodrama, but this blog is, afterall, all about me.
I'm tired. I sleep all the time. I can't stop crying. My life lacks meaning. And you know what? It isn't me! It is the evil dark weather. This knowledge is the only thing getting me through. This would never happen in summer. (I am wracking my brain to remember if that is true, and I really think it is. But those who know me well can feel free to correct me.) Forgive the melodrama, but this blog is, afterall, all about me.
Thursday, November 25, 2004
Thanksgiving
Of course, I have running through my mind all sorts of stories that I haven't recorded for you yet, but then I realized that today is the day to think about what we are thankful for, and it seemed like a better idea to do a blog on that....
Today, I am thankful for all the people everywhere trying fighting against corruption in government and for real democracy.
I am thankful for idealism, even when it seems impossible to realize.
I am thankful for everyone who works to make the world a better place when it would be so much easier, no, not easier, more immediate just to try to live.
I am thankful for friendship, most immediately my friends here in Paris who have been so kind to and supportive of me even though we only just met, and for all my old friends who I miss so much.
I am thankful for stinky cheese, red wine, kir, pastry, chocolate crepe and decaf espresso (because it doesn't make me feel horribly depressed 3 hours later like regular coffee does).
I am thankful that I do not have a toothache, that I am in good health, that my parents are alive and relatively healthy.
I am thankful for sunshine, for summer, for wool blankets in winter, and sweaters and scarves, hats and gloves.
I am thankful that I have a roof over my head no matter where I go and enough food to eat (sometimes too much).
I am thankful to the B/G family for being such kind and generous hosts all this time, and to the Poiriers for sharing their apartment with me too.
I am thankful for all the people working to feed the hungry, house the homeless, and cure the sick.
I am thankful for clean water to drink.
I am thankful I can see, because Paris is beautiful but it usual does not sound, smell or feel that great.
I am thankful for sleep, when it comes.
I am thankful that my body is able to walk a long way without getting too tired, because I really enjoy walking.
I am thankful for my bicycle and all its years of service to me and I hope it is still waiting for me in my garage on Capp Street.
I am thankful for my subletter and my landlord.
I am thankful that I am lucky enough to be able to cut loose and move to Europe for 5 months....
I am thankful to the people I know in good relationships showing the rest of us that healthy love is possible.
I am thankful for literature, because it brings me so much happiness.
I am thankful for blogger.com, because I really like my blog.
I am thankful for the internet.
I am thankful for my education and for all the people who believe in me: past, present and future.
...
More than anything, right at this moment, I am thankful for true friendship.
Today, I am thankful for all the people everywhere trying fighting against corruption in government and for real democracy.
I am thankful for idealism, even when it seems impossible to realize.
I am thankful for everyone who works to make the world a better place when it would be so much easier, no, not easier, more immediate just to try to live.
I am thankful for friendship, most immediately my friends here in Paris who have been so kind to and supportive of me even though we only just met, and for all my old friends who I miss so much.
I am thankful for stinky cheese, red wine, kir, pastry, chocolate crepe and decaf espresso (because it doesn't make me feel horribly depressed 3 hours later like regular coffee does).
I am thankful that I do not have a toothache, that I am in good health, that my parents are alive and relatively healthy.
I am thankful for sunshine, for summer, for wool blankets in winter, and sweaters and scarves, hats and gloves.
I am thankful that I have a roof over my head no matter where I go and enough food to eat (sometimes too much).
I am thankful to the B/G family for being such kind and generous hosts all this time, and to the Poiriers for sharing their apartment with me too.
I am thankful for all the people working to feed the hungry, house the homeless, and cure the sick.
I am thankful for clean water to drink.
I am thankful I can see, because Paris is beautiful but it usual does not sound, smell or feel that great.
I am thankful for sleep, when it comes.
I am thankful that my body is able to walk a long way without getting too tired, because I really enjoy walking.
I am thankful for my bicycle and all its years of service to me and I hope it is still waiting for me in my garage on Capp Street.
I am thankful for my subletter and my landlord.
I am thankful that I am lucky enough to be able to cut loose and move to Europe for 5 months....
I am thankful to the people I know in good relationships showing the rest of us that healthy love is possible.
I am thankful for literature, because it brings me so much happiness.
I am thankful for blogger.com, because I really like my blog.
I am thankful for the internet.
I am thankful for my education and for all the people who believe in me: past, present and future.
...
More than anything, right at this moment, I am thankful for true friendship.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Cultural Problems
Things are actually going better with the language. I feel like I am understanding more, and everything is easier. For the first time today, I began speaking with someone in French, and he, a frenchman, replied in English, which was very annoying. Actually it was one of my few examples of French people being rude to me. I didn't have the price already on the potatos I was buying for thanksgiving tomorrow.
Me: Le machine ne marche pas.
Him: Les deux?
Well, I didn't know that there were 2 machines, so I looked at him blankly (and not because I did not understand what he was saying, as he thought).
Him: Both machines are not working?
Me: I don't know.
He went to check/use the machine. I guess he found one that worked.
Me: Merci beaucoup.
He continued to ring up my thanksgiving purchases.
Me: Your accent is excellent. (it was!)
Him, smiling: When I was younger I was completely fluent. North American....
Me: Ah, better... (it was obvious from his accent)
Him: But I prefer the English, their culture
Now, why would he feel the need to say that to me? Was it because I didn't have the right label on my potatos? Or was that just a normal thing to say to a North American? Maybe he was thinking of American politics, but he should know that I am not a part of that. Maybe no one ever told him that other people have feelings that can be hurt. Not that my feelings were really hurt, since I did not know him or anything. I was more shocked that he would say such a thing to me. Was he being intentionally rude?
Another example was mon professeur. She said (in French, she always speaks to me in French) "You haven't been speaking French much" (which isn't really true). Well, I didn't know how to reply. I said: Uhhhh. Which she took to mean that it was true, but in fact I was just surprised by her rudeness, and not sure how to give the right answer. I feel like I defend myself in class all the time too... maybe it is the culture, maybe she doesn't respect me, or maybe she is just trying to get my blood flowing to my brain to help me speak French. It doesn't really matter. She is only mon professeur, not someone I will know for the rest of my life.
So, yes, I returned to class this week (just once so far, I like my new flexibility) and despite the previous paragraph, I really enjoyed it. Two new girls have joined, one from Israel and the other Mexico. The Mexican girl seems to be really struggling. After class I had a crepe for lunch, and I shared some pleasant small talk with the delightful man who made it for me in French. A huge success!
Speaking of eating, tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and I have invited myself to have the meal with my American friend Jennifer and her family because they are a real family and the rest of the Americans I know are just a bunch of young people. I am making pies and potatos and who knows what else. I will go over there at about 4, and unlike in the states, if we find we have forgotten something we can buy it because the stores will be open on this non-French holiday. I think we are substituting chicken for Turkey because it is just too difficult to get a turkey around here.
I went to the American grocery store for brown sugar and was just amazed. Everything was about 5X its price (the box of brown sugar I bought was about 5 USD. doesn't it usual cost about 1?), and all the products they had were the crappy kinds: Ocean Spray cranberries, etc. Of course the place was packed and they spoke to you in English no matter what. One woman addressed the shop girl in French (even though it was clear that both their mother tongues were English) and the shop girl brought her the wrong thing. What an odd phenominon to find in the middle of the marais!
the good news is that they have cranberry juice, so I am finally able to make cosmos (should I wish to make a second attempt). I don't think I told you about my disasterous first attempt about a month ago, but you get the idea. I couldn't even find red fruit punch, like we used at Kirstin's Stinson Beach birthday party last year. Note for future reference, orange juice does not work for cosmos, it gives you screwdrivers, which are, of course, nothing special.
I guess the real news here is that I am surviving. I amaze myself. I sometimes think about coming home early, but it helps that I have no where to go. On the other hand, I am still planning to come back in the spring. I am certain that I am here for some very important reason (you know how I always think everything is cosmic), and if it isn't true love, it has got to be something else.
Me: Le machine ne marche pas.
Him: Les deux?
Well, I didn't know that there were 2 machines, so I looked at him blankly (and not because I did not understand what he was saying, as he thought).
Him: Both machines are not working?
Me: I don't know.
He went to check/use the machine. I guess he found one that worked.
Me: Merci beaucoup.
He continued to ring up my thanksgiving purchases.
Me: Your accent is excellent. (it was!)
Him, smiling: When I was younger I was completely fluent. North American....
Me: Ah, better... (it was obvious from his accent)
Him: But I prefer the English, their culture
Now, why would he feel the need to say that to me? Was it because I didn't have the right label on my potatos? Or was that just a normal thing to say to a North American? Maybe he was thinking of American politics, but he should know that I am not a part of that. Maybe no one ever told him that other people have feelings that can be hurt. Not that my feelings were really hurt, since I did not know him or anything. I was more shocked that he would say such a thing to me. Was he being intentionally rude?
Another example was mon professeur. She said (in French, she always speaks to me in French) "You haven't been speaking French much" (which isn't really true). Well, I didn't know how to reply. I said: Uhhhh. Which she took to mean that it was true, but in fact I was just surprised by her rudeness, and not sure how to give the right answer. I feel like I defend myself in class all the time too... maybe it is the culture, maybe she doesn't respect me, or maybe she is just trying to get my blood flowing to my brain to help me speak French. It doesn't really matter. She is only mon professeur, not someone I will know for the rest of my life.
So, yes, I returned to class this week (just once so far, I like my new flexibility) and despite the previous paragraph, I really enjoyed it. Two new girls have joined, one from Israel and the other Mexico. The Mexican girl seems to be really struggling. After class I had a crepe for lunch, and I shared some pleasant small talk with the delightful man who made it for me in French. A huge success!
Speaking of eating, tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and I have invited myself to have the meal with my American friend Jennifer and her family because they are a real family and the rest of the Americans I know are just a bunch of young people. I am making pies and potatos and who knows what else. I will go over there at about 4, and unlike in the states, if we find we have forgotten something we can buy it because the stores will be open on this non-French holiday. I think we are substituting chicken for Turkey because it is just too difficult to get a turkey around here.
I went to the American grocery store for brown sugar and was just amazed. Everything was about 5X its price (the box of brown sugar I bought was about 5 USD. doesn't it usual cost about 1?), and all the products they had were the crappy kinds: Ocean Spray cranberries, etc. Of course the place was packed and they spoke to you in English no matter what. One woman addressed the shop girl in French (even though it was clear that both their mother tongues were English) and the shop girl brought her the wrong thing. What an odd phenominon to find in the middle of the marais!
the good news is that they have cranberry juice, so I am finally able to make cosmos (should I wish to make a second attempt). I don't think I told you about my disasterous first attempt about a month ago, but you get the idea. I couldn't even find red fruit punch, like we used at Kirstin's Stinson Beach birthday party last year. Note for future reference, orange juice does not work for cosmos, it gives you screwdrivers, which are, of course, nothing special.
I guess the real news here is that I am surviving. I amaze myself. I sometimes think about coming home early, but it helps that I have no where to go. On the other hand, I am still planning to come back in the spring. I am certain that I am here for some very important reason (you know how I always think everything is cosmic), and if it isn't true love, it has got to be something else.
Sunday, November 21, 2004
Another explanation
It turns out that there are actually 15 months in Paris instead of the usual 12. In English, they are:
January
February
March
April
May
June
July
August
September
October
November
November
November
November
December
Note: this joke was originally about Vienna, but boy does it apply here. Note to self: Juliette says that the worst months are November and February to early March (to compensate for February being so short and all).
January
February
March
April
May
June
July
August
September
October
November
November
November
November
December
Note: this joke was originally about Vienna, but boy does it apply here. Note to self: Juliette says that the worst months are November and February to early March (to compensate for February being so short and all).
La Vie Parisienne
Last night was... I'll start with "overbooked". Mido had 5 tickets to this comedic opera, including one for me. J&G's friend Frank was throwing a going away party for them. Tina, an american friend from language school, was having her birthday party. Christian was in town, and it was Ally's last weekend in Paris. For some reason (Juliette) I got the idea that the play would end around 9:30, giving me enough time to go to Montmartre, say happy birthday to Tina (meet Christian there, and say goodbye to Ally), and then on to Frank's to help send J&G off properly.
La Vie Parisienne seemed to be a large-scale excuse for a peep-show. I haven't ever been exposed to so much t&a, except maybe at one of Tracey's parties. Also, I could not understand what was going on. I feel frustrated that my French is not coming along faster (and it seems like other people do too), and the show emphasized it. Mido said that the story was just an excuse for... "a lot of underware?" I suggested. As far as I could tell all the men were lecherous fools with bad intensions and I couldn't keep the female characters apart. While all the men were trying to get laid the whole time, the women seemed only to lap up the attention and not have any needs of their own. These kinds of stereotypes are the foundation of what is wrong with gender-relations in western society.
It ended at 11. I rushed over to Tina's, but I couldn't find it (wandering the windy street of Montmartre in the pouring rain) or get through on anyone's mobile. At midnight, I gave up (the metro stops running at 12:30) because if there was any chance of making it to Frank's before the party ended, I had to get there. At least that part worked. I made it to Frank's, and we stayed late and took a taxi home. Frank is apparently a connoisseur of high quality rum, so I had a few yummy tropical-tasting drinks. Hurray!
Today, the air is a fog-bank, which doesn't so much make me feel at home (bc it is like SF) as exacerbate my bad mood. Il fait froid. Je ne suis pas contente.
La Vie Parisienne seemed to be a large-scale excuse for a peep-show. I haven't ever been exposed to so much t&a, except maybe at one of Tracey's parties. Also, I could not understand what was going on. I feel frustrated that my French is not coming along faster (and it seems like other people do too), and the show emphasized it. Mido said that the story was just an excuse for... "a lot of underware?" I suggested. As far as I could tell all the men were lecherous fools with bad intensions and I couldn't keep the female characters apart. While all the men were trying to get laid the whole time, the women seemed only to lap up the attention and not have any needs of their own. These kinds of stereotypes are the foundation of what is wrong with gender-relations in western society.
It ended at 11. I rushed over to Tina's, but I couldn't find it (wandering the windy street of Montmartre in the pouring rain) or get through on anyone's mobile. At midnight, I gave up (the metro stops running at 12:30) because if there was any chance of making it to Frank's before the party ended, I had to get there. At least that part worked. I made it to Frank's, and we stayed late and took a taxi home. Frank is apparently a connoisseur of high quality rum, so I had a few yummy tropical-tasting drinks. Hurray!
Today, the air is a fog-bank, which doesn't so much make me feel at home (bc it is like SF) as exacerbate my bad mood. Il fait froid. Je ne suis pas contente.
Friday, November 19, 2004
Beaujolais Nouveau
I'm here to tell you that the third Thursday in November is the day that the Beaujolais Nouveau is released, which means that we have all woken up this morning with splitting headaches. Considering that Thanksgiving is the forth Thursday in November, there is something about November and Thursdays. Today is also that day that J and G are moving out of their apartment, and to Hong Kong on Monday, which means that none of us really got any sleep anyway.
I had a very strange dream this morning, while trying to delay the inevitable of having to be verticle after they forced me to drink all that wine last night, that I was driving a car (enough said!). In the dream, I was suddenly conscious of being behind the wheel of a car that was stopped in the middle of the road, diagonally across a 2-lane roadway. I could bearly see outside partly because windshield was dirty and partly because the night was very dark and we must have been in the desert away from any settlement and lighting. Once I cleaned the windshield (automatically, not getting out of the car, but I had to fumble with the controls to get the wipers and spraw to come on) I saw that there was another car stopped opposite me on the roadway, facing me, also with its headlights on. It might have been the police. I was afraid I might have done something illegal before gaining this consciousness and they would arrest me. I didn't want to talk with them. So, I just sat there in the drivers seat until I woke up again (not long).
The best analysis wins a prize. I'm off to the museum.
I had a very strange dream this morning, while trying to delay the inevitable of having to be verticle after they forced me to drink all that wine last night, that I was driving a car (enough said!). In the dream, I was suddenly conscious of being behind the wheel of a car that was stopped in the middle of the road, diagonally across a 2-lane roadway. I could bearly see outside partly because windshield was dirty and partly because the night was very dark and we must have been in the desert away from any settlement and lighting. Once I cleaned the windshield (automatically, not getting out of the car, but I had to fumble with the controls to get the wipers and spraw to come on) I saw that there was another car stopped opposite me on the roadway, facing me, also with its headlights on. It might have been the police. I was afraid I might have done something illegal before gaining this consciousness and they would arrest me. I didn't want to talk with them. So, I just sat there in the drivers seat until I woke up again (not long).
The best analysis wins a prize. I'm off to the museum.
Thursday, November 18, 2004
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
on communication
So, I was walking down Daumesnil telling myself this hilarious monologue about trying to speak French, and now of course it is completely gone. I was inspired because a young man approached me speaking very quickly. I shook my head and said "parlez pas" in a quavering little voice (it could also have been "parler pas" or "parlais pas" none of which really make any more sense in this context). Now, I have know for about 20 years how to say I don't speak French in French and I have said it probably hundreds of times, but this one moment exemplifies what I am going through with the language right now.
For example, I know that "je me suis promené à chateau de vincennes" not "je m'ai promené..." (for verbs where there is motion) and "j'ai les clés à tout les appartements" not "...tout l'appartement" (2 things I said to Jean Pierre last night over dinner) but for some reason when I open my mouth, jibberish comes out. I just want to kick myself (I can see now the lovely blue tones my skin would get just thinking about it) or hide in a closet indefinitely (no, I am not in San Francisco anymore). I get so infuriated with myself.
Juliette says that this will continue to happen until I am completely fluent. But isn't it enough that I can never remember the name of anything, and if I can I have no idea if it is masculine or feminine. Then there is the small matter not trying to figure out whether to address people as "tu" or "vous" (no small matter at all, and I offend people so often in my every day existance that I really would like to avoid offending them this way). And finally, when I can remember the word, its gender, and the order they are supposed to be said, I then have to figure out which verb tense to use (keeping in mind the subject, time, whether my sentence is a situation or an event, etc.). Well, you can imagine that by the time I am ready to speak, about 3 weeks have passed. Why is not a problem when I speak English? This reminds me of Elizabeth's famous words, "that's why we are writers and not DJs." Except I am not sure what this makes me in French. un escargot?
Enough! I am actually quite pleased with myself today despite my inability to turn the French equivelent of one year old. I finally did a watercolor. It's true -- I have been lugging not one but 2 drawing pads around with me for 4 months, and finally, today, the muse spoke to me and I did a little picture. (Don't get excited; I don't paint because I am good at it. I paint as a sort of visual mediation; I am not sure why.)
For example, I know that "je me suis promené à chateau de vincennes" not "je m'ai promené..." (for verbs where there is motion) and "j'ai les clés à tout les appartements" not "...tout l'appartement" (2 things I said to Jean Pierre last night over dinner) but for some reason when I open my mouth, jibberish comes out. I just want to kick myself (I can see now the lovely blue tones my skin would get just thinking about it) or hide in a closet indefinitely (no, I am not in San Francisco anymore). I get so infuriated with myself.
Juliette says that this will continue to happen until I am completely fluent. But isn't it enough that I can never remember the name of anything, and if I can I have no idea if it is masculine or feminine. Then there is the small matter not trying to figure out whether to address people as "tu" or "vous" (no small matter at all, and I offend people so often in my every day existance that I really would like to avoid offending them this way). And finally, when I can remember the word, its gender, and the order they are supposed to be said, I then have to figure out which verb tense to use (keeping in mind the subject, time, whether my sentence is a situation or an event, etc.). Well, you can imagine that by the time I am ready to speak, about 3 weeks have passed. Why is not a problem when I speak English? This reminds me of Elizabeth's famous words, "that's why we are writers and not DJs." Except I am not sure what this makes me in French. un escargot?
Enough! I am actually quite pleased with myself today despite my inability to turn the French equivelent of one year old. I finally did a watercolor. It's true -- I have been lugging not one but 2 drawing pads around with me for 4 months, and finally, today, the muse spoke to me and I did a little picture. (Don't get excited; I don't paint because I am good at it. I paint as a sort of visual mediation; I am not sure why.)
Sunday, November 14, 2004
Le Louvre etc.
I've been in Paris for something like 2 months, and I am ashamed to admit that I have visited absolutely no museums until today. Sure, there were a couple art exhibitions, but this did not include any of the serious museums for which the city is famous (among a few other things, I guess).
This morning Mido and I attempted to see the Turner, Whistler, and Monet exhibition, but the line was long and we decided to try another day. Instead we went to the Lourve, where they had several temporary exhibits that we had not seen and only a short line.
*L'Italie à la Cour de France, if I understood correctly (always up for question), was about the Renaissance in France and how it influenced the great Italian Renaissance artists (de Vinci, Rosso, Primatrice, etc.).
*Then there was an exhibit of Islamic art on long-term loan from the Met in NYC. Mido liked this one best. I was particularly moved by a plate with a nursing goat, the mother goat appearing to respond by biting the kid's behind creating a kind of interesting circular composition, and a certain flower, which I have never seen in nature, that looks like an hour-glass shaped tulip and decorated a variety of tile instillations. The exhibition was comprised mostly of tapestries, tiles, and ceramics. I thought that Islam forbade the illustration of "God's creatures" requiring it to only depict imaginative decorations (which I like a lot), but this collection must have been before that philosophy was implemented bc it included lots of images of real living things.
*Finally, we viewed an extensive exhibition on Primatrice, maitre de Fontainebleau (a Renaissance artist as mentioned in the first bullet). This was my favorite. Primatrice's work was collected and punctuated with the work of a contemporary artist. Primatrice's work outshown the living artist's but I particularly enjoyed the interpretive video he made, and both works had a element of eroticism which spoke to me in a certain way.
At this point we were exhausted and headed home to the communist suburb of Montreuil (this city is very close to Paris and its citizens have elected a communist government since its creation).
The day was a success on another front. Mido purchased 5 Chagal prints for the living room walls (although it appears that the vision for the room is transforming by the minute).
The weather has been "cold and clear" which is actually lovely. I can't say enough good things about the light here. This apartment is also a great place to enjoy it, being on the 8th floor on a corner with no building across the street (alas, it is a parking lot -- apparently this city wants to build something there, but one land owner (an apartment building with a pharmacy on the ground floor, very pretty actually) refused to sell and the community would not support an eminant domain kind of thing here). But this gives us a wonderful view of the central square and city hall.
As usual, everyone speaks perfect English, but Jean Pierre insists that at least the French people speak French. He likes to pretend that he doesn't understand English at all. It is good for me. Unfortunately, when people speak French I generally assume that they are not speaking to me. In fact, when the day gets old, I can bearly understand the English that is spoken to me. On the other hand, out in public I feel quite annoyed when people speak to me in English, even if it is clearly their native language.
The clouds look like someone painted them there.
This morning Mido and I attempted to see the Turner, Whistler, and Monet exhibition, but the line was long and we decided to try another day. Instead we went to the Lourve, where they had several temporary exhibits that we had not seen and only a short line.
*L'Italie à la Cour de France, if I understood correctly (always up for question), was about the Renaissance in France and how it influenced the great Italian Renaissance artists (de Vinci, Rosso, Primatrice, etc.).
*Then there was an exhibit of Islamic art on long-term loan from the Met in NYC. Mido liked this one best. I was particularly moved by a plate with a nursing goat, the mother goat appearing to respond by biting the kid's behind creating a kind of interesting circular composition, and a certain flower, which I have never seen in nature, that looks like an hour-glass shaped tulip and decorated a variety of tile instillations. The exhibition was comprised mostly of tapestries, tiles, and ceramics. I thought that Islam forbade the illustration of "God's creatures" requiring it to only depict imaginative decorations (which I like a lot), but this collection must have been before that philosophy was implemented bc it included lots of images of real living things.
*Finally, we viewed an extensive exhibition on Primatrice, maitre de Fontainebleau (a Renaissance artist as mentioned in the first bullet). This was my favorite. Primatrice's work was collected and punctuated with the work of a contemporary artist. Primatrice's work outshown the living artist's but I particularly enjoyed the interpretive video he made, and both works had a element of eroticism which spoke to me in a certain way.
At this point we were exhausted and headed home to the communist suburb of Montreuil (this city is very close to Paris and its citizens have elected a communist government since its creation).
The day was a success on another front. Mido purchased 5 Chagal prints for the living room walls (although it appears that the vision for the room is transforming by the minute).
The weather has been "cold and clear" which is actually lovely. I can't say enough good things about the light here. This apartment is also a great place to enjoy it, being on the 8th floor on a corner with no building across the street (alas, it is a parking lot -- apparently this city wants to build something there, but one land owner (an apartment building with a pharmacy on the ground floor, very pretty actually) refused to sell and the community would not support an eminant domain kind of thing here). But this gives us a wonderful view of the central square and city hall.
As usual, everyone speaks perfect English, but Jean Pierre insists that at least the French people speak French. He likes to pretend that he doesn't understand English at all. It is good for me. Unfortunately, when people speak French I generally assume that they are not speaking to me. In fact, when the day gets old, I can bearly understand the English that is spoken to me. On the other hand, out in public I feel quite annoyed when people speak to me in English, even if it is clearly their native language.
The clouds look like someone painted them there.
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Democracy in America? Not anymore....
It has come to my attention that many of my friends back home have not heard about the problems with our last "election". Here are some sources of information (in English -- the French media, which I still can't actually read, has covered this extensively).
http://www.michaelmoore.com/
http://www.guerrillanews.com/articles/article.php?id=800
http://www.gregpalast.com/
http://www.michaelmoore.com/
http://www.guerrillanews.com/articles/article.php?id=800
http://www.gregpalast.com/
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
Some lines from my mother
Mary Oliver is so familiar and so soothing after this terrible last week and our fears for the future of our one precious world.
You can go to the web link for the whole poem.
Right now I most love the lines:
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields
which is what I have been doing all day,
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Here is a quote from an article on idleness in this month's Harper's:
It is this willingness to hand over our lives that fascinates and appalls me. There's such a lovely perversity to it; it's so wonderfully counterintuitive so very Christian. You must empty your pockets, turn them inside out, and spill out your wife and your son, the pets you hardly knew, and all the days you simply missed altogether watching the sunlight fade on the bricks across the way. You must hand over the rainy afternoons, the light on the grass, the moments of play and of simply being. You must give it up, all of it, and by your example teach your children to do the same, and then --- because even this is not enough --- you must train yourself to believe that this outsourcing of your life is both natural and good . . . .
And finally:
A poet is someone
who can pour light into a cup
and then raise it to nourish your beautiful
---perhaps parched---holy mouth
Hafiz
You can go to the web link for the whole poem.
Right now I most love the lines:
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields
which is what I have been doing all day,
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Here is a quote from an article on idleness in this month's Harper's:
It is this willingness to hand over our lives that fascinates and appalls me. There's such a lovely perversity to it; it's so wonderfully counterintuitive so very Christian. You must empty your pockets, turn them inside out, and spill out your wife and your son, the pets you hardly knew, and all the days you simply missed altogether watching the sunlight fade on the bricks across the way. You must hand over the rainy afternoons, the light on the grass, the moments of play and of simply being. You must give it up, all of it, and by your example teach your children to do the same, and then --- because even this is not enough --- you must train yourself to believe that this outsourcing of your life is both natural and good . . . .
And finally:
A poet is someone
who can pour light into a cup
and then raise it to nourish your beautiful
---perhaps parched---holy mouth
Hafiz
Monday, November 08, 2004
Mushroom hunting
Some people have mentioned my neglect of the blog lately. I don't know what to tell you. I also stopped taking language classes and have been spending my days sleeping. I am not depressed. Actually, I am quite happy in a low-key sort of way. I am tired. I don't want to do anything. The days are very short and I think I am hibernating. It's cold. Humans were not meant to live in weather like this.
The last weekend in October, I spent in St Ouen de Parey (or something like that) near Vittel (where the water comes from -- does it have global distribution? I can't remember. Think Evian). It was the home of Mido's mother, Juliette's grandmother. The food was good. There was plenty of wine. The children more or less behaved themselves. Axel is totally in love with this grand livre des champinions that his great grandmother has. He is 6 and doesn't read yet, but he was doing his best to say the latin names for the mushrooms. I read the book too (I know you are wondering: it only had a small section on the magic variety and apparently there aren't many in Europe).
One afternoon Mido, Juliette, Axel and I set out to collect some mushrooms for identification. (It isn't a good season for legitimate mushroom hunting.) We collected about 25 different types, only one of which was edible. The earth was fresh and brown, the ground damp, and the light slanted amazingly across the rural landscape. There is something really special about the light in France.
I've been reading a lot, mostly about how strange the French are. I read the Poirier's copy of Sixty Million Frenchmen Can't Be Wrong, reseach by a Canadian couple who lived here for a few years researching the French and a memior by an Austrialian woman called Almost French. You may recall me talking months ago about Le Divorce, about Californians in Paris, as well. In fact, they say many of the same things.
The last weekend in October, I spent in St Ouen de Parey (or something like that) near Vittel (where the water comes from -- does it have global distribution? I can't remember. Think Evian). It was the home of Mido's mother, Juliette's grandmother. The food was good. There was plenty of wine. The children more or less behaved themselves. Axel is totally in love with this grand livre des champinions that his great grandmother has. He is 6 and doesn't read yet, but he was doing his best to say the latin names for the mushrooms. I read the book too (I know you are wondering: it only had a small section on the magic variety and apparently there aren't many in Europe).
One afternoon Mido, Juliette, Axel and I set out to collect some mushrooms for identification. (It isn't a good season for legitimate mushroom hunting.) We collected about 25 different types, only one of which was edible. The earth was fresh and brown, the ground damp, and the light slanted amazingly across the rural landscape. There is something really special about the light in France.
I've been reading a lot, mostly about how strange the French are. I read the Poirier's copy of Sixty Million Frenchmen Can't Be Wrong, reseach by a Canadian couple who lived here for a few years researching the French and a memior by an Austrialian woman called Almost French. You may recall me talking months ago about Le Divorce, about Californians in Paris, as well. In fact, they say many of the same things.
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
[Paris] Jokes about France
I am going to pick my bottom lip off the ground for a minute now and tell you a couple jokes I recently remembered and have been offending everyone with ever since:
The French are funny.
Sex is funny.
Comedies are funny.
But French sex comedies are never funny.
Heaven is...
English popular music,
French food,
German engineering, and
Italian romance.
Hell is...
English food,
French popular music,
German romance, and
Italian engineering.
The French are funny.
Sex is funny.
Comedies are funny.
But French sex comedies are never funny.
Heaven is...
English popular music,
French food,
German engineering, and
Italian romance.
Hell is...
English food,
French popular music,
German romance, and
Italian engineering.
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