Really, really hard. New translation up at Lines that Rock. I knew that when I started. But I also thought when I started that 4 months in I'd be fluent. Which is so not the case. The problem is nuance. I mean, Prevert writes with pretty basic language, but how do I know if he means here or there, when the same word is so often used for both? Just because the word derisory exists in English, is that the word he would have used? After I translated ths latest poem I thought I wouldn't even post it. I mean, what if Jacques doesn't approve?
But hey, you all know I'm an amateur, and a beginner at French. And if you have a major problem with my translation, you can correct me!
Sorry, I'm feeling insecure today. I'll put up a better post after the upcoming Best Weekend Ever.
30 January, 2009
27 January, 2009
Yes, We Can
That's what I hear surprisingly often from the kids at school. "Sit down please." "Yes, we can!" "Can you clean the board please?" "Yes we can!" "Follow me." "Yes, we can!" Always with the same upbeat and somehow hopeful tone as I would expect to hear from an Obama supporter after one of his speeches. I was just thinking the other day about how huge Obama is over here. This is a picture of the magazine section of my library taken just after the results of the US elections:
Clearly, Americans weren't the only ones celebrating. Headlines from left to right, roughly translated, are: "What the world is expecting of him," "The man who can change the world," and "An Obama Revolution." I forgot to take a picture at the time, but I even saw a headline at a station once that read, "The first president of the world." Wow. I mean, I'm not in any position to speak for citizens of the whole world or anything, but I can say that on the whole, the French are pretty damn happy that Obama won.
The hype has worn down a little. But I still do see signs of Obama everywhere. Some kids still shout "Obama" at me in the halls and wait for their high-fives. Kids who haven't met me and have the opportunity to ask me questions often ask if I love Obama. And then, as I was walking to the library today, I saw this poster promoting annual sales in a store window:
When I saw this, I immediately thought about this recent Sociological Images post about advertising with Obama's "brand." I don't know that I'm equipped enough to argue about what kind of ramifications this type of advertising might have. I'm just adding my example.
PS, I was going to use the Urban Dictionary definition of Obamania for this blog, but then was put off by the negative connotation I gathered from entries two and (most definitely) three. But it's still interesting. I'd say go take a look. And what got me were all the obama- entries on the left side bar. I wonder how many will stick?
PPS, Am I a terrible person because I want the Obama chia pet?
Clearly, Americans weren't the only ones celebrating. Headlines from left to right, roughly translated, are: "What the world is expecting of him," "The man who can change the world," and "An Obama Revolution." I forgot to take a picture at the time, but I even saw a headline at a station once that read, "The first president of the world." Wow. I mean, I'm not in any position to speak for citizens of the whole world or anything, but I can say that on the whole, the French are pretty damn happy that Obama won.
The hype has worn down a little. But I still do see signs of Obama everywhere. Some kids still shout "Obama" at me in the halls and wait for their high-fives. Kids who haven't met me and have the opportunity to ask me questions often ask if I love Obama. And then, as I was walking to the library today, I saw this poster promoting annual sales in a store window:
When I saw this, I immediately thought about this recent Sociological Images post about advertising with Obama's "brand." I don't know that I'm equipped enough to argue about what kind of ramifications this type of advertising might have. I'm just adding my example.
PS, I was going to use the Urban Dictionary definition of Obamania for this blog, but then was put off by the negative connotation I gathered from entries two and (most definitely) three. But it's still interesting. I'd say go take a look. And what got me were all the obama- entries on the left side bar. I wonder how many will stick?
PPS, Am I a terrible person because I want the Obama chia pet?
24 January, 2009
Best and Worst Week Ever
Let's start with the bad to get it out of my system.
To Lexobus, pretty much the only bus company I can take in Lisieux, here is my middle finger. I hope you like it. It hasn't been given to anyone since the last time I drove in New Jersey.
Lexobus was on strike this week. I've written before about the uphill nightmare that is the walk to Laplace, and since I discovered Lexobus I've pretty much gotten fat and lazy and taken the bus to get there. But this week on Tuesday and Friday I had no choice but to walk it. I impressed myself on Tuesday. I got to school in twenty minutes and, while my face was red red red, I wasn't exhausted or anything. Friday was a different story. It was raining, Normandy style. Which is to say a lot. It was also super windy, so it took me double the time to get to school. And when I arrived I was soaking and assuredly stinky. After classes and lunch were over I noticed that the sun was shining bright. I though I should leave ASAP to get home without a repeat of the morning. About five minutes into my walk it started to hail. That's right. It wasn't raining. It was hailing! I'd already been suffering windburn and now I was being pelted with rock-hard pieces of ice. And do you know what happens when hail lands? It turns into water! So I'm soaked and sore from small hail bruises and my umbrella has just proven that it can do gymnastics when the wind blows hard enough (it's so mangled I don't even think it will ever be usable again). I finally get within a block from home and do you know what I see? Can you guess what I see? A fucking Lexobus! Arg!
I thought that my rant would end there, but last night I started to smell something disgusting in my apartment. Like a wet dirty dog. And then I realized that my new bag, the one I bought at soldes, was made of wool. If you don't know what that means, ask Tara.
OK. Breathe. Everything was fine last night. I got home, took a shower, worked a little on a V-Day present, had a nice dinner. And realized that a lot of good happened this week too:
-I understood every single word in "I Robot, You Jane."
-I can now choose between synonyms in French. For example, whereas before I could only call someone a man, I can now choose between the French equivalents of guy, dude, and bro.
-I did walk to and home from Laplace twice this week, and I'm not sore at all.
-I have a new neighbor who is very friendly, talkative, and generous. He cooked dinner for the two of us the other day and we had an entire conversation in French. I never get tired of hearing my accent and vocabulary are impressive!
-I made pancakes from scratch! I was missing baking powder, so in the end they were crepes, but it was fun to try a recipe from home.
-We have a new English assistant at Michelet. She's from Ghana and super-sweet. We won't be working on the same days, but maybe we'll hang out on our own.
and finally,
-Nathalie invited me to Paris next weekend! So I am finally going to see it tourist-style. Eiffel Tower, Louvre, Notre Dame, Champs-Elysees. Though I am supposed to think of other things I'd like to see. But I don't know too much. Any ideas??
To Lexobus, pretty much the only bus company I can take in Lisieux, here is my middle finger. I hope you like it. It hasn't been given to anyone since the last time I drove in New Jersey.
Lexobus was on strike this week. I've written before about the uphill nightmare that is the walk to Laplace, and since I discovered Lexobus I've pretty much gotten fat and lazy and taken the bus to get there. But this week on Tuesday and Friday I had no choice but to walk it. I impressed myself on Tuesday. I got to school in twenty minutes and, while my face was red red red, I wasn't exhausted or anything. Friday was a different story. It was raining, Normandy style. Which is to say a lot. It was also super windy, so it took me double the time to get to school. And when I arrived I was soaking and assuredly stinky. After classes and lunch were over I noticed that the sun was shining bright. I though I should leave ASAP to get home without a repeat of the morning. About five minutes into my walk it started to hail. That's right. It wasn't raining. It was hailing! I'd already been suffering windburn and now I was being pelted with rock-hard pieces of ice. And do you know what happens when hail lands? It turns into water! So I'm soaked and sore from small hail bruises and my umbrella has just proven that it can do gymnastics when the wind blows hard enough (it's so mangled I don't even think it will ever be usable again). I finally get within a block from home and do you know what I see? Can you guess what I see? A fucking Lexobus! Arg!
I thought that my rant would end there, but last night I started to smell something disgusting in my apartment. Like a wet dirty dog. And then I realized that my new bag, the one I bought at soldes, was made of wool. If you don't know what that means, ask Tara.
OK. Breathe. Everything was fine last night. I got home, took a shower, worked a little on a V-Day present, had a nice dinner. And realized that a lot of good happened this week too:
-I understood every single word in "I Robot, You Jane."
-I can now choose between synonyms in French. For example, whereas before I could only call someone a man, I can now choose between the French equivalents of guy, dude, and bro.
-I did walk to and home from Laplace twice this week, and I'm not sore at all.
-I have a new neighbor who is very friendly, talkative, and generous. He cooked dinner for the two of us the other day and we had an entire conversation in French. I never get tired of hearing my accent and vocabulary are impressive!
-I made pancakes from scratch! I was missing baking powder, so in the end they were crepes, but it was fun to try a recipe from home.
-We have a new English assistant at Michelet. She's from Ghana and super-sweet. We won't be working on the same days, but maybe we'll hang out on our own.
and finally,
-Nathalie invited me to Paris next weekend! So I am finally going to see it tourist-style. Eiffel Tower, Louvre, Notre Dame, Champs-Elysees. Though I am supposed to think of other things I'd like to see. But I don't know too much. Any ideas??
17 January, 2009
L'Occitanienne
So Lizzi invited me to go to this special viewing of L'Occitanienne at the cinema in Lisieux last night. Rock. Then I found out that the director was going to be there and we would have the chance to meet him and ask questions. Double rock!
I was stoked because I have a slight silly obsession with Occitanie, a region in France. It all started when I discovered the store L'Occitane en Provence in New Jersey. It's a cosmetics shop with luscious perfumes, soaps and lotions. I loved it even before I had any interest in French, back when I used to butcher the pronunciation of the name something awful. When I first got here and saw one of these stores, I thought I was about to walk into heaven. I thought, if the L'Occitanes in America are as beautiful as they are, I can't imagine what they'll actually be like in France. To my disappointment (at the time), they are exactly the same. The owners like to keep the same authentic feel in all of their stores. As much as I wanted a super-store, I know I'll appreciate this when I go home. I'll know that I can go into any L'Occitane in the world and it will be just like the ones here.
Anyway, after Christmas I started reading this quite massive book about the French, and one of the chapters is on regional dialects. And there's one called Langue d'Oc that originated in this area. And I would love to hear this type of language spoken and compare it to French now that I can understand French.
So now that we all know how excited I was to see this movie, we can get to the good stuff! But not immediately, because the movie was not so good, in my opinion. It was the story of Chateaubriand, a famous writer in the 19th century, and his final love. Nice story, but boring for me. The movie lacked action. It was mostly just scenes from one room at one time. All conversation. How am I supposed to follow something like that? Yeah, I got the gist, but there were so many words I didn't get. Add to that the fact that there was some Langue d'Oc phrases, and that they spoke fast sometimes, and I'm actually surprised at how well I did understand.
The movie was not the best, but I was thrilled that I got to meet the director! Based on the search results I got, I don't think Jean Périssé is actually too well known here. But he did get to work with Bernard le Coq, who is apparently hot stuff in these parts, though I've never heard of any of the films on his imdb list. And you know, it was the same for Chateaubriand, the subject of the film. His wikipedia entry says he is considered the founder of French romanticism, yet I've never heard of him! When we asked the director why he's so important, he told us that to understand, we would have to imagine Victor Hugo, Baudelaire, and Johnny Hallyday all rolled into one. And that's how huge this guy was during his time. I don't know. I'm going to have to check out his work for myself.
I had fun last night. And I want to meet more artists. And Jean Périssé signed something for me. Triple rock.
I was stoked because I have a slight silly obsession with Occitanie, a region in France. It all started when I discovered the store L'Occitane en Provence in New Jersey. It's a cosmetics shop with luscious perfumes, soaps and lotions. I loved it even before I had any interest in French, back when I used to butcher the pronunciation of the name something awful. When I first got here and saw one of these stores, I thought I was about to walk into heaven. I thought, if the L'Occitanes in America are as beautiful as they are, I can't imagine what they'll actually be like in France. To my disappointment (at the time), they are exactly the same. The owners like to keep the same authentic feel in all of their stores. As much as I wanted a super-store, I know I'll appreciate this when I go home. I'll know that I can go into any L'Occitane in the world and it will be just like the ones here.
Anyway, after Christmas I started reading this quite massive book about the French, and one of the chapters is on regional dialects. And there's one called Langue d'Oc that originated in this area. And I would love to hear this type of language spoken and compare it to French now that I can understand French.
So now that we all know how excited I was to see this movie, we can get to the good stuff! But not immediately, because the movie was not so good, in my opinion. It was the story of Chateaubriand, a famous writer in the 19th century, and his final love. Nice story, but boring for me. The movie lacked action. It was mostly just scenes from one room at one time. All conversation. How am I supposed to follow something like that? Yeah, I got the gist, but there were so many words I didn't get. Add to that the fact that there was some Langue d'Oc phrases, and that they spoke fast sometimes, and I'm actually surprised at how well I did understand. The movie was not the best, but I was thrilled that I got to meet the director! Based on the search results I got, I don't think Jean Périssé is actually too well known here. But he did get to work with Bernard le Coq, who is apparently hot stuff in these parts, though I've never heard of any of the films on his imdb list. And you know, it was the same for Chateaubriand, the subject of the film. His wikipedia entry says he is considered the founder of French romanticism, yet I've never heard of him! When we asked the director why he's so important, he told us that to understand, we would have to imagine Victor Hugo, Baudelaire, and Johnny Hallyday all rolled into one. And that's how huge this guy was during his time. I don't know. I'm going to have to check out his work for myself.
I had fun last night. And I want to meet more artists. And Jean Périssé signed something for me. Triple rock.
SOLDES!
Do you know what they are? They're huge sales, the kind that are happening all over France right now. I went into Caen yesterday to make the most of these sales:
Black hat: 3 euros
Bright orange shirt: 4 euros
Bag: 5 euros
Looking this good: Pri -- well, actually it cost about $700 to get here
Feeling this good: Priceless
Win of the Lifetime
I was getting on a bus at the station and the driver was curious about me. He wanted to help me (must have thought I was a tourist, since I was at the station and all) by telling me the best way to get where I was going. But I told him I knew where I was going. Home. He then told me he could hear a bit of an accent and we got to talking. He almost keeled over when he found out I only studied French for a year and a half, and now the three months.
And then he gave me the best compliment ever. He told me that I have a perfect accent. I challenged him by reminding him that it was clear I was foreign. Then he told me that that was precisely why it was perfect. I had just enough accent to reveal that I wasn't from France, but not so much that he couldn't understand me. It was just enough to be interesting. Which pretty much rocked my world.
Black hat: 3 euros
Bright orange shirt: 4 euros
Bag: 5 euros
Feeling this good: Priceless
Win of the Lifetime
I was getting on a bus at the station and the driver was curious about me. He wanted to help me (must have thought I was a tourist, since I was at the station and all) by telling me the best way to get where I was going. But I told him I knew where I was going. Home. He then told me he could hear a bit of an accent and we got to talking. He almost keeled over when he found out I only studied French for a year and a half, and now the three months.
And then he gave me the best compliment ever. He told me that I have a perfect accent. I challenged him by reminding him that it was clear I was foreign. Then he told me that that was precisely why it was perfect. I had just enough accent to reveal that I wasn't from France, but not so much that he couldn't understand me. It was just enough to be interesting. Which pretty much rocked my world.
16 January, 2009
15 January, 2009
This Just In
Another english assistant is arriving at my school tomorrow! I hope she's awesome, and friendly...
13 January, 2009
I know I know I've been blogging all day
And I am leaving the library, right after I share this with you, which pretty much made my day:
from Sociological Images
from Sociological Images
Shoutout
To the best friends in the world. This is mad old, and I forgot to put it up. But back when Donna and Rach had their election-party, they invited me. I, of course, was in France. But this did not stop me from being there:
Best Week(End) Ever, Part 92748yt984t698
A short one, but full of fun none the less.
On Saturday, I went to Honfleur with all my colleagues from Laplace. It's this really nice port town filled with great little shops and cafes. We walked around a bit, took a crap-ton of photos, and then had a bit of hot chocolate at one of said cafes. Then, we headed back to chez Murielle to celebrate a French holiday called la fête de l’epiphanie, and I had so much fun! We started with the apéretif, which is where everyone sits around a table snacking, drinking, and chatting. I've come to really enjoy this part of the evening. At first, I found myself getting grumpy because it's basically an occasion for everyone to talk. I love to talk. But when I first got here, I really couldn't chat that way, so aperitifs seemed to be frustrating for me and really drag out. Now, I seize upon the opportunity to speak as much French as I want, ask questions that I've had (for example, Nathalie told me that Samantha Oups! doesn't really have a political message and I was probably thinking about it too much), and find out more about all the people I've come to know.
After the apéro, (and some awesome-ass Wii play with Colin where I won baseball and bowling but lost hardcore at tennis) we moved on to the dinner, which was delicious - way better than the spaghetti and corn dinners I've been eating for the past two weeks while I wait for my replacement bank card. Anyway, to get back to dinner, it was very nice, and the conversation was great. I can't stress enough how happy I am with the progress I’ve made in French. I was able to talk to the kids much more this time (I think they could notice the difference from Deauville!) and I could talk to all the boyfriends/husbands of the colleagues. And, for the most part, I could understand everything they said without having to ask to repeat or look to someone for a translation. It was awesome!
And then, we had our dessert, which was the whole reason we had this get together in the first place – to celebrate La fête de l’epiphanie! I so wish we had this holiday in Jersey. What happens is you buy a galette. Not the dinner-y type, but the dessert-y type. As you cut the galette, the youngest child (in our case Colin) goes under the table and calls out the name of who’s going to get the pieces. That way,
no one can cheat. Everyone gets a piece of the galette, and in one or two of the pieces, there will be a little toy! Whoever gets the toy is the king. The king then picks a queen who gets to wear the crown. In this case, Colin got both toys (so unjust!) He gave one of the kingdoms to his dad, who then picked me as his queen! So I got to sport the crown! And Colin did not pick a queen. He said no one was good enough. Ha! Gotta love candor!
After dinner we all moved to the fireplace again to have some coffee and some more little chocolates! I could barely fit any more inside because I was so full from all that dinner and dessert. But it was nice to just sit with everyone and talk and understand things. And you know what's the best part right now? Sometimes I speak in English with some people, but now I feel like that's OK. Before, when I just got here, I had to use English. I completely lacked the means to understand a conversation otherwise. Now, I can do it. I might be slow, and the convo might have to be modified a bit, but I can keep up. Now, if I'm speaking English with someone it's because I made the choice between French and English. That, my friends, feels pretty damn good.
By the time everyone finally left and I got home it was like 2 in the morning! I think dinner itself lasted until after midnight. My alarm went off during the meal and when I said, "Wow. It's already eleven o'clock," Sophie's copin replied with, "There is no o'clock." Which, you know, is true because I had off the next day. Bonus part of the night: when Tapan called me he was at Donna and Rach’s taco party! So I got to talk to all my buddies! Rock!
Then on Sunday, I moved!!! I was getting pretty fed up with the problems in my old-ass apartment. The water that never lasts, the broken cabinet door, the shower head that spurted water everywhere and soaked the bottom of the floor, the creaky bed that sometimes made me itchy. I don't even want to think about what the reason could have been. I just made sure to wash all my sheets before I switched them. Anyway, it doesn't matter anymore because I switched to this awesome piece:
In English:
In French:
As you can see, it is super way more modern, and there's a hell of a lot more space since there's no awkward sink in the middle of the room. I'm very happy with it. Right now the only thing missing are enough outlets and a cable wire for the TV. But these problems will be fixed within the week. I'm a little bit antsy about the TV. Not antsy, really, but debat-ey. Honesty, I'm OK with not having a TV right now. I can use the time to listen to music, write, read, whatever. But then again, the TV is a really useful tool in learning French. Not just language, but culture also. I know what you're thinking: Ashley, why don't you just watch the TV sometimes? My answer: I can't. I'm pretty much addicted to the background noise. If I'm home, it's on. And that's that. Not a good habit, but it's the truth. But I'm enjoying not having it. I have 5,000 songs on my computer. And it's really nice to, you know, listen to them.
Favorite song of yesterday:
Thanks, Rach, cause without you I never would have downloaded this!
On Saturday, I went to Honfleur with all my colleagues from Laplace. It's this really nice port town filled with great little shops and cafes. We walked around a bit, took a crap-ton of photos, and then had a bit of hot chocolate at one of said cafes. Then, we headed back to chez Murielle to celebrate a French holiday called la fête de l’epiphanie, and I had so much fun! We started with the apéretif, which is where everyone sits around a table snacking, drinking, and chatting. I've come to really enjoy this part of the evening. At first, I found myself getting grumpy because it's basically an occasion for everyone to talk. I love to talk. But when I first got here, I really couldn't chat that way, so aperitifs seemed to be frustrating for me and really drag out. Now, I seize upon the opportunity to speak as much French as I want, ask questions that I've had (for example, Nathalie told me that Samantha Oups! doesn't really have a political message and I was probably thinking about it too much), and find out more about all the people I've come to know. 
After the apéro, (and some awesome-ass Wii play with Colin where I won baseball and bowling but lost hardcore at tennis) we moved on to the dinner, which was delicious - way better than the spaghetti and corn dinners I've been eating for the past two weeks while I wait for my replacement bank card. Anyway, to get back to dinner, it was very nice, and the conversation was great. I can't stress enough how happy I am with the progress I’ve made in French. I was able to talk to the kids much more this time (I think they could notice the difference from Deauville!) and I could talk to all the boyfriends/husbands of the colleagues. And, for the most part, I could understand everything they said without having to ask to repeat or look to someone for a translation. It was awesome!And then, we had our dessert, which was the whole reason we had this get together in the first place – to celebrate La fête de l’epiphanie! I so wish we had this holiday in Jersey. What happens is you buy a galette. Not the dinner-y type, but the dessert-y type. As you cut the galette, the youngest child (in our case Colin) goes under the table and calls out the name of who’s going to get the pieces. That way,
no one can cheat. Everyone gets a piece of the galette, and in one or two of the pieces, there will be a little toy! Whoever gets the toy is the king. The king then picks a queen who gets to wear the crown. In this case, Colin got both toys (so unjust!) He gave one of the kingdoms to his dad, who then picked me as his queen! So I got to sport the crown! And Colin did not pick a queen. He said no one was good enough. Ha! Gotta love candor!After dinner we all moved to the fireplace again to have some coffee and some more little chocolates! I could barely fit any more inside because I was so full from all that dinner and dessert. But it was nice to just sit with everyone and talk and understand things. And you know what's the best part right now? Sometimes I speak in English with some people, but now I feel like that's OK. Before, when I just got here, I had to use English. I completely lacked the means to understand a conversation otherwise. Now, I can do it. I might be slow, and the convo might have to be modified a bit, but I can keep up. Now, if I'm speaking English with someone it's because I made the choice between French and English. That, my friends, feels pretty damn good.
By the time everyone finally left and I got home it was like 2 in the morning! I think dinner itself lasted until after midnight. My alarm went off during the meal and when I said, "Wow. It's already eleven o'clock," Sophie's copin replied with, "There is no o'clock." Which, you know, is true because I had off the next day. Bonus part of the night: when Tapan called me he was at Donna and Rach’s taco party! So I got to talk to all my buddies! Rock!
Then on Sunday, I moved!!! I was getting pretty fed up with the problems in my old-ass apartment. The water that never lasts, the broken cabinet door, the shower head that spurted water everywhere and soaked the bottom of the floor, the creaky bed that sometimes made me itchy. I don't even want to think about what the reason could have been. I just made sure to wash all my sheets before I switched them. Anyway, it doesn't matter anymore because I switched to this awesome piece:
In English:
In French:
As you can see, it is super way more modern, and there's a hell of a lot more space since there's no awkward sink in the middle of the room. I'm very happy with it. Right now the only thing missing are enough outlets and a cable wire for the TV. But these problems will be fixed within the week. I'm a little bit antsy about the TV. Not antsy, really, but debat-ey. Honesty, I'm OK with not having a TV right now. I can use the time to listen to music, write, read, whatever. But then again, the TV is a really useful tool in learning French. Not just language, but culture also. I know what you're thinking: Ashley, why don't you just watch the TV sometimes? My answer: I can't. I'm pretty much addicted to the background noise. If I'm home, it's on. And that's that. Not a good habit, but it's the truth. But I'm enjoying not having it. I have 5,000 songs on my computer. And it's really nice to, you know, listen to them.
Favorite song of yesterday:
Thanks, Rach, cause without you I never would have downloaded this!
Smelly and Loud
I'm not talking about [enter smelly and loud person, animal or character here]. I'm talking about how I like my memories.
We all know that the olfactory sense has super-strong ties to the memory. To me, the best memories are always the ones linked to a smell or sound. They’re like a happy surprise. Usually, when I have a memory of something it’s because I was talking about a time with someone else, or I was thinking about a specific epoch in my history. In those cases, the memories are good, but predictable. I know they’re coming.
But every once in a while, I hear a song or specific noise, or I smell or taste something and this huge wave of nostalgia washes over me. And I prefer these memories to any other type. They’re always so much stronger. When I hear a song from Mariah Carey’s CD Rainbow, I’m not just reminiscing about the Christmas of 7th grade. I’m there, sitting on the old couch, my mom is on the floor with my brother and we’re opening presents. When I smell Victoria’s Secret Heavenly lotion, I don’t just remember the time that I wore it; I’m there in my past, in my car driving to Williamstown for an interview with a vacuum-cleaner pyramid scheme, reaching into my new green purse, listening to the Legally Blonde the Musical soundtrack. Listening to any song by Avant takes me back to my BFF Jenn’s house in middle school; American Baby by DMB puts my in my car at 4:30 am driving to open the airport store; any song by the Books and I’m in the living room in Ocean City with all my best friends. I brought Tapan’s cologne with me here, and sometimes I spray it on the shirt he gave me so that when I miss him I can cuddle with it. And I’m not just with the shirt when I do that – I really am back in his arms.
I’m reminded of this whole phenomenon every time I walk home from or to Laplace. I pass a particularly stinky area on the way - I think it’s a sewage drain or something – and I have memories of sea. I know it doesn’t sound too nice, that the smell of sewage reminds me of one of the best summers of my life, but it’s the truth. The MS Explorer sometimes had its problems with stinky toilet smell. The first level especially, so sometimes when we arrived in port and had to pass through there to get on and off the ship, we’d be a little inconvenienced. It was never so bad that we’d have to cover our noses or anything, and I don’t think there was any sanitation problem involved. And it’s the same here on that road to Laplace. In fact sometimes I feel rather twisted that I smell that and a smile immediately comes across my face because I’m back at sea, about to have some adventures with McKenzie in Costa Rica, or on the brink of gaining some street cred in Callou, Peru with Jesse and Claire.
But that’s the power of the olfactory sense. And whenever a smell or sound triggers a memory I feel incredibly satisfied. Oh, there are so many things I wish I could share with you all that I just can’t. Sure, I can record a sound and post it here, but it’s just impossible to do that with smell. I wish I could send vials of the smell of pain chaud from La Mie Caline, or this new apple-vanilla artisan soap I bought, or the air last night right before it rained. It makes me at once sad that I can’t share it, and grateful that there are some things that will always be just mine.
And whenever I have one of these memories I wonder what will be the smells that remind me of France in the future. Will it be cranberries (my first shampoo)? Will it be the smell of warm brioche? The honey & milk hand soap that I use? The bitter smell of the scarf that I keep forgetting to wash? The deodorant I use here? And what will be the sounds that take me back? What tastes?
What do you guys think? Have you any smells or sounds that bring you back to a specific place or time, good or bad?
We all know that the olfactory sense has super-strong ties to the memory. To me, the best memories are always the ones linked to a smell or sound. They’re like a happy surprise. Usually, when I have a memory of something it’s because I was talking about a time with someone else, or I was thinking about a specific epoch in my history. In those cases, the memories are good, but predictable. I know they’re coming.
But every once in a while, I hear a song or specific noise, or I smell or taste something and this huge wave of nostalgia washes over me. And I prefer these memories to any other type. They’re always so much stronger. When I hear a song from Mariah Carey’s CD Rainbow, I’m not just reminiscing about the Christmas of 7th grade. I’m there, sitting on the old couch, my mom is on the floor with my brother and we’re opening presents. When I smell Victoria’s Secret Heavenly lotion, I don’t just remember the time that I wore it; I’m there in my past, in my car driving to Williamstown for an interview with a vacuum-cleaner pyramid scheme, reaching into my new green purse, listening to the Legally Blonde the Musical soundtrack. Listening to any song by Avant takes me back to my BFF Jenn’s house in middle school; American Baby by DMB puts my in my car at 4:30 am driving to open the airport store; any song by the Books and I’m in the living room in Ocean City with all my best friends. I brought Tapan’s cologne with me here, and sometimes I spray it on the shirt he gave me so that when I miss him I can cuddle with it. And I’m not just with the shirt when I do that – I really am back in his arms.
I’m reminded of this whole phenomenon every time I walk home from or to Laplace. I pass a particularly stinky area on the way - I think it’s a sewage drain or something – and I have memories of sea. I know it doesn’t sound too nice, that the smell of sewage reminds me of one of the best summers of my life, but it’s the truth. The MS Explorer sometimes had its problems with stinky toilet smell. The first level especially, so sometimes when we arrived in port and had to pass through there to get on and off the ship, we’d be a little inconvenienced. It was never so bad that we’d have to cover our noses or anything, and I don’t think there was any sanitation problem involved. And it’s the same here on that road to Laplace. In fact sometimes I feel rather twisted that I smell that and a smile immediately comes across my face because I’m back at sea, about to have some adventures with McKenzie in Costa Rica, or on the brink of gaining some street cred in Callou, Peru with Jesse and Claire.
But that’s the power of the olfactory sense. And whenever a smell or sound triggers a memory I feel incredibly satisfied. Oh, there are so many things I wish I could share with you all that I just can’t. Sure, I can record a sound and post it here, but it’s just impossible to do that with smell. I wish I could send vials of the smell of pain chaud from La Mie Caline, or this new apple-vanilla artisan soap I bought, or the air last night right before it rained. It makes me at once sad that I can’t share it, and grateful that there are some things that will always be just mine.
And whenever I have one of these memories I wonder what will be the smells that remind me of France in the future. Will it be cranberries (my first shampoo)? Will it be the smell of warm brioche? The honey & milk hand soap that I use? The bitter smell of the scarf that I keep forgetting to wash? The deodorant I use here? And what will be the sounds that take me back? What tastes?
What do you guys think? Have you any smells or sounds that bring you back to a specific place or time, good or bad?
It's not mine
I always want to send one in, but I don't have a secret this good:
And this one too:
It says something like: "I imagine myself as the slayer. At 25 years old it continues. I dream of being in her place. She is so perfect." But the ados part loses me. Does that mean during my adolescence I imagined myself as the slayer?
And this one too:
It says something like: "I imagine myself as the slayer. At 25 years old it continues. I dream of being in her place. She is so perfect." But the ados part loses me. Does that mean during my adolescence I imagined myself as the slayer?
08 January, 2009
Fun with translators, and curiosities at the laundromat
I put the following message through a translator English-French, then through a French-English translator. Because who does not surprising syntax?
So I went to the laundry room again today. After disasters such as laundry lost money, the loss of yoga pants, a homeless person who yelled at me not to appreciate that he lost his finger in the war, and the fact that it is a kind of up and away, I have not yet decided to find a new Laundromat. Despite all the low is closest to my apartment and the laundry is very heavy. But today was the last straw. Yet another crazy. Thus, mad, in fact, I think I'll finally, finally, finding a new one.
Usually, when I do my laundry I expect the end of the operation, without leave, but I got things to do today. So I dropped my clothes in the washer and head to do some shopping. I have not found what I was looking for, but that's beside the point. When I returned to the laundry room, there was a man he had decided to distribute all things on the table and four chairs, leaving no room for me to sit. Included in the deal has been a giant can of beer, a pack of cigarettes, a newspaper, a jacket, waistcoat, a game of cards and a bag of books, which will almost all come into play during the story.
I did not know what to do, and the guy speaks for itself (not a strange thing to see here in Lisieux, by the way) I went outside and took a little walk. Then, when my washing is ready for the dryer, I went back in and transfers. He allowed his things out of one of the seats and it is really very, very cold and I thought, why not, I'll sit down. Then the man started talking about me.
He asked me if I wanted the table to sort my laundry. I look at hair, who said 20 minutes, then return to him and said: "Not yet." Then he offered me a cigarette. I watched his cigarette lit, then the sign of smoke, then back to him and said: "No." He then asked me if I wanted a better quality cigarette. I told him I do not smoke. Then he said something incomprehensible, either Because of my level English or because he was mad, I'm not sure of. I gave him a blank look. Then he asked me if I was here. I said no, and returned to my book. Fortunately, he did not ask for more.
Within 20 minutes, he took my clothes to dry (not by the way, but I sucked him in an effort to get out of there as soon as I could) that this man made a lot of shenanigans. He put his cigarette on his newspaper and sprinkled ash on the ground. It has setits jacket and waistcoat, which n' would not have been dirty tricks if it n' did not make of him déboucler its belt and its trousers unzip. I thought qu' it was going to start to masturbate. I can probably thank Emari the poem “the day when my grandmother is morte" for this impulse. Fortunately, it n' does not have. It finished its massive beer and started with l' other. And then ila started to pack to the top of its things. It folded its paper, extinguished its cigarette and moved all starting from the principal table. Then it reached in the dustbin and took a towel used outside, qu' it had l' practice d' to wipe the remaining ash of the table, and then l' returned in the waste basket. All this that j' observed with a sharp peripheral vision. With him it seemed that j' was completely written in my book. Then this man went outside. What a happiness! But I was to be disappointed. It n' did not leave; it just went to l' outside trashcan, stuck its manner of arm deeply inside, and withdrew a towel or a fabric used different. It returned to l' interior and cleaned the table again. Except this time, he wanted that the towel was wet. Thus it spit on top, and had l' practice then l' moisture to clean the table. It continued to spit in the towel and to rub the towel above the table runner. It must have done this 11 or 12 times, jusqu' with it that the whole table was clean spit-flutter. I could not do anything but think of how with transform this into poetry and also think of all the times that j' had folded my crusty own laundry on this table even. Then, on the new clean table, this man started with s' to occupy a play of the charts. It lit another cigarette and s' a play for two is occupied. It m' did not ask to play. It s' is just occupied. In conclusion, it desiccator s' is stopped. My clothing was still wet, but j' would have wrinkles qu' rather; to be in this place d' more minute. J' went d' more; to the desiccator and threw all clothing in my bag, which I had placed on the floor instead of the table. Because I did this j' heard the familiar noise d' a play called 52 to begin again. L' man had thrown all his charts on the ground. As it gathered them I hurried out moulding a glance outwards there in back jusqu' so that I l' returned to the house. Maintaining my clothing dry on the heater and my preferred sunny yellow towel turned the green because my new jeans bled in him. How j' like the automatic laundry, let count the manners to me.
Wow, I think that got kind of unfollowable in the middle there. Here's the story in original English if you're curious:
So I went to the Laundromat again today. After such laundry disasters as lost money, lost yoga pants, a homeless man who yelled at me for not appreciating that he lost his finger in the war, and the fact that it is kind of uphill and far away, I still have not decided to find a new Laundromat. Despite all the downs, it is the closest one to my apartment, and laundry is heavy. But today was the last straw. Yet another crazy. So crazy, in fact, that I think I'll finally, finally, find a new one.
Usually when I do my laundry I wait for it to finish without leaving, but I had things to do today. So I dropped my clothes in the washer and headed out to do some shopping. I didn't actually find what I was looking for, but that's beside the point. When I got back to the Laundromat, there was a man there who had decided to spread all of his things over the table and the four chairs, leaving no room for me to sit. Included in his things were a giant can of beer, a pack of cigarettes, a newspaper, a jacket, a vest, a deck of cards and a book bag, which will almost all come into play in the course of this story.
I wasn't sure what to do, and the guy was talking to himself (not such a strange thing to witness here in Lisieux, by the way), so I went outside and took a bit of a walk. Then, when my wash was ready for the dryer, I went back in and transferred it. He had cleared his things off of one of the seats and it was really, really cold so I thought, why not, I'll sit down. Then the man started talking to me.
He asked me if I wanted the table to sort my laundry. I looked at the dryer, which said 20 minutes, then back at him and said, "Not yet." Then he offered me a cigarette. I looked at his lit cigarette, then over to the no smoking sign, then back at him and said, "No." He then asked me if I wanted a higher-quality cigarette. I told him I don't smoke. Then he said something incomprehensible, either because of my level of French or because he was crazy, I'm not sure which. I gave him a blank look. Then he asked me if I was from here. I said no, and returned to my book. Luckily, he didn't ask more.
In the 20 minutes it took my laundry to dry (not completely by the way, but I sucked it up in an effort to get out of there as soon as I could) this man did a lot of shenanigans. He put his cigarettes out on his newspaper and dusted the ash onto the floor. He put on his jacket and vest, which wouldn't have been shenanigans if it didn't make him unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. I thought he was going to start masturbating. I can probably thank Emari's poem "On the day my grandmother died" for that impulse. Thankfully, he did not. He finished his massive beer and began another. And then he began to pack up his things. He folded his paper, put out his cigarette and moved everything away from the main table. Then he reached into the trash can and took out a used napkin, which he used to wipe the remaining ash from the table, and then returned it to the wastebasket. All of this I observed with a keen peripheral vision. To him it seemed I was totally engrossed in my book.
Then this man went outside. What happiness! But I was to be disappointed. He did not leave; he just went to the trashcan outside, stuck his arm way deep in, and pulled out another used napkin or tissue. He came back inside and cleaned the table once again. Except this time, he wanted the napkin to be wet. So he spit on it, and then used the moisture to clean the table. He continued to spit into the napkin and rub the napkin over the tabletop. He must have done this 11 or 12 times, until the whole table was spit-sparkling clean. I could do nothing but think of how to turn this into a poem and also think about all the times I had folded my crispy clean laundry on this very table.
Then, on the new clean table, this man began to deal a game of cards. He lit another cigarette and dealt a game for two. He did not ask me to play. He just dealt. Finally, the dryer stopped. My clothes were still damp, but I would rather have wrinkles than be in this place one more minute. I walked over to the dryer and threw all the clothes into my bag, which I had placed on the floor instead of the table. As I was doing this I heard the familiar sound of a game called 52 pick up. The man had thrown all of his cards on the ground. As he collected them I hurried out of there without casting a look back until I made it home.
Now my clothes are drying on the heater and my favorite sunny yellow towel has turned green because my new blue jeans bled into it. How I love the Laundromat, let me count the ways.
And what the hell, here's the story translated into French, for my readers who love wacky French syntax too. Who said this blog can't be bilingual?
Je mets le message suivant par l'intermédiaire d'un traducteur anglais-français, puis par l'intermédiaire d'un traducteur français-anglais. Parce que qui n'aime pas étonnant de syntaxe?
Je suis donc allée à la buanderie de nouveau aujourd'hui. Après de telles catastrophes comme la lessive a perdu de l'argent, la perte de pantalons de yoga, un sans-abri qui a crié à moi de ne pas apprécier qu'il a perdu son doigt dans la guerre, et le fait qu'il est une sorte de montée et de loin, je n'ai pas encore décidé de trouver un nouveau Laundromat. En dépit de tous les bas, c'est le plus proche de mon appartement, et la lessive est très lourd. Mais, aujourd'hui, a été la dernière paille. Pourtant, un autre fou. Ainsi, fou, en fait, que je crois que je vais enfin, enfin, trouver un nouveau.
Habituellement, lorsque je fais ma lessive je attendre la fin de l'opération, sans quitter, mais j'ai eu des choses à faire aujourd'hui. J'ai donc abandonné mes vêtements dans la laveuse et la tête pour faire quelques achats. Je n'ai pas trouvé ce que je cherchais, mais c'est à côté du point. Lorsque je suis rentré à la buanderie, il y avait un homme, il qui avait décidé de diffuser toutes ses choses sur la table et quatre chaises, ne laissant aucune place pour moi de siéger. Inclus dans son choses ont été un géant de la bière peuvent, d'un paquet de cigarettes, un journal, une veste, un gilet, un jeu de cartes et d'un sac de livres, qui seront presque tous entrent en jeu au cours de cette histoire.
Je ne savais pas quoi faire, et le gars parle de lui-même (pas une chose étrange à voir ici, à Lisieux, par la manière), je suis allé dehors et a pris un peu de marche. Puis, quand mon laver est prête pour la sécheuse, je suis retourné à l'intérieur et la transfère. Il a autorisé son choses hors de l'un des sièges et il est vraiment très, très froid et je me disais, pourquoi pas, je vais m'asseoir. Ensuite, l'homme a commencé à parler de moi.
Il m'a demandé si je voulais le tableau à trier ma lessive. Je regarde les cheveux, qui a dit 20 minutes, puis revenir à lui et lui dit: «Non, pas encore." Puis il m'a offert une cigarette. J'ai regardé sa cigarette allumée, puis sur le signe de fumer, puis de retour à lui et lui dit: "Non" Il m'a alors demandé si je voulais une meilleure qualité cigarette. Je lui ai dit que je ne fume pas. Puis il a dit quelque chose d'incompréhensible, que ce soit à cause de mon niveau de français ou parce qu'il était fou, je ne suis pas sûr de l'. Je lui ai donné un regard vide. Puis il m'a demandé si j'étais d'ici. J'ai dit non, et est retourné à mon livre. Heureusement, il n'a pas demandé plus.
Dans les 20 minutes, il a pris mon linge à sécher (pas par la manière, mais je lui aspiré dans un effort pour sortir de il dès que j'ai pu) de cet homme fait beaucoup de magouilles. Il a mis ses cigarettes sur son journal et saupoudrées de cendres sur le sol. Il a mis sur sa veste et gilet, ce qui n'aurait pas été entourloupettes si elle n'a pas fait de lui déboucler sa ceinture et son pantalon unzip. Je pensais qu'il allait commencer à se masturber. Je peux probablement remercier Emari le poème «Le jour où ma grand-mère est morte" pour cette impulsion. Heureusement, il n'a pas. Il a terminé ses massives de bière et a commencé à l'autre. Et puis ila commencé à emballer vers le haut de ses choses. Il a plié son de papier, éteint sa cigarette et déplacé tout à partir de la table principale. Alors il a atteint dans la poubelle et a pris dehors une serviette utilisée, qu'il avait l'habitude d'essuyer la cendre restante de la table, et alors l'a renvoyée dans la corbeille à papiers. Toute la ceci que j'ai observé avec une vision périphérique vive. À lui elle a semblé que j'ai été totalement rédigé dans mon livre. Alors cet homme est allé dehors. Quel bonheur ! Mais je devais être déçu. Il n'est pas parti ; il est juste allé à l'extérieur trashcan, a collé sa manière de bras profondément dedans, et a retiré une serviette ou un tissu utilisée différente. Il est revenu à l'intérieur et a nettoyé de nouveau la table. Excepté ce temps, il a voulu que la serviette fût humide. Ainsi il crachent là-dessus, et avaient l'habitude alors l'humidité pour nettoyer la table. Il a continué à cracher dans la serviette et à frotter la serviette au-dessus du dessus de table. Il doit avoir fait ceci 11 ou 12 fois, jusqu'à ce que la table entière ait été cracher-scintillement propre. Je pourrais ne faire rien mais penser à comment à transformez ceci en poésie et pensez également à toutes les fois que j'avais plié ma blanchisserie propre croustillante sur cette table même. Puis, sur la nouvelle table propre, cet homme a commencé à s'occuper un jeu des cartes. Il a allumé une autre cigarette et s'est occupé un jeu pour deux. Il ne m'a pas demandé de jouer. Il s'est juste occupé. En conclusion, le dessiccateur s'est arrêté. Mes vêtements étaient encore humides, mais j'aurais plutôt des rides qu'être dans cet endroit d'une plus de minute. J'ai marché plus d'au dessiccateur et ai jeté tous les vêtements dans mon sac, qui I avait placé sur le plancher au lieu de la table. Car je faisais ceci j'ai entendu le bruit familier d'un jeu appelé 52 reprendre. L'homme avait jeté toutes ses cartes au sol. Comme il les a rassemblées je me suis dépêché hors là de mouler en dehors un regard en arrière jusqu'à ce que je l'aie rendu à la maison. Maintenant mes vêtements sèchent sur le réchauffeur et ma serviette jaune ensoleillée préférée a tourné le vert parce que mes nouveaux jeans ont saigné dans lui. Comment j'aime la laverie automatique, laissez-moi compter les manières.
So I went to the laundry room again today. After disasters such as laundry lost money, the loss of yoga pants, a homeless person who yelled at me not to appreciate that he lost his finger in the war, and the fact that it is a kind of up and away, I have not yet decided to find a new Laundromat. Despite all the low is closest to my apartment and the laundry is very heavy. But today was the last straw. Yet another crazy. Thus, mad, in fact, I think I'll finally, finally, finding a new one.
Usually, when I do my laundry I expect the end of the operation, without leave, but I got things to do today. So I dropped my clothes in the washer and head to do some shopping. I have not found what I was looking for, but that's beside the point. When I returned to the laundry room, there was a man he had decided to distribute all things on the table and four chairs, leaving no room for me to sit. Included in the deal has been a giant can of beer, a pack of cigarettes, a newspaper, a jacket, waistcoat, a game of cards and a bag of books, which will almost all come into play during the story.
I did not know what to do, and the guy speaks for itself (not a strange thing to see here in Lisieux, by the way) I went outside and took a little walk. Then, when my washing is ready for the dryer, I went back in and transfers. He allowed his things out of one of the seats and it is really very, very cold and I thought, why not, I'll sit down. Then the man started talking about me.
He asked me if I wanted the table to sort my laundry. I look at hair, who said 20 minutes, then return to him and said: "Not yet." Then he offered me a cigarette. I watched his cigarette lit, then the sign of smoke, then back to him and said: "No." He then asked me if I wanted a better quality cigarette. I told him I do not smoke. Then he said something incomprehensible, either Because of my level English or because he was mad, I'm not sure of. I gave him a blank look. Then he asked me if I was here. I said no, and returned to my book. Fortunately, he did not ask for more.
Within 20 minutes, he took my clothes to dry (not by the way, but I sucked him in an effort to get out of there as soon as I could) that this man made a lot of shenanigans. He put his cigarette on his newspaper and sprinkled ash on the ground. It has setits jacket and waistcoat, which n' would not have been dirty tricks if it n' did not make of him déboucler its belt and its trousers unzip. I thought qu' it was going to start to masturbate. I can probably thank Emari the poem “the day when my grandmother is morte" for this impulse. Fortunately, it n' does not have. It finished its massive beer and started with l' other. And then ila started to pack to the top of its things. It folded its paper, extinguished its cigarette and moved all starting from the principal table. Then it reached in the dustbin and took a towel used outside, qu' it had l' practice d' to wipe the remaining ash of the table, and then l' returned in the waste basket. All this that j' observed with a sharp peripheral vision. With him it seemed that j' was completely written in my book. Then this man went outside. What a happiness! But I was to be disappointed. It n' did not leave; it just went to l' outside trashcan, stuck its manner of arm deeply inside, and withdrew a towel or a fabric used different. It returned to l' interior and cleaned the table again. Except this time, he wanted that the towel was wet. Thus it spit on top, and had l' practice then l' moisture to clean the table. It continued to spit in the towel and to rub the towel above the table runner. It must have done this 11 or 12 times, jusqu' with it that the whole table was clean spit-flutter. I could not do anything but think of how with transform this into poetry and also think of all the times that j' had folded my crusty own laundry on this table even. Then, on the new clean table, this man started with s' to occupy a play of the charts. It lit another cigarette and s' a play for two is occupied. It m' did not ask to play. It s' is just occupied. In conclusion, it desiccator s' is stopped. My clothing was still wet, but j' would have wrinkles qu' rather; to be in this place d' more minute. J' went d' more; to the desiccator and threw all clothing in my bag, which I had placed on the floor instead of the table. Because I did this j' heard the familiar noise d' a play called 52 to begin again. L' man had thrown all his charts on the ground. As it gathered them I hurried out moulding a glance outwards there in back jusqu' so that I l' returned to the house. Maintaining my clothing dry on the heater and my preferred sunny yellow towel turned the green because my new jeans bled in him. How j' like the automatic laundry, let count the manners to me.
Wow, I think that got kind of unfollowable in the middle there. Here's the story in original English if you're curious:
So I went to the Laundromat again today. After such laundry disasters as lost money, lost yoga pants, a homeless man who yelled at me for not appreciating that he lost his finger in the war, and the fact that it is kind of uphill and far away, I still have not decided to find a new Laundromat. Despite all the downs, it is the closest one to my apartment, and laundry is heavy. But today was the last straw. Yet another crazy. So crazy, in fact, that I think I'll finally, finally, find a new one.
Usually when I do my laundry I wait for it to finish without leaving, but I had things to do today. So I dropped my clothes in the washer and headed out to do some shopping. I didn't actually find what I was looking for, but that's beside the point. When I got back to the Laundromat, there was a man there who had decided to spread all of his things over the table and the four chairs, leaving no room for me to sit. Included in his things were a giant can of beer, a pack of cigarettes, a newspaper, a jacket, a vest, a deck of cards and a book bag, which will almost all come into play in the course of this story.
I wasn't sure what to do, and the guy was talking to himself (not such a strange thing to witness here in Lisieux, by the way), so I went outside and took a bit of a walk. Then, when my wash was ready for the dryer, I went back in and transferred it. He had cleared his things off of one of the seats and it was really, really cold so I thought, why not, I'll sit down. Then the man started talking to me.
He asked me if I wanted the table to sort my laundry. I looked at the dryer, which said 20 minutes, then back at him and said, "Not yet." Then he offered me a cigarette. I looked at his lit cigarette, then over to the no smoking sign, then back at him and said, "No." He then asked me if I wanted a higher-quality cigarette. I told him I don't smoke. Then he said something incomprehensible, either because of my level of French or because he was crazy, I'm not sure which. I gave him a blank look. Then he asked me if I was from here. I said no, and returned to my book. Luckily, he didn't ask more.
In the 20 minutes it took my laundry to dry (not completely by the way, but I sucked it up in an effort to get out of there as soon as I could) this man did a lot of shenanigans. He put his cigarettes out on his newspaper and dusted the ash onto the floor. He put on his jacket and vest, which wouldn't have been shenanigans if it didn't make him unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. I thought he was going to start masturbating. I can probably thank Emari's poem "On the day my grandmother died" for that impulse. Thankfully, he did not. He finished his massive beer and began another. And then he began to pack up his things. He folded his paper, put out his cigarette and moved everything away from the main table. Then he reached into the trash can and took out a used napkin, which he used to wipe the remaining ash from the table, and then returned it to the wastebasket. All of this I observed with a keen peripheral vision. To him it seemed I was totally engrossed in my book.
Then this man went outside. What happiness! But I was to be disappointed. He did not leave; he just went to the trashcan outside, stuck his arm way deep in, and pulled out another used napkin or tissue. He came back inside and cleaned the table once again. Except this time, he wanted the napkin to be wet. So he spit on it, and then used the moisture to clean the table. He continued to spit into the napkin and rub the napkin over the tabletop. He must have done this 11 or 12 times, until the whole table was spit-sparkling clean. I could do nothing but think of how to turn this into a poem and also think about all the times I had folded my crispy clean laundry on this very table.
Then, on the new clean table, this man began to deal a game of cards. He lit another cigarette and dealt a game for two. He did not ask me to play. He just dealt. Finally, the dryer stopped. My clothes were still damp, but I would rather have wrinkles than be in this place one more minute. I walked over to the dryer and threw all the clothes into my bag, which I had placed on the floor instead of the table. As I was doing this I heard the familiar sound of a game called 52 pick up. The man had thrown all of his cards on the ground. As he collected them I hurried out of there without casting a look back until I made it home.
Now my clothes are drying on the heater and my favorite sunny yellow towel has turned green because my new blue jeans bled into it. How I love the Laundromat, let me count the ways.
And what the hell, here's the story translated into French, for my readers who love wacky French syntax too. Who said this blog can't be bilingual?
Je mets le message suivant par l'intermédiaire d'un traducteur anglais-français, puis par l'intermédiaire d'un traducteur français-anglais. Parce que qui n'aime pas étonnant de syntaxe?
Je suis donc allée à la buanderie de nouveau aujourd'hui. Après de telles catastrophes comme la lessive a perdu de l'argent, la perte de pantalons de yoga, un sans-abri qui a crié à moi de ne pas apprécier qu'il a perdu son doigt dans la guerre, et le fait qu'il est une sorte de montée et de loin, je n'ai pas encore décidé de trouver un nouveau Laundromat. En dépit de tous les bas, c'est le plus proche de mon appartement, et la lessive est très lourd. Mais, aujourd'hui, a été la dernière paille. Pourtant, un autre fou. Ainsi, fou, en fait, que je crois que je vais enfin, enfin, trouver un nouveau.
Habituellement, lorsque je fais ma lessive je attendre la fin de l'opération, sans quitter, mais j'ai eu des choses à faire aujourd'hui. J'ai donc abandonné mes vêtements dans la laveuse et la tête pour faire quelques achats. Je n'ai pas trouvé ce que je cherchais, mais c'est à côté du point. Lorsque je suis rentré à la buanderie, il y avait un homme, il qui avait décidé de diffuser toutes ses choses sur la table et quatre chaises, ne laissant aucune place pour moi de siéger. Inclus dans son choses ont été un géant de la bière peuvent, d'un paquet de cigarettes, un journal, une veste, un gilet, un jeu de cartes et d'un sac de livres, qui seront presque tous entrent en jeu au cours de cette histoire.
Je ne savais pas quoi faire, et le gars parle de lui-même (pas une chose étrange à voir ici, à Lisieux, par la manière), je suis allé dehors et a pris un peu de marche. Puis, quand mon laver est prête pour la sécheuse, je suis retourné à l'intérieur et la transfère. Il a autorisé son choses hors de l'un des sièges et il est vraiment très, très froid et je me disais, pourquoi pas, je vais m'asseoir. Ensuite, l'homme a commencé à parler de moi.
Il m'a demandé si je voulais le tableau à trier ma lessive. Je regarde les cheveux, qui a dit 20 minutes, puis revenir à lui et lui dit: «Non, pas encore." Puis il m'a offert une cigarette. J'ai regardé sa cigarette allumée, puis sur le signe de fumer, puis de retour à lui et lui dit: "Non" Il m'a alors demandé si je voulais une meilleure qualité cigarette. Je lui ai dit que je ne fume pas. Puis il a dit quelque chose d'incompréhensible, que ce soit à cause de mon niveau de français ou parce qu'il était fou, je ne suis pas sûr de l'. Je lui ai donné un regard vide. Puis il m'a demandé si j'étais d'ici. J'ai dit non, et est retourné à mon livre. Heureusement, il n'a pas demandé plus.
Dans les 20 minutes, il a pris mon linge à sécher (pas par la manière, mais je lui aspiré dans un effort pour sortir de il dès que j'ai pu) de cet homme fait beaucoup de magouilles. Il a mis ses cigarettes sur son journal et saupoudrées de cendres sur le sol. Il a mis sur sa veste et gilet, ce qui n'aurait pas été entourloupettes si elle n'a pas fait de lui déboucler sa ceinture et son pantalon unzip. Je pensais qu'il allait commencer à se masturber. Je peux probablement remercier Emari le poème «Le jour où ma grand-mère est morte" pour cette impulsion. Heureusement, il n'a pas. Il a terminé ses massives de bière et a commencé à l'autre. Et puis ila commencé à emballer vers le haut de ses choses. Il a plié son de papier, éteint sa cigarette et déplacé tout à partir de la table principale. Alors il a atteint dans la poubelle et a pris dehors une serviette utilisée, qu'il avait l'habitude d'essuyer la cendre restante de la table, et alors l'a renvoyée dans la corbeille à papiers. Toute la ceci que j'ai observé avec une vision périphérique vive. À lui elle a semblé que j'ai été totalement rédigé dans mon livre. Alors cet homme est allé dehors. Quel bonheur ! Mais je devais être déçu. Il n'est pas parti ; il est juste allé à l'extérieur trashcan, a collé sa manière de bras profondément dedans, et a retiré une serviette ou un tissu utilisée différente. Il est revenu à l'intérieur et a nettoyé de nouveau la table. Excepté ce temps, il a voulu que la serviette fût humide. Ainsi il crachent là-dessus, et avaient l'habitude alors l'humidité pour nettoyer la table. Il a continué à cracher dans la serviette et à frotter la serviette au-dessus du dessus de table. Il doit avoir fait ceci 11 ou 12 fois, jusqu'à ce que la table entière ait été cracher-scintillement propre. Je pourrais ne faire rien mais penser à comment à transformez ceci en poésie et pensez également à toutes les fois que j'avais plié ma blanchisserie propre croustillante sur cette table même. Puis, sur la nouvelle table propre, cet homme a commencé à s'occuper un jeu des cartes. Il a allumé une autre cigarette et s'est occupé un jeu pour deux. Il ne m'a pas demandé de jouer. Il s'est juste occupé. En conclusion, le dessiccateur s'est arrêté. Mes vêtements étaient encore humides, mais j'aurais plutôt des rides qu'être dans cet endroit d'une plus de minute. J'ai marché plus d'au dessiccateur et ai jeté tous les vêtements dans mon sac, qui I avait placé sur le plancher au lieu de la table. Car je faisais ceci j'ai entendu le bruit familier d'un jeu appelé 52 reprendre. L'homme avait jeté toutes ses cartes au sol. Comme il les a rassemblées je me suis dépêché hors là de mouler en dehors un regard en arrière jusqu'à ce que je l'aie rendu à la maison. Maintenant mes vêtements sèchent sur le réchauffeur et ma serviette jaune ensoleillée préférée a tourné le vert parce que mes nouveaux jeans ont saigné dans lui. Comment j'aime la laverie automatique, laissez-moi compter les manières.
06 January, 2009
Sick & Tired
Not in the sense of being frustrated with or fed up with anything. I just happen to be sick with a head cold and tired as an effect of said cold. So I've been lazy with the blogging. Mostly because I lack the motivation to walk to the library where I can use the internet. Oh, things would be so much easier if I had wifi in my studio.
But hey, I had an awesome New Year! The party in Laudeac (accent over the e, I think) was super fun, and I was very impressed with all the costumes:
I'm the one with the ridiculous amount of blond hair (thanks for the wig Karen!)
And I absolutely adore my Pollyanna present:
He's a petit bonhomme Breton (in traditional Brittany dress)
Other than the awesome New Year's weekend, I haven't been up to much. I started getting sick just after, thank god, and I think it will go away soon. On the bright side, I was able to explain to the pharmacist all of my problems with no trouble! That's progress.
Win of the week: It snowed yesterday! Everyone told me not to expect snow and that it's super-rare here, but I guess France wanted to impress me. Even Will Smith, who was on Le Petit Journal last night, said he was surprised to see the snow in Paris. I was happy to see M. Smith on the journal. Apparantly, he bought the rights to Bienvenue chez les ch'tis and he's going to make an American version. Which, you know, makes me pretty excited because I'm curious how they're going to translate it. Maybe something like Welcome to Texas?
In other news, the American movies that have been frequenting network television these past few days have been interesting. In two days, I had the pleasure of watching Avalanche, Poseidon's Revenge, and Showgirls. For me, this is fine. Because we all know how much I adore B-list movies. But I imagine that most people I know would be very disappointed.
Well, that's it today for my useless observations and rambling. I'm going to go have a nap and then I'm going to watch Amelie. Finally, a good one.
I leave you with this, a picture Tapan made for me. It seems he always knows what to do:
But hey, I had an awesome New Year! The party in Laudeac (accent over the e, I think) was super fun, and I was very impressed with all the costumes:
I'm the one with the ridiculous amount of blond hair (thanks for the wig Karen!)
And I absolutely adore my Pollyanna present:
He's a petit bonhomme Breton (in traditional Brittany dress)
Other than the awesome New Year's weekend, I haven't been up to much. I started getting sick just after, thank god, and I think it will go away soon. On the bright side, I was able to explain to the pharmacist all of my problems with no trouble! That's progress.
Win of the week: It snowed yesterday! Everyone told me not to expect snow and that it's super-rare here, but I guess France wanted to impress me. Even Will Smith, who was on Le Petit Journal last night, said he was surprised to see the snow in Paris. I was happy to see M. Smith on the journal. Apparantly, he bought the rights to Bienvenue chez les ch'tis and he's going to make an American version. Which, you know, makes me pretty excited because I'm curious how they're going to translate it. Maybe something like Welcome to Texas?
In other news, the American movies that have been frequenting network television these past few days have been interesting. In two days, I had the pleasure of watching Avalanche, Poseidon's Revenge, and Showgirls. For me, this is fine. Because we all know how much I adore B-list movies. But I imagine that most people I know would be very disappointed.
Well, that's it today for my useless observations and rambling. I'm going to go have a nap and then I'm going to watch Amelie. Finally, a good one.
I leave you with this, a picture Tapan made for me. It seems he always knows what to do:
26 December, 2008
In case you were wondering what I do with my time when I don't have to work
Here's what a typical day off looks like for me:
I wake up late, about 10am. I watch some children's programs on TV. I like them because they are easy to understand and often include vocabulary that is important to learn. If I'm particularly lucky, I'll find Samantha oups!, a program that I find quite quirky and intriguing, mostly because it features two main characters who are clearly men in wigs and women's clothing.
I'm not sure exactly what to make of it at this point. I haven't talked to anyone about it, so I'm not sure how they are received. If they are making a statement about how gender roles don't matter at all (the people in the show don't cast them dirty looks or otherwise acknowledge that they're not fulfilling their generally accepted gender roles), that's awesome. But if they're acting like this to be just a spectacle (i.e. the kids at home laugh because that man is in a dress, not because of the joke he made) or to make fun of the silly things women do, then that's not cool at all. I'm interested in watching more, and asking people whose kids watch it what they think.
Whoa. Majorly side-tracked. Back to my day: After I wash any dishes I was too lazy to clean the night before, I walk to the market if it's a Saturday or the supermarket if it's not. They're both about ten minutes away. Before I leave my studio I check my mail (nothing today) and take out any recycling or trash. At the market I buy healthy, fresh food, and stay away from frozen dinners and canned meals, which have been staples in my diet for far too long. Instead I buy fresh veggies, warm fresh-baked whole wheat bread, local cheese. Not much is long-life, which is why I grocery shop several times a week, much more frequently than in the states.
I dump all my purchases in my swanky reusable shopping bag (which the French are all about - most stores don't even have plastic bags to offer so you're forced to buy an earth-friendly one) and tote everything back home. I unpack, then make another trip to the discount Aldi's where I buy anything I can use in bulk - TP, candles, matches, whatever. Return home again, make lunch while watching a French trivia game I don't know any answers to, and maybe read a little from the local newspaper, but only if there's anything that can hold my interest long enough to persevere through the horror of not being fluent yet.
Then I go to the library, catch up on emails, blogs, and chat with anyone who is online for a few hours. Maybe I plan a lesson for the students. Right now I'm working on ideas for American New Years traditions. Anyone? Anyone?
By the time the library closes it's usually dark. If one of my friends was at the library with me, we might go have a drink, or walk in the same direction for a while, but that's pretty much the extent of my nightlife. I'm broke and there's not much to do in Lisieux during the week anyway. I return home where I draw or write in my journal or read; maybe if I'm feeling extremely motivated I'll even translate a poem. I wait to see what will be on TV later. If it's something good like Cold Case or CSI I'll watch that. If not I'll watch a little Buffy in French. I felt so accomplished last night because I watched "Tabula Rasa," and I understood the translation of the joke where Giles and Spike realize they're British. Usually, translated jokes are hard. To get them, you have to know more than just language. You have to know culture, and I guess I know that pretty well now. *pats self on back*
By now, it's usually pretty late so I take my two-min-max shower and talk on the phone a little before sleep. Not to make anyone sick with the honeymoon-phase butterflies, but Tapan does call me every single day. Which means a lot because it makes me feel like I'm not so far away from everyone.
I try to fall asleep every night to French, whether it's a DVD, TV, or a book. But so far it's not been working. Falling asleep to Buffy gave me strange nightmares. Falling asleep to Veronica Mars is impossible because it's so damn compelling. And I can only read for about three minutes before my eyes shut. Maybe I'll try the radio tonight.
Well there you have it. A day in the life of me. I'll have many more like them in the next four months. Whoa. Four months. As in three already gone. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.
I wake up late, about 10am. I watch some children's programs on TV. I like them because they are easy to understand and often include vocabulary that is important to learn. If I'm particularly lucky, I'll find Samantha oups!, a program that I find quite quirky and intriguing, mostly because it features two main characters who are clearly men in wigs and women's clothing.
I'm not sure exactly what to make of it at this point. I haven't talked to anyone about it, so I'm not sure how they are received. If they are making a statement about how gender roles don't matter at all (the people in the show don't cast them dirty looks or otherwise acknowledge that they're not fulfilling their generally accepted gender roles), that's awesome. But if they're acting like this to be just a spectacle (i.e. the kids at home laugh because that man is in a dress, not because of the joke he made) or to make fun of the silly things women do, then that's not cool at all. I'm interested in watching more, and asking people whose kids watch it what they think.
Whoa. Majorly side-tracked. Back to my day: After I wash any dishes I was too lazy to clean the night before, I walk to the market if it's a Saturday or the supermarket if it's not. They're both about ten minutes away. Before I leave my studio I check my mail (nothing today) and take out any recycling or trash. At the market I buy healthy, fresh food, and stay away from frozen dinners and canned meals, which have been staples in my diet for far too long. Instead I buy fresh veggies, warm fresh-baked whole wheat bread, local cheese. Not much is long-life, which is why I grocery shop several times a week, much more frequently than in the states.
I dump all my purchases in my swanky reusable shopping bag (which the French are all about - most stores don't even have plastic bags to offer so you're forced to buy an earth-friendly one) and tote everything back home. I unpack, then make another trip to the discount Aldi's where I buy anything I can use in bulk - TP, candles, matches, whatever. Return home again, make lunch while watching a French trivia game I don't know any answers to, and maybe read a little from the local newspaper, but only if there's anything that can hold my interest long enough to persevere through the horror of not being fluent yet.
Then I go to the library, catch up on emails, blogs, and chat with anyone who is online for a few hours. Maybe I plan a lesson for the students. Right now I'm working on ideas for American New Years traditions. Anyone? Anyone?
By the time the library closes it's usually dark. If one of my friends was at the library with me, we might go have a drink, or walk in the same direction for a while, but that's pretty much the extent of my nightlife. I'm broke and there's not much to do in Lisieux during the week anyway. I return home where I draw or write in my journal or read; maybe if I'm feeling extremely motivated I'll even translate a poem. I wait to see what will be on TV later. If it's something good like Cold Case or CSI I'll watch that. If not I'll watch a little Buffy in French. I felt so accomplished last night because I watched "Tabula Rasa," and I understood the translation of the joke where Giles and Spike realize they're British. Usually, translated jokes are hard. To get them, you have to know more than just language. You have to know culture, and I guess I know that pretty well now. *pats self on back*
By now, it's usually pretty late so I take my two-min-max shower and talk on the phone a little before sleep. Not to make anyone sick with the honeymoon-phase butterflies, but Tapan does call me every single day. Which means a lot because it makes me feel like I'm not so far away from everyone.
I try to fall asleep every night to French, whether it's a DVD, TV, or a book. But so far it's not been working. Falling asleep to Buffy gave me strange nightmares. Falling asleep to Veronica Mars is impossible because it's so damn compelling. And I can only read for about three minutes before my eyes shut. Maybe I'll try the radio tonight.
Well there you have it. A day in the life of me. I'll have many more like them in the next four months. Whoa. Four months. As in three already gone. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.
25 December, 2008
24 December, 2008
France: Pays du Chat, and other holiday stories
It's Christmas Eve. Which for me means the Christmas holiday is over. In France, if I understand correctly, most of the celebrating happens on the Eve, and the 25th is a day to relax and do something simple with the family. Of course I learned this from Milena, who doesn't speak English, so there's a chance something got lost in translation.
Well, this past few days have certainly been, well, interesting. I packed my bags for Caen (where I've been staying with Milena all week) on Sunday, hopped on the train and arrived by sunset. We took the (extremely) long walk to where we're staying and when we arrived at the house, I was greeted by two cats. For me, this is not a good thing. See, I love cats. But cats really hate me. I'm allergic. Not just I-get-a-little-irritated allergic, but my-nose-won't-stop-running-my-eyes-are-itchy-I'm-wheezing-what-the-hell-are-cats-good-for-anyway allergic. Luckily, or so I thought, I had my medicine.
I passed a good night with Milena. We talked a lot, I learned some new vocabulary I didn't know, and we had a dinner that for me was more like an American breakfast. But hey, I miss American breakfast, so it was OK. My only complaint about night number one: the house was freezing. But hey, I've got a sweater. It's all good.
Monday was generic - gras matinee, a little food shopping, a Father of the Bride on TV. Nothing exciting. Except that, despite my medicine, I could feel the allergies coming on. Part of the problem was that it was freezing again and I had no choice but to lay under a cathair-infested blanket for hours. Not good I know, but I really, really hate the cold.
Tuesday's where it gets good. We decided to take a bike ride to the coast. The person whose house we're staying in has two bikes. One very nice, very high girl-bike, and one old-ass low to the ground boy-bike. I started off with the boy bike - kind of like the one my dad bought me this summer. Pretty, but not easy to ride. By thirty minutes in I was exhausted. Sweaty, all red in the face, parched. But Milena and I switched bikes and everything was better. I rode the good bike all the way to the coast (another half hour/forty-five minutes) and wasn't even tired yet!
Once we got to the coast we took a long walk on the beach, enjoying our oranges, cheese and bread. But like all good things, that promenade ended too soon and we had to bike back to the center of town. Milena took the good bike this time and my legs reminded me after two turns of the shit-bike's pedals that I had not prepared them for this journey. I was already sore and we had a long way ahead of us. To make things even awesomer, when tried to stand on the bike to gain a little momentum (also to give my butt a rest from the evil chair), my jeans caught on the gear and I made a slow-motion tumble to the ground where I smashed my head on the pavement and did some kind of yoga with my legs where they ended up wrapped around the bike like a pretzel. Does it sound fun? Cause it totally wasn't. And as I lifted my head from the street I saw a car approaching! I was worried, but the man stopped and even got out of the car to ask me if I was OK. I told him that, as usual, I was fine but embarrassed.
By the time we got back to the house, we had ridden the bikes for four hours, and Milena told me that round trip it was 80 km. Which is 50 miles! So even if I'm paying for it today, I can say I biked 50 miles. Rock out. And bonus: I got to meet more of C's family and see her parents again. You know, the ones I wrote about before who live at the house of my dreams. What an awesome family. If you're reading this, thanks for thinking of me on the holidays!
And tonight I had another dinner with some friends of Milena's. 3 expats and one pat. It was a nice combination. It would have been better if there wasn't a cat though. Once again, I couldn't stop sneezing, wheezing, and in general feeling pooey. Please, if you pray, pray I don't have a cold. Let's just hope it's allergies and they go away once I return home.
Well, folks, that's all I have for now. It's beyond bedtime. I hope that blog made sense. If it didn't, blame it on the head trauma.
I leave you with a clip of the church choir singing my favorite carol:
Have a good holiday, everyone!
Well, this past few days have certainly been, well, interesting. I packed my bags for Caen (where I've been staying with Milena all week) on Sunday, hopped on the train and arrived by sunset. We took the (extremely) long walk to where we're staying and when we arrived at the house, I was greeted by two cats. For me, this is not a good thing. See, I love cats. But cats really hate me. I'm allergic. Not just I-get-a-little-irritated allergic, but my-nose-won't-stop-running-my-eyes-are-itchy-I'm-wheezing-what-the-hell-are-cats-good-for-anyway allergic. Luckily, or so I thought, I had my medicine.
I passed a good night with Milena. We talked a lot, I learned some new vocabulary I didn't know, and we had a dinner that for me was more like an American breakfast. But hey, I miss American breakfast, so it was OK. My only complaint about night number one: the house was freezing. But hey, I've got a sweater. It's all good.
Monday was generic - gras matinee, a little food shopping, a Father of the Bride on TV. Nothing exciting. Except that, despite my medicine, I could feel the allergies coming on. Part of the problem was that it was freezing again and I had no choice but to lay under a cathair-infested blanket for hours. Not good I know, but I really, really hate the cold.
Tuesday's where it gets good. We decided to take a bike ride to the coast. The person whose house we're staying in has two bikes. One very nice, very high girl-bike, and one old-ass low to the ground boy-bike. I started off with the boy bike - kind of like the one my dad bought me this summer. Pretty, but not easy to ride. By thirty minutes in I was exhausted. Sweaty, all red in the face, parched. But Milena and I switched bikes and everything was better. I rode the good bike all the way to the coast (another half hour/forty-five minutes) and wasn't even tired yet!
Once we got to the coast we took a long walk on the beach, enjoying our oranges, cheese and bread. But like all good things, that promenade ended too soon and we had to bike back to the center of town. Milena took the good bike this time and my legs reminded me after two turns of the shit-bike's pedals that I had not prepared them for this journey. I was already sore and we had a long way ahead of us. To make things even awesomer, when tried to stand on the bike to gain a little momentum (also to give my butt a rest from the evil chair), my jeans caught on the gear and I made a slow-motion tumble to the ground where I smashed my head on the pavement and did some kind of yoga with my legs where they ended up wrapped around the bike like a pretzel. Does it sound fun? Cause it totally wasn't. And as I lifted my head from the street I saw a car approaching! I was worried, but the man stopped and even got out of the car to ask me if I was OK. I told him that, as usual, I was fine but embarrassed. By the time we got back to the house, we had ridden the bikes for four hours, and Milena told me that round trip it was 80 km. Which is 50 miles! So even if I'm paying for it today, I can say I biked 50 miles. Rock out. And bonus: I got to meet more of C's family and see her parents again. You know, the ones I wrote about before who live at the house of my dreams. What an awesome family. If you're reading this, thanks for thinking of me on the holidays!
And tonight I had another dinner with some friends of Milena's. 3 expats and one pat. It was a nice combination. It would have been better if there wasn't a cat though. Once again, I couldn't stop sneezing, wheezing, and in general feeling pooey. Please, if you pray, pray I don't have a cold. Let's just hope it's allergies and they go away once I return home.Well, folks, that's all I have for now. It's beyond bedtime. I hope that blog made sense. If it didn't, blame it on the head trauma.
I leave you with a clip of the church choir singing my favorite carol:
Have a good holiday, everyone!
20 December, 2008
Christmas came to Lisieux
I thought I would be able to forget about Christmas this year. Being away from my family and friends sucks. So I figured I would just convince myself that Christmas is just a day like any other day. Hey, Tapan doesn't celebrate Christmas, I thought, I'll just pretend like I'm him.
Not so. First, the Christmas Market came to Lisieux. For such a small town square as we have, there certainly were a surprising amount of vendors. Santa hats for sale, hot wine, chi-chi (like funnel cake in thin strips), handmade soaps, special teas, all kinds of great stuff. I even bought a mesh tea ball so now I can drink loose-leaf tea. How chic is that?
Then, Lizzi and I went to an English choir, which was a really fun way to get into the Christmas spirit and hear/sing some nostalgic English hymns. And, on the way back, we ran into this cute little tree and presents that was all spray-painted with fake snow. Nice touch, Lisieux.
And then, to really get myself into the spirit, I bought my very first very own Christmas tree. OK so maybe a cactus is not the conventional tree of the holidays, but I wanted something original. I know all the followers of Oh, Ashley are just waiting to know how long it took me to stab myself with my new cactus. Well, I wouldn't want to disappoint anyone. It took circa ten seconds. And I didn't just stab myself. I happened to stab myself in a vein. And it was all purple and hurty for two days. Because of this, I named my cactus after one of my brattiest students. And then I decorated my Nicolas with some Xmasey stuff and set my new camel right next to him. Sweet!
I'm going to Caen to spend Christmas with Milena. I think it's gonna rock. And then I'm going to a costume New Year Party! I hope everyone has a great holiday and an awesome New Year.
I don't know when I'll be on again, so I'll leave you with this, my favorite clip from A Charlie Brown Christmas:
Not so. First, the Christmas Market came to Lisieux. For such a small town square as we have, there certainly were a surprising amount of vendors. Santa hats for sale, hot wine, chi-chi (like funnel cake in thin strips), handmade soaps, special teas, all kinds of great stuff. I even bought a mesh tea ball so now I can drink loose-leaf tea. How chic is that?
Then, Lizzi and I went to an English choir, which was a really fun way to get into the Christmas spirit and hear/sing some nostalgic English hymns. And, on the way back, we ran into this cute little tree and presents that was all spray-painted with fake snow. Nice touch, Lisieux. 
And then, to really get myself into the spirit, I bought my very first very own Christmas tree. OK so maybe a cactus is not the conventional tree of the holidays, but I wanted something original. I know all the followers of Oh, Ashley are just waiting to know how long it took me to stab myself with my new cactus. Well, I wouldn't want to disappoint anyone. It took circa ten seconds. And I didn't just stab myself. I happened to stab myself in a vein. And it was all purple and hurty for two days. Because of this, I named my cactus after one of my brattiest students. And then I decorated my Nicolas with some Xmasey stuff and set my new camel right next to him. Sweet!I'm going to Caen to spend Christmas with Milena. I think it's gonna rock. And then I'm going to a costume New Year Party! I hope everyone has a great holiday and an awesome New Year.
I don't know when I'll be on again, so I'll leave you with this, my favorite clip from A Charlie Brown Christmas:
18 December, 2008
I always thought coffee tasted like dirt
Imagine me living in France. Where there's no water-vending machine in my school but there's a hot coffee machine. Where every meal is followed by a coffee. Where people sometimes look at me like I'm insane when I tell them I don't drink it. Where I don't tell everyone my true opinion of coffee (that no one could actually like the taste and that anyone who drinks it is just addicted) for fear of being shunned, or cursed out in a language I wouldn't understand.
I've held out. I haven't had a single coffee since I've been here. Nor do i intend to. And now, I have a reason to think drinkers of this specific type of coffee are bat-shit insane.
I read this article on Sociological images today. It's about this super-expensive, super "exotic" coffee called Kopi Luwak Arabica. Why is it so exclusive? Apparently it has less caffeine and is less bitter than regular. So what's the price you have to pay for this coffee? In addition to the $180 a pound, you also have to buckle down and settle to ingest a drink in which "the beans...were eaten by a civet and then handpicked out of its crap to be brewed into coffee for you!"
Wow! And here's the lovely animal whose poop you can raid to make your awesome coffee:
It's an interesting piece over at Sociological Images. It's true that it's totally unfair of me to think this coffee is gross and honey is OK. They both come from digestive tracks, after all. It's a good question the author raises: why do we have these conceptions about what's cool to eat and what's not. I'm not sure, but I wouldn't drink this even if I liked coffee.
I've held out. I haven't had a single coffee since I've been here. Nor do i intend to. And now, I have a reason to think drinkers of this specific type of coffee are bat-shit insane.
I read this article on Sociological images today. It's about this super-expensive, super "exotic" coffee called Kopi Luwak Arabica. Why is it so exclusive? Apparently it has less caffeine and is less bitter than regular. So what's the price you have to pay for this coffee? In addition to the $180 a pound, you also have to buckle down and settle to ingest a drink in which "the beans...were eaten by a civet and then handpicked out of its crap to be brewed into coffee for you!"
Wow! And here's the lovely animal whose poop you can raid to make your awesome coffee:
It's an interesting piece over at Sociological Images. It's true that it's totally unfair of me to think this coffee is gross and honey is OK. They both come from digestive tracks, after all. It's a good question the author raises: why do we have these conceptions about what's cool to eat and what's not. I'm not sure, but I wouldn't drink this even if I liked coffee.
Géométrie dans l'espace
That was the topic of the math class I attended today!!!
David, one of the math professors at my school, was one of the first people to talk to me when I arrived here in Lisieux. In fact, he broke me of that habit of calling everyone I didn't know vous. He told me, "you can call all the colleagues tu. Don't worry about it." And that was nice, because at school they pretty much drill vous (the formal you) into your head. Since then, I've come to know David better and we get along really well. Once he found out about my love for math he invited me to class! And I just finished my first session. Check out my notes. I'm such a good student.
Added bonus: my classmates in math also happen to be my students in English. Ha! You should have seen the looks on their faces. Gold.
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