So Joe and I accidentally had a double date with Mio and Lei.
(I am going to pause here to clarify that Lei and Rei are the same person. Due to verbal differences between the Western and Eastern Worlds, one can translate L/Rei's name as either. She prefers Lei, but I always forget which one I am supposed to use and bounce back and forth. Sorry for the confusion)
It started with this box of Japanese curry that Yen Ni gave me. I'm super into that stuff. But I am kind of a disaster in the kitchen. So I thought that with this project, it would be good to actually read the instructions rather than my normal cooking procedure, which goes like this:
1. Put a pan on the stuff with oil in it and a pot of water. Turn everything up as high as it goes.
2. Pull out whatever vegetables you can find (generally potatoes, mushrooms, garlic, broccoli and tofu) (yes, tofu is a vegetable.) Rinse everything as fast as you can.
3. Chop everything into bite size morsels. Do this in order from quickest-to-chop to slowest-to-chop. Throw things into the pan as soon as they are ready to appease the now oil, which is quickly become loud and angry. Try not to get too burned by the flying droplets.
4. When the water boils, mop up all the excess that is sizzling on the stove and put in the most convenient starch product (pasta, rice, uh, lentils?). Don't measure anything, just make as much as will fit.
5. Turn the stove down, 'cause something is burning. Open the window and turn on the fan, which you forgot to do at the beginning (maybe because it was listed in the cooking procedures.)
6. Find a sauce and maybe some cheese and put that in the sauce pan with all that other stuff. Stir it around. Throw things of a powdery, grainy type nature in there (salt, pepper, cinnamon, curry powder)
7. Occasionally pull out a noodle or a spoonful of rice and taste to see if it is done because who the hell knows how long it has been in there. I don't even own a watch. When it is done put that, too, in the sauce pan.
8. Stir stuff until whenev. Pour everything into a popcorn bowl or vat or whatever you have that is large enough for this mess. Eat with crackers or bread.
This is best to be eaten at night, by the way. If you're sleepily confused, the process is more thrilling. I get bored in the kitchen if I have to wait for anything, so I cook frantically.
So anyway, I thought that this process probably wouldn't fly with the Japanese curry stuff, or at least it wouldn't bring it up to the standards I have come to know and love. So I went for the directions which were, of course, in Japanese.
So I did what any normal person would do, I found some Japanese girls to cook it for me. Joe and I arranged for Lei and Mio to meet at his house Saturday night for dinner and to watch Miyazaki's Castle in the Sky.
When I arrived at Joe's, Lei and Mio were on Joe's bed, giggling like Japanese girls giggle. And Joe was at the computer ignoring them. I had brought all the materials, so I dropped all of it off in the kitchen and as soon as I did that, the girls walked in and took over. Honestly, I intended to help. But they wouldn't hear of it. So Joe and I chilled out at the table and drink water and snacked on the baguettes which I had brought.
Dinner takes forever. For all their enthousiasm, Lei and Mio have very little idea how to cook. They dropped stuff a lot. I had to show Lei how to chop. And on top of that, Joe's kitchenette is less than fully equipped. It's lacking some of the more modern amenities, like knives designed for more than spreading. So that doesn't help.
In English, I tell Joe to imagine that these were our mail-order Japanese wives. I'd like to take them back to America with me, so they can awkwardly perform mundane tasks. Joe told me to be careful not to say that too slowly or they'd understand it. I decided not to tell him my new favorite joke is to tell Lei that we should get married.
For conversation, the girls demand that we teach them American pick-up lines. This means teaching pronuncation and explaining why they are funny. Or should be, anyway.
"Are you tired? 'Cause you've been running through my head all night." "It's freaking hot in here. Oh wait, it's just you." "Does this rag smell like chloroform to you?" I explained chloroform.
Joe and I decide that this is a better idea than hanging out at the bar every weekend.
The girls taught me how to say 'I am a cat' in Japonese and then fell into hysterics each time I repeated it.
Lei pleaded with me until I took a sip of wine which was super gross and mandated a huge gulp of water immediately after.
Dinner was awesome.
Lei occasionally grabbed my arm and just held onto it until it became weird and then stopped. (note: Lei is in love with me.) She does that kind of stuff a lot and I do my best not to encourage nor discourage her. Just let her do what she wants.
So after dinner was movie time. We crammed onto his queen-size bed because there's really no other place to go, no furniture and the woods floor gives monster slivers, especially when you slide across it in your socks. So to the bed!
We were arranged from L-R: Lei, Nicolas, Mio and then Joe. The computer screen was at our feet. About five minutes into the film, Lei started to slip off the side. Her eyes gaped open, then she bit the side of her bottom lip and made a gurgling noise. She clutched uselessly at the comforter and I made a half-hearted attempt to rescue her until she hit the floor and I cracked up.
Lei climbed back up and I made more space for her. There were only two pillows on the bed, so Lei used one and Mio the other. I leaned against the headboard, but that was uncomfortable so, there being no other place to go, I eventually leaned against Mio who promptly pushed her hand into my face. I didn't want to encourage Lei, who was still doing that weird arm grab thing every so often, so I her to change places. I layed face toward the screen.
I don't reallyl remember much of the film. There was a guy that looked a lot like Doctor Robotnik. I learned the French word for 'punch'. I recognized the word 'annihilate' which I had learned reading Nausicaa. Then I fell asleep.
I woke up during the credits to Lei doing more weird stuff. She kept poking me in the face. I got up to get some water and Joe followed me into the kitchen.
Joe: Dude! What is going on here?
Nicolas: Buhhh, water?
Joe: No, with Mio!
Nicolas: What are you talking about?
Joe: You didn't see it?
Nicolas: See what? I've been asleep for a million years, like the first chase in the film. I don't even know what the castle in the sky is.
Joe: Oh no, man. Everything went weird.
Nicolas: Spill!
Joe: Well, I was watching the show and I was kinda scrunched against Mio just 'cause of space issues.
Nicolas: Right, right.
Joe: And somehow I had turned a little and my back was towards her a little bit.
Nicolas: Okay
Joe: And she started giving me a backrub.
Nicolas: What? Why?
Joe: I don't know!
Nicolas: You didn't ask?
Joe: No.
Nicolas: Had you been complaining about your back?
Joe: No.
Nicolas: Had you been making weird groaning noises?
Joe: What? No!
Nicolas: Hm. Peculiar. Was it good?
Joe: Umm. Yeah. Actually, it was kinda awesome.
Nicolas: Nice!
Joe: No! Not nice! This is not supposed to be a date! I am not into Mio!
Nicolas: Even for free backrubs?
Joe: Well..Wait! No! Not even for free backrubs!
Nicolas: Then maybe I can get a free backrub...
Joe: Focus! I got to get these girls out of here!
(Thud from the other room)
Joe: Shit! My family is going to kill me!
Nicolas: Why, what time is it?
Joe: It's one in the morning!
Nicolas: Porkchop sandwiches! Get the fuck out!
We dashed back into the room where Mio had knocked an empty wine bottle over. Joe and I led the girls into the kitchen to get their things, where they promptly started to clumsily do the dishes. They really didn't clean them, moreso they banged them together and shot water at them. They refused to leave until they were finished, so after fifteen minutes they stomped back into Joe's room for their coats and I tried to get them to move a little more quietly.
So finally we get them out of the bedroom. Which leaves four flights of stairs to descend (Joe's house is crazy.) So we are doing our best ninja impressions and whispering to each other in French which is basically impossible and therefore whisper-giggling too. We get past the parents' room, to the final staircase, and Joe breathes a sigh of relief. But I guess he breathed a little to hard, because that's when he slipped and fell down the rest of the stairs.
2009-06-20
2009-06-12
18 (the road)
More notes from the road:
While trying to navigate a map in Berlin...
Joe: Alright, the next street we need to take is...The Streusel-lator
Nicolas: Nope, that says Streuseltaler.
Joe: Oh good, I was worried we were going to have to battle a giant pastry.
Minutes later...
Joe: Alright, we should just keep walking straight.
Nicolas: Got it. (Turns to the left and collides with Joe.)
While deciding what to do in Prague...
Joe: Well, here we go. Looks like they have the biggest castle in the Czech Republic
Nicolas: The biggest hamster ball in the Czech Republic?
After being told to remove his hat inside a cathedral...
Joe: Look at that girl! She's got a hat on!
Nicolas: Well, she's a bitch.
While viewing the paintings in the cathedral...
Joe: Dude, Jesus was ripped. He must have worked out.
Nicolas: Definitely a member of Nazareth Total Fitness.
As a girl walks by on the street...
Joe: Nice being hot, hot girl.
Our sweet new Swedish friend at the hostel...
Denise: I just don't know how whales can fit in the ocean!
While trying to navigate a map in Berlin...
Joe: Alright, the next street we need to take is...The Streusel-lator
Nicolas: Nope, that says Streuseltaler.
Joe: Oh good, I was worried we were going to have to battle a giant pastry.
Minutes later...
Joe: Alright, we should just keep walking straight.
Nicolas: Got it. (Turns to the left and collides with Joe.)
While deciding what to do in Prague...
Joe: Well, here we go. Looks like they have the biggest castle in the Czech Republic
Nicolas: The biggest hamster ball in the Czech Republic?
After being told to remove his hat inside a cathedral...
Joe: Look at that girl! She's got a hat on!
Nicolas: Well, she's a bitch.
While viewing the paintings in the cathedral...
Joe: Dude, Jesus was ripped. He must have worked out.
Nicolas: Definitely a member of Nazareth Total Fitness.
As a girl walks by on the street...
Joe: Nice being hot, hot girl.
Our sweet new Swedish friend at the hostel...
Denise: I just don't know how whales can fit in the ocean!
2009-06-07
17 (joe)
Joe and I made up a game to practice our French numbers, which aren't very good. After playing on and off all day...
Nicolas: Joe, let's play again. Give me some noombers.
Joe: Noombers?
Nicolas: Buh...
Joe: We've a long way to go.
On the train...
Joe: Check that out! That building has the name printed on the side and they're actually called "Potato Masters". I am going to make a company called "Gravy Gurus" and place our headquarters next door. Everyone who sees it will give me money for making their lives so much better.
In Belgium...
Nicolas: That's the office we want, the one that says "Toerisme"
Joe: I don't know. Does that mean "tourism" or "terrorism"?
At lunch...
Nicolas: Joe, you're making a mess with that sandwich.
Joe: Naw, I am fine.
Nicolas: You got sauce all over your lap!
Joe: No, I didn't. I must've peed my pants.
At a concert:
Nicolas: Can you believe this singer? His face expressions? Like some loser lounge singer.
Joe: I give him an 'A' for feeling.
At the park...
Nicolas: Joe, check it out! A skunk!
Joe: I don't believe you.
Nicolas: No! It's right there! I just saw it move!
Joe: I gotta see this.
Nicolas: See! Right there! It's...oh...nevermind. It's not a skunk.
Joe: Those are four birds.
Nicolas: They look like a skunk! They are black and white!
Joe: You, my friend, will not make it in the wild. Noombers.
Nicolas: Joe, let's play again. Give me some noombers.
Joe: Noombers?
Nicolas: Buh...
Joe: We've a long way to go.
On the train...
Joe: Check that out! That building has the name printed on the side and they're actually called "Potato Masters". I am going to make a company called "Gravy Gurus" and place our headquarters next door. Everyone who sees it will give me money for making their lives so much better.
In Belgium...
Nicolas: That's the office we want, the one that says "Toerisme"
Joe: I don't know. Does that mean "tourism" or "terrorism"?
At lunch...
Nicolas: Joe, you're making a mess with that sandwich.
Joe: Naw, I am fine.
Nicolas: You got sauce all over your lap!
Joe: No, I didn't. I must've peed my pants.
At a concert:
Nicolas: Can you believe this singer? His face expressions? Like some loser lounge singer.
Joe: I give him an 'A' for feeling.
At the park...
Nicolas: Joe, check it out! A skunk!
Joe: I don't believe you.
Nicolas: No! It's right there! I just saw it move!
Joe: I gotta see this.
Nicolas: See! Right there! It's...oh...nevermind. It's not a skunk.
Joe: Those are four birds.
Nicolas: They look like a skunk! They are black and white!
Joe: You, my friend, will not make it in the wild. Noombers.
2009-06-03
16 (one week)
(WARNING: This one is more sad that funny. Sorry!)
I only got one week to live. In Angers, I mean. But I'm starting to freak out like it is literally "one week to live." I had awesome fun Saturday playing ultimate frisbee with a group of 14 people. I even got to explain the rules in French and then watch the more versed speakers explain it in Japanese to the not-so-versed.
And then yesterday Joe and I walked all the way around Lac-de-Maine, which was 5 kilometers (maybe 20 in US dollars.) We were both feelin' fine and enjoying the sun...
COMEDY HIGHLIGHTS:
(an old women walks by using two walking sticks for balance)
Joe: Looks like somebody forgot her skis!
(when discussing the ultimate frisbee game from the day before)
Nicolas: Did you see how the Japanese girls were trying to block the frisbee?
Joe: Did they use karate chops?
Nicolas: Check out that girl in the grass? Why is she wearing a shinguard?
Joe: That's an ankle brace.
...but then we ran into Ku, Jun and Hiroko (who is my current asiatique preferée.) They were going to make the most of the sun and invited us along but, at this point, Joe and I were definitely cooked. So Joe was a definite no and I talked myself out of going in the interest of "the vibe" that Joe's always trying to get me to follow (which might just be common sense.) So we parted ways and Joe and I headed toward my place to eat. But I was freaking out! My anxiety was through the roof, which it really hadn't done since I was at the peak of being enamored with Yen Ni. So I tell Joe and Joe says, "But dude, Hiroko's not even giving you any signals. And you only met her last week." So I think about it and decide it's not her so much (though she is so freaking cool) as it is the fact that all this is gonna be over starting Saturday and I will have no options or opportunities with any of these people. But being as girl crazy as I am, I immediately associate those feelings with romance. "Joe! In one week there will be no more Japanese girls! Ahh!" Joe tells me I need to chill out, it's gonna be okay. And also that I am "High-Risk for Heartbreak" (which is also going to be the name of our new Metro Station cover band.)
So I get my head on straight, tell myself the vibe's not right for the park today and I gotta keep on keepin' on or I am going to have a coronary. But then we see Yuka, Seika, Mai and Akane waving us over from across the street. Joe says, "You wanna go over there, don't you?" I say "Buhh..." and bolt into traffic.
The girls say they're going to the park to join Ku and co. They urge us to go. I give Joe a pleading look. He shakes his head disappointedly. I begrudgingly say that I gotta get back. So Joe and I continue walking.
So I say, "Joe, hey, I didn't go with them. Good job, huh?"
"Dude, if they had even smiled at you a little wider, you woulda been a goner."
"Hey man! There were four of them! I can't handle those odds!"
"I'm trying to save you and you're like the kid in Porkchop Sandwiches goin' "ba b-buh bah bah bah bah" and I'm saying "Go! Get the fuck out of here! We're all dead!"
I remember distinctly a February in high school where I was so depressed that Winter was ending. No more sledding, or snow or snowball fights. And then I remembered there still remained Spring. And Summer too. Somehow I had forgotten that there existed other seasons. I had warped the end of winter into the end of existence. I think that is still my problem. I have little to no concept of future beyond the immediate. So after this week, I will have no friends ever again. It's not "the end of a chapter." It's the end of the book. And freakin' Harry Potter isn't even gonna marry Ginny. (Which I thought was stupid anyway.) I can tell myself how crazy and untrue it is to think like this, but a large part of me doesn't know another way to interpret the situation.
High-risk for heartbreak is right.
I only got one week to live. In Angers, I mean. But I'm starting to freak out like it is literally "one week to live." I had awesome fun Saturday playing ultimate frisbee with a group of 14 people. I even got to explain the rules in French and then watch the more versed speakers explain it in Japanese to the not-so-versed.
And then yesterday Joe and I walked all the way around Lac-de-Maine, which was 5 kilometers (maybe 20 in US dollars.) We were both feelin' fine and enjoying the sun...
COMEDY HIGHLIGHTS:
(an old women walks by using two walking sticks for balance)
Joe: Looks like somebody forgot her skis!
(when discussing the ultimate frisbee game from the day before)
Nicolas: Did you see how the Japanese girls were trying to block the frisbee?
Joe: Did they use karate chops?
Nicolas: Check out that girl in the grass? Why is she wearing a shinguard?
Joe: That's an ankle brace.
...but then we ran into Ku, Jun and Hiroko (who is my current asiatique preferée.) They were going to make the most of the sun and invited us along but, at this point, Joe and I were definitely cooked. So Joe was a definite no and I talked myself out of going in the interest of "the vibe" that Joe's always trying to get me to follow (which might just be common sense.) So we parted ways and Joe and I headed toward my place to eat. But I was freaking out! My anxiety was through the roof, which it really hadn't done since I was at the peak of being enamored with Yen Ni. So I tell Joe and Joe says, "But dude, Hiroko's not even giving you any signals. And you only met her last week." So I think about it and decide it's not her so much (though she is so freaking cool) as it is the fact that all this is gonna be over starting Saturday and I will have no options or opportunities with any of these people. But being as girl crazy as I am, I immediately associate those feelings with romance. "Joe! In one week there will be no more Japanese girls! Ahh!" Joe tells me I need to chill out, it's gonna be okay. And also that I am "High-Risk for Heartbreak" (which is also going to be the name of our new Metro Station cover band.)
So I get my head on straight, tell myself the vibe's not right for the park today and I gotta keep on keepin' on or I am going to have a coronary. But then we see Yuka, Seika, Mai and Akane waving us over from across the street. Joe says, "You wanna go over there, don't you?" I say "Buhh..." and bolt into traffic.
The girls say they're going to the park to join Ku and co. They urge us to go. I give Joe a pleading look. He shakes his head disappointedly. I begrudgingly say that I gotta get back. So Joe and I continue walking.
So I say, "Joe, hey, I didn't go with them. Good job, huh?"
"Dude, if they had even smiled at you a little wider, you woulda been a goner."
"Hey man! There were four of them! I can't handle those odds!"
"I'm trying to save you and you're like the kid in Porkchop Sandwiches goin' "ba b-buh bah bah bah bah" and I'm saying "Go! Get the fuck out of here! We're all dead!"
I remember distinctly a February in high school where I was so depressed that Winter was ending. No more sledding, or snow or snowball fights. And then I remembered there still remained Spring. And Summer too. Somehow I had forgotten that there existed other seasons. I had warped the end of winter into the end of existence. I think that is still my problem. I have little to no concept of future beyond the immediate. So after this week, I will have no friends ever again. It's not "the end of a chapter." It's the end of the book. And freakin' Harry Potter isn't even gonna marry Ginny. (Which I thought was stupid anyway.) I can tell myself how crazy and untrue it is to think like this, but a large part of me doesn't know another way to interpret the situation.
High-risk for heartbreak is right.
2009-05-28
15 (the break-up)
I wanted to go to the beach. But Joe didn't want to go to the beach. So I asked Yen Ni, who said okay. But then she canceled on me. And she suggested that I ask Lei. But Joe and I both thought that if I am alone with Lei at a beach, possibly for an evening in a hotel, there is a good chance she might jump my bones. Jun couldn't go, 'cause he was going to Cannes (which is how I discovered that Cannes is in France, not in Italy. Whoops.) So I asked Seika, who was all about it. But Seika is part of a very tight social group. And if you get one of 'em, you get all of them. Which is how I came to be one American male visiting the beach with four Japanese girls. But that's another story.
I am a strong believer in 'the more, the merrier' so while walking with Yen Ni and another friend, Monica, I asked Monica if she would like to come too. (In spite of her name, Monica is actually Chinese. She chose her "international" name because she really loves the song "Santa Monica" by Savage Garden.) Monica is a little on the sheltered side. Here's how the convo went down:
Nicolas: ...so I am trying to get as many people as I can to come.
Monica: Who is going?
Nicolas: Uhh, Seika, Mayumi, Mai and Akane.
Monica: Yen Ni's not going?
Yen Ni: No, I can't, but you should go. It'll be great!
Nicolas: Yeah, it'll be super fun.
Yen Ni: Do you have a bikini?
Monica: What?
Nicolas: What?
Yen Ni: Well, you have to wear a bikini. You are going with a bunch of Japanese girls and they are all going to wear bikinis.
Monica: Uhhh...
Nicolas: You do not have to wear a bikini. You can wear whatever you want.
Yen Ni: No, you really do need to. That's the whole point. You go to the beach with Japanese girls and they all wear bikinis and look really cute. You should go buy one.
Monica: Uhh, I don't know.
Nicolas: No, you don't need to wear a bikini! I'm not gonna wear a bikini. Bikinis are not the point! Water is the point! I want to go swimming and if you want to go swimming, you should come too.
Yen Ni: In a bikini.
Zoom ahead a week. I have recruited no one else for the beach, so it still stands at five. Monica hasn't mentioned it again. I see her in the hallway.
Nicolas: Hey, are you still interested in going to the beach?
Monica: Uh, maybe.
Nicolas: 'K, 'cause I bought my ticket for the train already, so if you want to go, here's the info. You'll have to buy your own ticket.
Monica: Uh, okay. I'll let you know.
Nicolas: Sounds good.
(A note to provide setting for the next part: Monica and I have hung out a total of four times, always with a group of students, always at Mardi Café on Tuesdays and usually with Yen Ni, whom I pretty much drool over the whole time. Monica and I have never even been alone together.)
So later that same day, I am in Grammar next to Yen Ni when Monica walks into class five minutes late. She walks up to my desk, pauses then drops a note on my desk. Then she walks to the back of the class.
Nicolas: Psst! Monica just gave me a note!
Yen Ni: She what?
Nicolas: She handed me a note! What is this, grade school?
Yen Ni (who loves drama): What's it say?! What's it say?!
Nicolas: I don't know, I haven't opened it.
Yen Ni: Well, why not?
Nicolas: 'Cause I'm afraid!
I waited till after class and then I read the note aloud to Yen Ni outside. I will attempt to translate it as directly as possible. All grammatical and technical errors are intentional.
"I will say what I think:
At the beginning. I have already decided not to go there. The reason is very simple. I cannot imagine, on the beach. A boy with a group of girls in bikini? It's not possible for me! It's totally like a Playboy party. I don't know what you want. Maybe for you that's normal. I am sorry also. I haven't told you my plan. . .Indeed, I have reserved this activity for a long time. The goal is very simple too. I should integrate myself into France . . contact with the French. For future. . I am egoism. I swear. Pardon. . It is my fault.
I am happy that you talked to me a lot, you invite me to Mardi Café. It was really well spent. Thanks to you I have changed a lot. But. We are very different. I don't know how to do music, nothing. When you talk with Yen Ni. I think that you are happier. No? I am sad, awkward. . . like an "outsider" . . .
Today, Pardon, If you think that I am unpardonnable. Forget me. This is my fault.
Monica
I am a strong believer in 'the more, the merrier' so while walking with Yen Ni and another friend, Monica, I asked Monica if she would like to come too. (In spite of her name, Monica is actually Chinese. She chose her "international" name because she really loves the song "Santa Monica" by Savage Garden.) Monica is a little on the sheltered side. Here's how the convo went down:
Nicolas: ...so I am trying to get as many people as I can to come.
Monica: Who is going?
Nicolas: Uhh, Seika, Mayumi, Mai and Akane.
Monica: Yen Ni's not going?
Yen Ni: No, I can't, but you should go. It'll be great!
Nicolas: Yeah, it'll be super fun.
Yen Ni: Do you have a bikini?
Monica: What?
Nicolas: What?
Yen Ni: Well, you have to wear a bikini. You are going with a bunch of Japanese girls and they are all going to wear bikinis.
Monica: Uhhh...
Nicolas: You do not have to wear a bikini. You can wear whatever you want.
Yen Ni: No, you really do need to. That's the whole point. You go to the beach with Japanese girls and they all wear bikinis and look really cute. You should go buy one.
Monica: Uhh, I don't know.
Nicolas: No, you don't need to wear a bikini! I'm not gonna wear a bikini. Bikinis are not the point! Water is the point! I want to go swimming and if you want to go swimming, you should come too.
Yen Ni: In a bikini.
Zoom ahead a week. I have recruited no one else for the beach, so it still stands at five. Monica hasn't mentioned it again. I see her in the hallway.
Nicolas: Hey, are you still interested in going to the beach?
Monica: Uh, maybe.
Nicolas: 'K, 'cause I bought my ticket for the train already, so if you want to go, here's the info. You'll have to buy your own ticket.
Monica: Uh, okay. I'll let you know.
Nicolas: Sounds good.
(A note to provide setting for the next part: Monica and I have hung out a total of four times, always with a group of students, always at Mardi Café on Tuesdays and usually with Yen Ni, whom I pretty much drool over the whole time. Monica and I have never even been alone together.)
So later that same day, I am in Grammar next to Yen Ni when Monica walks into class five minutes late. She walks up to my desk, pauses then drops a note on my desk. Then she walks to the back of the class.
Nicolas: Psst! Monica just gave me a note!
Yen Ni: She what?
Nicolas: She handed me a note! What is this, grade school?
Yen Ni (who loves drama): What's it say?! What's it say?!
Nicolas: I don't know, I haven't opened it.
Yen Ni: Well, why not?
Nicolas: 'Cause I'm afraid!
I waited till after class and then I read the note aloud to Yen Ni outside. I will attempt to translate it as directly as possible. All grammatical and technical errors are intentional.
"I will say what I think:
At the beginning. I have already decided not to go there. The reason is very simple. I cannot imagine, on the beach. A boy with a group of girls in bikini? It's not possible for me! It's totally like a Playboy party. I don't know what you want. Maybe for you that's normal. I am sorry also. I haven't told you my plan. . .Indeed, I have reserved this activity for a long time. The goal is very simple too. I should integrate myself into France . . contact with the French. For future. . I am egoism. I swear. Pardon. . It is my fault.
I am happy that you talked to me a lot, you invite me to Mardi Café. It was really well spent. Thanks to you I have changed a lot. But. We are very different. I don't know how to do music, nothing. When you talk with Yen Ni. I think that you are happier. No? I am sad, awkward. . . like an "outsider" . . .
Today, Pardon, If you think that I am unpardonnable. Forget me. This is my fault.
Monica
2009-05-20
14 (soirée)
Last night was the Soirée internationale. That means a big talent show for all the kids in CIDEF. With not try-outs. Here are the highlights.
1.
(During a traditional dance by a Chinese girl dressed in vibrant colors, sparkles and a gold crown and claws.)
Nicolas: Is she a fish?
Joe: I'm gonna say dragon. It's kind of their thing.
Nicolas: Yeah, that and overpopulation.
(We found out later that she was actually from Tai Wan.)
2.
(During a martial arts (Tai Chi?) performance by a guy dressed in a white silk shirt and pants)
Nicolas: He's gonna do Kung Fu stuff!
Joe: I don't think that's the correct term...
Nicolas: Wouldn't this be better if he were performing to "Kung Fu Fighting" by Carl Douglas? I don't know how he can get all agitated at the air like that when he's wearing those pajamas. He must be so comfortable.
Joe: Five bucks says I can take him.
3.
(During another traditional dance from Tai Wan.)
Joe: These countries have the most boring dances ever.
Nicolas: And the music sounds like Rain Forest Café.
Joe: This would definitely be enhanced by an animatronic gorilla.
4.
(During the dance routine by 15 Japanese girls and our main man Jun, who were all dressed as soccer (football) players.)
Joe: I gotta get on this soccer team.
Nicolas: I wanna be goalie. Then I can use my hands.
5.
(After the soirée, while discussing some of the aforementioned Japanese girls.)
Nicolas: ...no, not your Yuka, the one I like. My Yuka.
Joe: I love how you claim them.
Nicolas: It's like fantasy football!
6.
Nicolas: Anyway, I don't think she is as cute anymore. Well she is super cute, but just until she opens her mouth. She has little teeth.
Joe: Baby teeth? How can she eat a sandwich?
7.
(While leaving the bar and arguing about driving)
Yen Ni: Back in Tai Wan, I drive a moto.
Nicolas: Back in the states, I drive a car.
Yen Ni: Well, I drive a truck!
Nicolas: I drive a mini-van!
Yen Ni: I drive a school bus!!!
Nicolas: I drive an airplane!!!
Yen Ni: WELL I DRIVE A STAR WARS!
1.
(During a traditional dance by a Chinese girl dressed in vibrant colors, sparkles and a gold crown and claws.)
Nicolas: Is she a fish?
Joe: I'm gonna say dragon. It's kind of their thing.
Nicolas: Yeah, that and overpopulation.
(We found out later that she was actually from Tai Wan.)
2.
(During a martial arts (Tai Chi?) performance by a guy dressed in a white silk shirt and pants)
Nicolas: He's gonna do Kung Fu stuff!
Joe: I don't think that's the correct term...
Nicolas: Wouldn't this be better if he were performing to "Kung Fu Fighting" by Carl Douglas? I don't know how he can get all agitated at the air like that when he's wearing those pajamas. He must be so comfortable.
Joe: Five bucks says I can take him.
3.
(During another traditional dance from Tai Wan.)
Joe: These countries have the most boring dances ever.
Nicolas: And the music sounds like Rain Forest Café.
Joe: This would definitely be enhanced by an animatronic gorilla.
4.
(During the dance routine by 15 Japanese girls and our main man Jun, who were all dressed as soccer (football) players.)
Joe: I gotta get on this soccer team.
Nicolas: I wanna be goalie. Then I can use my hands.
5.
(After the soirée, while discussing some of the aforementioned Japanese girls.)
Nicolas: ...no, not your Yuka, the one I like. My Yuka.
Joe: I love how you claim them.
Nicolas: It's like fantasy football!
6.
Nicolas: Anyway, I don't think she is as cute anymore. Well she is super cute, but just until she opens her mouth. She has little teeth.
Joe: Baby teeth? How can she eat a sandwich?
7.
(While leaving the bar and arguing about driving)
Yen Ni: Back in Tai Wan, I drive a moto.
Nicolas: Back in the states, I drive a car.
Yen Ni: Well, I drive a truck!
Nicolas: I drive a mini-van!
Yen Ni: I drive a school bus!!!
Nicolas: I drive an airplane!!!
Yen Ni: WELL I DRIVE A STAR WARS!
2009-05-11
13 (awkward)
So here's a quick one:
After a day of laundry and reading and not much else, I fell into a nap at 20h00. I reawoke at 21h00, read some more, ate a snack and then went to bed at 23h00 so as to be well-rested for class at 9h00 the next day.
Instead, I laid in bed until 4h00 at which point I began a dream that involved me trying not to fall off of something vague and big. At the last moment, I realized it was a dream and woke myself up. But instead of actually waking up, I began another dream where I scaled jungle walls to avoid being eaten by the leopard who was bearing down on me.
I woke up from this dream at 5h00. I woke up two more times before getting up at 8h00. I do not know why I have such a wack time sleeping. Yen Ni says it's because I am sensitive. I wonder if sensitive people have an acute fear of large cats and heights.
(note: I am in the library and there is a guy in here who must be a monk or something because he is old and wearing a robe and looks like he is going to cast a spell on me. He isn't even reading anything, just wandering around and openly surveying people. Perhaps he is a magic security guard. If he starts scoping me out, I am going to sneak up on him later and "accidentally" step on his robe. Ha! Like a "flat tire" for clergy!)
But the really story is that I got an unprecedented e-mail from my estranged peer Anna. We haven't spoken in two months because of blah blah blah. But today I discovered she sent me a link to a video about a guy who has trouble picking up chicks because of language difficulties. Which is pretty much my life. Because I was so surprised by this message, I forwarded it to Yen Ni and said "Hey, Anna e-mailed me. Bizarre." followed by some nonsense about the three girls who have crushes on me and how I am trying to get them all to go on this beach trip with me and some other Japanese girls. Why? Well, because I love awkward situations.
Except that I actually sent that message to Anna.
(This freaking monk is doing it again! When he turns, his robe flows around him mystically. I think he does it on purpose, stopping with just the right momentum and twist to let rotational inertia turn him into a mini maypole. I also think those robes make you go bald only in the middle of your scalp.)
So after doing a Google search for "Can I unsend a message in Gmail?" and discovering the answer is:
1) No
2) If you make sure that your message is correct before clicking send, you do not need to do that.
3) Yes, if you crash the server at the same time that you send the message. Not that you can do that now?
4) NO.
5) What are you, stupid?
I decided to be a man and send Anna a follow up message:
"hey.
i was supposed to send that message to yen ni.
uh... it's only awkward if you let it?"
I wish creating these situations was a marketable skill. I don't know anyone who is as pro at it as me. Maybe I could get a job writing for The Office and just recount the events of my daily life.
And now I am going to find a couple with their arms around each other and sneak my arm around the girl to see how long it takes her to realize her boyfriend's gained an extra appendage.
After a day of laundry and reading and not much else, I fell into a nap at 20h00. I reawoke at 21h00, read some more, ate a snack and then went to bed at 23h00 so as to be well-rested for class at 9h00 the next day.
Instead, I laid in bed until 4h00 at which point I began a dream that involved me trying not to fall off of something vague and big. At the last moment, I realized it was a dream and woke myself up. But instead of actually waking up, I began another dream where I scaled jungle walls to avoid being eaten by the leopard who was bearing down on me.
I woke up from this dream at 5h00. I woke up two more times before getting up at 8h00. I do not know why I have such a wack time sleeping. Yen Ni says it's because I am sensitive. I wonder if sensitive people have an acute fear of large cats and heights.
(note: I am in the library and there is a guy in here who must be a monk or something because he is old and wearing a robe and looks like he is going to cast a spell on me. He isn't even reading anything, just wandering around and openly surveying people. Perhaps he is a magic security guard. If he starts scoping me out, I am going to sneak up on him later and "accidentally" step on his robe. Ha! Like a "flat tire" for clergy!)
But the really story is that I got an unprecedented e-mail from my estranged peer Anna. We haven't spoken in two months because of blah blah blah. But today I discovered she sent me a link to a video about a guy who has trouble picking up chicks because of language difficulties. Which is pretty much my life. Because I was so surprised by this message, I forwarded it to Yen Ni and said "Hey, Anna e-mailed me. Bizarre." followed by some nonsense about the three girls who have crushes on me and how I am trying to get them all to go on this beach trip with me and some other Japanese girls. Why? Well, because I love awkward situations.
Except that I actually sent that message to Anna.
(This freaking monk is doing it again! When he turns, his robe flows around him mystically. I think he does it on purpose, stopping with just the right momentum and twist to let rotational inertia turn him into a mini maypole. I also think those robes make you go bald only in the middle of your scalp.)
So after doing a Google search for "Can I unsend a message in Gmail?" and discovering the answer is:
1) No
2) If you make sure that your message is correct before clicking send, you do not need to do that.
3) Yes, if you crash the server at the same time that you send the message. Not that you can do that now?
4) NO.
5) What are you, stupid?
I decided to be a man and send Anna a follow up message:
"hey.
i was supposed to send that message to yen ni.
uh... it's only awkward if you let it?"
I wish creating these situations was a marketable skill. I don't know anyone who is as pro at it as me. Maybe I could get a job writing for The Office and just recount the events of my daily life.
And now I am going to find a couple with their arms around each other and sneak my arm around the girl to see how long it takes her to realize her boyfriend's gained an extra appendage.
2009-04-07
12 (paper towel)
I spend three and a half hours in the same classroom on Thursdays and today, I arrived there early. Angers has warmed up since I left for campus this morning so I'm sweating under my wool polo. I can't take it off 'cause my white undershirt is (to make an awkward metaphor) a bench-warmer: fine in the locker room, but best kept off the field. So I open a window. And when the professor gets here, she closes it.
I have a coffee date after my block of education in the hotroom, so I'm detesting personal precipitation even more than usual. I'm temporarily distracted from my predicament by a stellar insight into the poem the class is currently handling. I decide that the whole thing (Le Cinéma by Paul Éluard) is a metaphor for the in utero infant and its birth. I know this has potential for major grade points in a largely lackluster class, so I get to work.
I map out all my points and check word pronunciations (Suprisingly, I haven't had much opportunity to use the French pronunciation of "uterus".) I skim the poem again and find a few more tie-ins. I make sure I have the proper vocab to explain each example. After my strategy's set, I wait for the professor to finish the class walk-through and ask for questions. She looks pretty tired of this poem and its begrudging audience. I'm worried she might call it quits early.
Anxiety. I start sweating again. I try to take notes but my hand's shaking. The left half of my upper lip starts twitching away from my lower lip, Billy Idol style. This normally doesn't happen save when I'm attempting to chat up monolithicly gorgeous girls. To calm myself, I count up two and down one (1, 3, 2, 4, 3, 5…) until I get confused.
The professor starts to close her book and my hand jets into the air. Somewhat startled she takes my comment.
Game on.
I'm intentionally humble, as if the metaphor I so laboriously dissected is merely something I stumbled into, the verity of which is unverified. My French is extra broken from concentration and nerves. I state the basis of my comparison, "I think…in general…the poem……There is a metaphor, like the fetus in the uterus." After twice asking me to repeat myself, a slow smile creeps onto my professor's face.
I know I'm in the money now, so I dive in. "Euh…some examples are like that it's black in theater like in the womb. And the light only is on the screen and the world is the movie." The disorganization of my notes suddenly becomes a pressing issue. The lawyerly-ordered point by point contention is in disarray. I scan my notes for something legible and spit out whatever evidence I can string into a semi-coherent phrase. Her smile's growing. In spite of grammatical barriers, she's with me. I say "And there's not imagery of eyes, not alot. But it's a movie! The imagery is a lot of to touch and to hear!" She beams.
Suddenly, I experience a miracle of the physics of public speaking, one requiring perfect body placement and condensation conditions: a bucket sized drop of sweat slides down a shock of underarm hair, narrowly avoiding my t-shirt to douse my second lowest right rib. I shiver and conclude: "And at the end, one is like the astronaut! Because it is necessary that astronauts learn to walk after a trip, like babies!"
She looks at me like I am the second coming of an immigrant Jesus Christ. I am her golden idiot savant.
She repeats in intelligible French pretty much everything I said for those less-versed in the verbal stylings of the agitated American. I wait for her to look away and gulp half a liter of water to replenish my lacking moisture supply. I black out for a good ten minutes.
When I come to, we're beginning a writing exercise. Also I am hosting the Great Salt Lake in my shirt sleeve. I finish my essay in record time and sprint to the bathroom. I empty the paper towel dispenser. My undershirt is tucked in, so I stick my arm through my collar to mop at my sodden torso. I do a spin and shoot two imaginary pistols in the bathroom mirror.
My breathing and temperature have reached regular levels by the time I reach the classroom again. I do the quick once over before entering: zipper up, shirt in, pants over tongues of shoes. I smile blithely and open the door.
It's at exactly that moment that I feel the forgotten monster wad of sweaty paper towel fall from my sleeve into the body of my shirt. I tense and my face drops. I hurriedly take my seat.
A couple things are at play right now: One, the mega-gross paper towel is hanging out with my belly button; Two, I'm really, really hungry. I didn't mention the latter before because a state of famishedness is a default for me. No one really knows why. The two popular explanations are that I'm constantly getting high unbeknownst to myself and thus suffer from severe munchies or I have a tapeworm.
The paper towel: Because it's slimey, sticky and salinous, I am trying not to let my belly touch it. I suck in my gut to create space for both my abdomen and the wad to coexist peacefully. But because I'm so skinny, I don't really have any gut to suck in (damn you, tapeworm) and can only hold it for a second or two before it rushes back out. I'm not so much keeping the wad away from tummy as I am pummeling it with my abs.
The combination of ravenousness, grossness and this convulsive belly dance I'm doing are making me nauseated. So on top of that stuff, I have to try and mask the fact that I'm repeatedly gagging.
I don't know really know how long all this went on and I don't really know what the rest of the class did for the remainder of the period, but I do know that I was ready to bolt as soon as possible. So when the professor said we were finished, I threw my books into my backpack and zoomed for the door. I was almost through when I heard someone ask me to hold up. My head turned and stopped to survey the super cute girl I had been crushing on while my body kept going. I hit emergency brakes. My sneakers squeaked on the linoleum as I stopped. I immediately dropped the urgency and twitchiness which had consumed my being seconds before and shifted to hit-on-girls-mode. It was time to put away childish things and look really, really cool.
"Hey, are you going to the party at Soft tonight? Tomorrow's the last day for the three-week students, so a bunch of us are getting together."
I decide to make a non-commital response, something to make me sound really busy, like I had a couple parties to go to that night, but I would consider fitting it in if she was going, not that it was a huge deal, but I certainly wouldn't mind seeing her later if that's what she was into. Of course, this all had to be expressed through subtle nuances of tone and inflection, since I wanted to keep it as brief as possible. I say
"Maybe. What time?"
"Mmm, in half an hour, I think."
I suddenly remembered that I was supposed to meet a girl downstairs right now so we can go get coffee. No! I can't go on two dates at once. (Yes, i was counting this as a date, shut up. Cute girl wants you to go to a party with her? Date. She asks to work on a class project with you? Date. She gets hit by a car while crossing the street and you kneel next to her unconscious form dialing 9-1-1? Date. Date. Date.) I vaguely recollect an episode of the Flintstones where Fred tries to fulfill a promise to take Wilma out while also taking part in an event at the Water Buffalo Lodge. He gets caught when he wears his big furry horned hat to the restaurant.
"I should be able to make it. How late will you be there?"
"Until eight or so."
I'm a busy guy. Got a lot of things to do. Cool things. Yep, I got a lot of things going on. But I'm willing to be a little accomodating for a chick, if she's cool enough. No big. I'll be a little late, but oh, I'll be there. Sweet thing.
"I'll be there by seven-thirty."
"Cool."
Marry me.
"Cool."
I vault down the stairs to meet my coffee date. She's talking to another girl whom I don't know. I ask her if she's ready. She says yeah and invites the other girl to come along. What? I don't know if that's cool or not. It is cool to be that chill about dudes and etc. But, I mean, bringing a third party negates the dateness of the date and this was clearly a date. I should know. Man. How disrespectful, to turn our romantic rendezvous into a gathering of friends. You know, I might be really annoyed if I weren't bailing on this thing early to go meet another girl at a party.
So coffee was pretty good. Well, not literally. I don't drink coffee. Or tea. Or any beverage that costs money that's not at the supermarket. So that made things a little weird, since she had specifically asked me to go out for coffee and I said I'd love to. But hey, it would have been weirder if I had asked her to go out for chairs. Or sitting. Which is really the point anyway. Or conversation, I guess. I shoulda just gone for the gold and asked her to make out. Oh and also, she made it weird when she made it three people. That other girl's drinking coffee. When all's said and done, two people drank coffee here tonight and who cares if I'm one of them?
I made an awkward exit at 7:30 and walked up the street to Soft. Before sitting down I made a quick detour to the restroom. I was starting to sweat a little bit so I untucked my shirt in preparation for an under-arm patdown. A wad of paper towel fell onto the floor.
I have a coffee date after my block of education in the hotroom, so I'm detesting personal precipitation even more than usual. I'm temporarily distracted from my predicament by a stellar insight into the poem the class is currently handling. I decide that the whole thing (Le Cinéma by Paul Éluard) is a metaphor for the in utero infant and its birth. I know this has potential for major grade points in a largely lackluster class, so I get to work.
I map out all my points and check word pronunciations (Suprisingly, I haven't had much opportunity to use the French pronunciation of "uterus".) I skim the poem again and find a few more tie-ins. I make sure I have the proper vocab to explain each example. After my strategy's set, I wait for the professor to finish the class walk-through and ask for questions. She looks pretty tired of this poem and its begrudging audience. I'm worried she might call it quits early.
Anxiety. I start sweating again. I try to take notes but my hand's shaking. The left half of my upper lip starts twitching away from my lower lip, Billy Idol style. This normally doesn't happen save when I'm attempting to chat up monolithicly gorgeous girls. To calm myself, I count up two and down one (1, 3, 2, 4, 3, 5…) until I get confused.
The professor starts to close her book and my hand jets into the air. Somewhat startled she takes my comment.
Game on.
I'm intentionally humble, as if the metaphor I so laboriously dissected is merely something I stumbled into, the verity of which is unverified. My French is extra broken from concentration and nerves. I state the basis of my comparison, "I think…in general…the poem……There is a metaphor, like the fetus in the uterus." After twice asking me to repeat myself, a slow smile creeps onto my professor's face.
I know I'm in the money now, so I dive in. "Euh…some examples are like that it's black in theater like in the womb. And the light only is on the screen and the world is the movie." The disorganization of my notes suddenly becomes a pressing issue. The lawyerly-ordered point by point contention is in disarray. I scan my notes for something legible and spit out whatever evidence I can string into a semi-coherent phrase. Her smile's growing. In spite of grammatical barriers, she's with me. I say "And there's not imagery of eyes, not alot. But it's a movie! The imagery is a lot of to touch and to hear!" She beams.
Suddenly, I experience a miracle of the physics of public speaking, one requiring perfect body placement and condensation conditions: a bucket sized drop of sweat slides down a shock of underarm hair, narrowly avoiding my t-shirt to douse my second lowest right rib. I shiver and conclude: "And at the end, one is like the astronaut! Because it is necessary that astronauts learn to walk after a trip, like babies!"
She looks at me like I am the second coming of an immigrant Jesus Christ. I am her golden idiot savant.
She repeats in intelligible French pretty much everything I said for those less-versed in the verbal stylings of the agitated American. I wait for her to look away and gulp half a liter of water to replenish my lacking moisture supply. I black out for a good ten minutes.
When I come to, we're beginning a writing exercise. Also I am hosting the Great Salt Lake in my shirt sleeve. I finish my essay in record time and sprint to the bathroom. I empty the paper towel dispenser. My undershirt is tucked in, so I stick my arm through my collar to mop at my sodden torso. I do a spin and shoot two imaginary pistols in the bathroom mirror.
My breathing and temperature have reached regular levels by the time I reach the classroom again. I do the quick once over before entering: zipper up, shirt in, pants over tongues of shoes. I smile blithely and open the door.
It's at exactly that moment that I feel the forgotten monster wad of sweaty paper towel fall from my sleeve into the body of my shirt. I tense and my face drops. I hurriedly take my seat.
A couple things are at play right now: One, the mega-gross paper towel is hanging out with my belly button; Two, I'm really, really hungry. I didn't mention the latter before because a state of famishedness is a default for me. No one really knows why. The two popular explanations are that I'm constantly getting high unbeknownst to myself and thus suffer from severe munchies or I have a tapeworm.
The paper towel: Because it's slimey, sticky and salinous, I am trying not to let my belly touch it. I suck in my gut to create space for both my abdomen and the wad to coexist peacefully. But because I'm so skinny, I don't really have any gut to suck in (damn you, tapeworm) and can only hold it for a second or two before it rushes back out. I'm not so much keeping the wad away from tummy as I am pummeling it with my abs.
The combination of ravenousness, grossness and this convulsive belly dance I'm doing are making me nauseated. So on top of that stuff, I have to try and mask the fact that I'm repeatedly gagging.
I don't know really know how long all this went on and I don't really know what the rest of the class did for the remainder of the period, but I do know that I was ready to bolt as soon as possible. So when the professor said we were finished, I threw my books into my backpack and zoomed for the door. I was almost through when I heard someone ask me to hold up. My head turned and stopped to survey the super cute girl I had been crushing on while my body kept going. I hit emergency brakes. My sneakers squeaked on the linoleum as I stopped. I immediately dropped the urgency and twitchiness which had consumed my being seconds before and shifted to hit-on-girls-mode. It was time to put away childish things and look really, really cool.
"Hey, are you going to the party at Soft tonight? Tomorrow's the last day for the three-week students, so a bunch of us are getting together."
I decide to make a non-commital response, something to make me sound really busy, like I had a couple parties to go to that night, but I would consider fitting it in if she was going, not that it was a huge deal, but I certainly wouldn't mind seeing her later if that's what she was into. Of course, this all had to be expressed through subtle nuances of tone and inflection, since I wanted to keep it as brief as possible. I say
"Maybe. What time?"
"Mmm, in half an hour, I think."
I suddenly remembered that I was supposed to meet a girl downstairs right now so we can go get coffee. No! I can't go on two dates at once. (Yes, i was counting this as a date, shut up. Cute girl wants you to go to a party with her? Date. She asks to work on a class project with you? Date. She gets hit by a car while crossing the street and you kneel next to her unconscious form dialing 9-1-1? Date. Date. Date.) I vaguely recollect an episode of the Flintstones where Fred tries to fulfill a promise to take Wilma out while also taking part in an event at the Water Buffalo Lodge. He gets caught when he wears his big furry horned hat to the restaurant.
"I should be able to make it. How late will you be there?"
"Until eight or so."
I'm a busy guy. Got a lot of things to do. Cool things. Yep, I got a lot of things going on. But I'm willing to be a little accomodating for a chick, if she's cool enough. No big. I'll be a little late, but oh, I'll be there. Sweet thing.
"I'll be there by seven-thirty."
"Cool."
Marry me.
"Cool."
I vault down the stairs to meet my coffee date. She's talking to another girl whom I don't know. I ask her if she's ready. She says yeah and invites the other girl to come along. What? I don't know if that's cool or not. It is cool to be that chill about dudes and etc. But, I mean, bringing a third party negates the dateness of the date and this was clearly a date. I should know. Man. How disrespectful, to turn our romantic rendezvous into a gathering of friends. You know, I might be really annoyed if I weren't bailing on this thing early to go meet another girl at a party.
So coffee was pretty good. Well, not literally. I don't drink coffee. Or tea. Or any beverage that costs money that's not at the supermarket. So that made things a little weird, since she had specifically asked me to go out for coffee and I said I'd love to. But hey, it would have been weirder if I had asked her to go out for chairs. Or sitting. Which is really the point anyway. Or conversation, I guess. I shoulda just gone for the gold and asked her to make out. Oh and also, she made it weird when she made it three people. That other girl's drinking coffee. When all's said and done, two people drank coffee here tonight and who cares if I'm one of them?
I made an awkward exit at 7:30 and walked up the street to Soft. Before sitting down I made a quick detour to the restroom. I was starting to sweat a little bit so I untucked my shirt in preparation for an under-arm patdown. A wad of paper towel fell onto the floor.
2009-03-27
11 (mugging)
I walk around Angers late at night a lot, say, post eleven p.m. And it occurred to me the other night that I have no idea if that's safe. It's pretty deserted when I get near my apartment and I'm generally out for a good twenty minutes or more. No one has warned me against this, but no one has approved it either. I'm assuming it's okay, because it's a college town. Then again, Ypsi's a college town too, and no one would would suggest wandering alone there in the dark. Quite the opposite.
But since I haven't gotten mugged yet, I don't think it's a problem. Which gets me thinking, that's gotta be a pretty valuable extracurricular source of income. Mugging, I mean. Tax-free, pick your own hours, no dress code. The kinda thing that would really work well for a college kid like me.
Well, this has started sounding like just a peachy plan! Let's work it out:
I don't want anyone I know to see me, so I'll have to go a decent ways from my house, maybe a half hour minimum in the opposite direction from school. It's shadier there anyway. That seems weird though. Do muggers commute? Or do they accost people in front of their own houses? Being legally blind, my host parent Pascal would be a good first round. I bet there are some pretty funny stories about thieves who accidentally rob their friends or family. There should be an inner city Funniest Home Videos. ("Alright, shut up and empty your pockets and I won't knock any of your teeth out. Hurry!" "Okay, I'm hur…Dad?!")
I need to have some memorized mugging phrases (in French.)
"Hey bud, got a light?" "Shut up. Give me all your money" "Don't turn around" "Be quick with it" "I'm gonna back away. Count to thirty real slow and then keep walking the direction you were." I guess I should know all those expression already. They're real…multipurpose. But what if my victim asks me a question? I'm still not great at understanding French, not from local speakers. They speak too quickly. I also feel like French people don't put up with getting mugged. I might just get ignored. Maybe not if I have a gun. Where do you get a gun in France? I still can't find deodorant. (well, women's deodorant.) Does anyone have a gun in France? Are you allowed to own a gun? Probably not if you're a residential alien. And a mugger. (that'd be an awkward gun license application.) Also I'm pretty sure I'd do a lot of damage to myself if I had a gun. It doesn't seem too long ago that I was still in high school and knocked dinner glasses over so often that my mother required me to use a sippy cup. But that might just be because I still have to use it when I go home. But I digress.
So then I have the money and I sneak off into the night. How much? I dunno how much money most people carry, I usually don't have more than thirty euro. Maybe fifty from a real grown-up? And a baguette if they have one? That might be pushing it. And then I have to walk thirty minutes plus through the shady part of town. That doesn't sound safe at all. I don't think I'm comfortable with that, even with my new gun. Who knows what could happen? Can muggers get mugged? Is there a mugger's union? Oh wait, I'm in France. Yeah, probably.
But since I haven't gotten mugged yet, I don't think it's a problem. Which gets me thinking, that's gotta be a pretty valuable extracurricular source of income. Mugging, I mean. Tax-free, pick your own hours, no dress code. The kinda thing that would really work well for a college kid like me.
Well, this has started sounding like just a peachy plan! Let's work it out:
I don't want anyone I know to see me, so I'll have to go a decent ways from my house, maybe a half hour minimum in the opposite direction from school. It's shadier there anyway. That seems weird though. Do muggers commute? Or do they accost people in front of their own houses? Being legally blind, my host parent Pascal would be a good first round. I bet there are some pretty funny stories about thieves who accidentally rob their friends or family. There should be an inner city Funniest Home Videos. ("Alright, shut up and empty your pockets and I won't knock any of your teeth out. Hurry!" "Okay, I'm hur…Dad?!")
I need to have some memorized mugging phrases (in French.)
"Hey bud, got a light?" "Shut up. Give me all your money" "Don't turn around" "Be quick with it" "I'm gonna back away. Count to thirty real slow and then keep walking the direction you were." I guess I should know all those expression already. They're real…multipurpose. But what if my victim asks me a question? I'm still not great at understanding French, not from local speakers. They speak too quickly. I also feel like French people don't put up with getting mugged. I might just get ignored. Maybe not if I have a gun. Where do you get a gun in France? I still can't find deodorant. (well, women's deodorant.) Does anyone have a gun in France? Are you allowed to own a gun? Probably not if you're a residential alien. And a mugger. (that'd be an awkward gun license application.) Also I'm pretty sure I'd do a lot of damage to myself if I had a gun. It doesn't seem too long ago that I was still in high school and knocked dinner glasses over so often that my mother required me to use a sippy cup. But that might just be because I still have to use it when I go home. But I digress.
So then I have the money and I sneak off into the night. How much? I dunno how much money most people carry, I usually don't have more than thirty euro. Maybe fifty from a real grown-up? And a baguette if they have one? That might be pushing it. And then I have to walk thirty minutes plus through the shady part of town. That doesn't sound safe at all. I don't think I'm comfortable with that, even with my new gun. Who knows what could happen? Can muggers get mugged? Is there a mugger's union? Oh wait, I'm in France. Yeah, probably.
2009-03-16
10.2 (nori)
Nori and Ryo are going back to Japan in a week. So this is the last time any of us will see them for quite a while. After Nori returned from walking Yen Ni to the mètro, we discovered that he was in love with her.
You'll notice in the background what sounds like an old man wheezing as he goes into cardiac arrest. Don't be alarmed, that's just how I laugh.
It's also important to note that before the video was taped, I attempted to console Nori by telling him that age-old adage "There are other fish in the sea." To which he responded, "But only one fish named Yen Ni." He had me there. Anyway, after that he started calling Yen Ni his "poisson" as he does in the video.
Transcription:
Nori: Ohh. Ohhhh…
(giggles)
Ryo: Don't laughing!
Nori: Hey Joe. Stop laughing.
Ryo: Don't laugh at my… Don't laugh my friend!
Nori: I'm sure. I'm serious.……Ohhhh…I miss her.…Where's Yen Ni?
Nori: I need, I need Yen Ni.
Nori: Ohhhh. Merde.
Joe: Merde.
Ryo: Fock it.
Joe: Fuck it.
Ryo: Fock it.
--
Nori: My poisson…Oh…Shit.
Nori: Hey brother, arrètes.
Ryo: Arrètes.
Nori: Hey Nicolas, arrètes.
Ryo: Why do you like Yanni?
Nori: Pourquoi pas. Il n'y a pas de raison. Il n'y a pas…de raison. C'est…just my favorite.
(fin)
--
Note: I don't feel bad laughing at my friends' English errors because I know that's how I sound in French. And my Japanese is even worse.
You, on the other hand, are a dick.
You'll notice in the background what sounds like an old man wheezing as he goes into cardiac arrest. Don't be alarmed, that's just how I laugh.
It's also important to note that before the video was taped, I attempted to console Nori by telling him that age-old adage "There are other fish in the sea." To which he responded, "But only one fish named Yen Ni." He had me there. Anyway, after that he started calling Yen Ni his "poisson" as he does in the video.
Transcription:
Nori: Ohh. Ohhhh…
(giggles)
Ryo: Don't laughing!
Nori: Hey Joe. Stop laughing.
Ryo: Don't laugh at my… Don't laugh my friend!
Nori: I'm sure. I'm serious.……Ohhhh…I miss her.…Where's Yen Ni?
Nori: I need, I need Yen Ni.
Nori: Ohhhh. Merde.
Joe: Merde.
Ryo: Fock it.
Joe: Fuck it.
Ryo: Fock it.
--
Nori: My poisson…Oh…Shit.
Nori: Hey brother, arrètes.
Ryo: Arrètes.
Nori: Hey Nicolas, arrètes.
Ryo: Why do you like Yanni?
Nori: Pourquoi pas. Il n'y a pas de raison. Il n'y a pas…de raison. C'est…just my favorite.
(fin)
--
Note: I don't feel bad laughing at my friends' English errors because I know that's how I sound in French. And my Japanese is even worse.
You, on the other hand, are a dick.
10 (just drums)
Photos below. That's all.
(note: i really have no idea how to use this camera)
Nori
Ryo
Yen Ni
Joe
Me
Cutest Kid in the Known Universe
So I was on the train and this kid (above) wandered up to me and said, "M'sieur?" I didn't know what to do, so I made sure he didn't fall over when the train lurched and just smiled. He walked over to another passenger and said the same thing. The guy pulled out a napkin and wiped the kid's runny nose. Apparently, that's all he was looking for, 'cause he wandered back down the aisle after that.
(note: i really have no idea how to use this camera)
Nori
Ryo
Yen Ni
Joe
Me
Cutest Kid in the Known Universe
So I was on the train and this kid (above) wandered up to me and said, "M'sieur?" I didn't know what to do, so I made sure he didn't fall over when the train lurched and just smiled. He walked over to another passenger and said the same thing. The guy pulled out a napkin and wiped the kid's runny nose. Apparently, that's all he was looking for, 'cause he wandered back down the aisle after that.
2009-03-13
9 (cycle fashion)
It's true that the folks here ride bikes a lot. This was a fact I was counting on. Being a cyclist myself, I had an idea of what to expect from other people who think highly of their two-wheeled friends. Last year I stopped wearing my favorite skate shoes because they wouldn't fit in the toe cages on my fixed gear. Sacrifices must be made.
I was surprised to find that most of the bikes here are squeaky cruisers, too old and ill-maintained to be in decent shape and not old enough for retro charm. They generally induce reactions in me ranging from cringe to shudder. So much for a massive cool cycling community. But I cut my losses, and decided to appreciate the fact that people here often opt for cycling over driving. Also I am less likely to be hit by a cyclist, and if I do, I won't be quite as damaged.
My expectations negligible at this point, I was startled by the appearance of (for lack of a better term) a foxy mop handle mama, cruising by in a short black skirt, tights and 2" heels. True, it made no sense in terms of functionality, but damned if I wouldn't vote that into office.
The event brings to mind a phone conversation Scott and I once had about multi-tasking. I told him how ridiculous I felt taking his call while in the midst of a ride. He hesitated, then told me to not be so hard on myself. He abashedly admitted that he's actually been known to text on his bike. I gave it a few moments' thought then responded that text-riding (i made that term up) is actually pretty hip, even though phone conversations are not. He was surprised and requested an explanation.
It really comes down to simple algebra. In a regular bike phone call, the Impracticality factor, IF, is rather high. (I can recall multiple occasions where, while attempting to extricate it from my pocket to answer a call, I dropped my phone in the street and its battery and battery cover launched in opposite directions.) The Danger factor, DF, is rather low. (I just looked dumb stopping to pick up and reassemble the pieces.)
In an SMS situation, the Impracticality factor, though higher than in the previous scenario, does not exceed the exceptionally high Danger factor, thus resulting in an overall hip maneuver. The equation looks like this:
If the BAQ is a positive number, then it is a good idea for you to pursue said course of action. At least in terms of aesthetics. Therefore, Scott was cool for texting and I was lame for chatting. (I present this other example via FAILblog.)
Back to my first point: This dame's Badass Quotient was off the charts. So I was for it, as much as my inner logician and practitioner of Feng Shui disagreed.
This city is fashion forward. The whole country is. I took that as the reason why there are so few helmeted cyclists, though they clearly take their lives into their own hands by traveling the same streets as these madcap drivers. I could understand that. Better a good-looking corpse than something something something.
But then I realized that there exists a curious trend among cyclists here that merits a closer look. A good 50% of cyclists were wearing fluorescent yellow vests. With silver reflective stripes. What I had taken to be the uniform for municipal workers was actually safety gear for the public at large.
I discovered that these ridiculous articles were to be found in almost every car, hanging on the back of one of the front seats. The scope of this gave me pause. Why would a people so obviously engrossed in physical appearance chose a neon garment over an awkward head piece? I mean, if you want to throw down the money (i know i did) you can get a decent-, (dare i say it) even cool-looking helmet.
But maybe I wasn't giving these people enough credit. Perhaps what it comes down to isn't a matter of fashion at all, but safety. A helmet will protect you if you in the case of an accident. Wearing one of these vests goes a long way to preventing one. (But you will probably still need an ambulance for that fashion emergency. (zing!))
I was surprised to find that most of the bikes here are squeaky cruisers, too old and ill-maintained to be in decent shape and not old enough for retro charm. They generally induce reactions in me ranging from cringe to shudder. So much for a massive cool cycling community. But I cut my losses, and decided to appreciate the fact that people here often opt for cycling over driving. Also I am less likely to be hit by a cyclist, and if I do, I won't be quite as damaged.
My expectations negligible at this point, I was startled by the appearance of (for lack of a better term) a foxy mop handle mama, cruising by in a short black skirt, tights and 2" heels. True, it made no sense in terms of functionality, but damned if I wouldn't vote that into office.
The event brings to mind a phone conversation Scott and I once had about multi-tasking. I told him how ridiculous I felt taking his call while in the midst of a ride. He hesitated, then told me to not be so hard on myself. He abashedly admitted that he's actually been known to text on his bike. I gave it a few moments' thought then responded that text-riding (i made that term up) is actually pretty hip, even though phone conversations are not. He was surprised and requested an explanation.
It really comes down to simple algebra. In a regular bike phone call, the Impracticality factor, IF, is rather high. (I can recall multiple occasions where, while attempting to extricate it from my pocket to answer a call, I dropped my phone in the street and its battery and battery cover launched in opposite directions.) The Danger factor, DF, is rather low. (I just looked dumb stopping to pick up and reassemble the pieces.)
In an SMS situation, the Impracticality factor, though higher than in the previous scenario, does not exceed the exceptionally high Danger factor, thus resulting in an overall hip maneuver. The equation looks like this:
DF (Danger Factor) - IF (Impracticality Factor) = BAQ (Badass Quotient)
If the BAQ is a positive number, then it is a good idea for you to pursue said course of action. At least in terms of aesthetics. Therefore, Scott was cool for texting and I was lame for chatting. (I present this other example via FAILblog.)
Back to my first point: This dame's Badass Quotient was off the charts. So I was for it, as much as my inner logician and practitioner of Feng Shui disagreed.
This city is fashion forward. The whole country is. I took that as the reason why there are so few helmeted cyclists, though they clearly take their lives into their own hands by traveling the same streets as these madcap drivers. I could understand that. Better a good-looking corpse than something something something.
But then I realized that there exists a curious trend among cyclists here that merits a closer look. A good 50% of cyclists were wearing fluorescent yellow vests. With silver reflective stripes. What I had taken to be the uniform for municipal workers was actually safety gear for the public at large.
I discovered that these ridiculous articles were to be found in almost every car, hanging on the back of one of the front seats. The scope of this gave me pause. Why would a people so obviously engrossed in physical appearance chose a neon garment over an awkward head piece? I mean, if you want to throw down the money (i know i did) you can get a decent-, (dare i say it) even cool-looking helmet.
But maybe I wasn't giving these people enough credit. Perhaps what it comes down to isn't a matter of fashion at all, but safety. A helmet will protect you if you in the case of an accident. Wearing one of these vests goes a long way to preventing one. (But you will probably still need an ambulance for that fashion emergency. (zing!))
2009-03-04
2009-03-03
8.5 (lunch in the cafeteria)
When I arrived here, I temporarily suspended my vegetarianism, so that I might fully appreciate the cultural pleasures of the cuisine in all their carnivorous splendor.
I've since decided that that was an unnecessary move on my part.
I'm eating tofu for dinner.
I've since decided that that was an unnecessary move on my part.
I'm eating tofu for dinner.
2009-03-01
8 (the boss)
Last night, Nori and Ryo took me to a party at the apartment of their friend Julien. We wandered up and down a street at least three times before figuring out which residence was his. I tried to explain the word "suspicious" to Nori. Then I tried "hoodlum."
When we arrive, Julien's wearing a large white and grey sweater which I mistake for a hockey jersey, only serving to complement my knee-jerk realization that his face bore an uncanny resemblance to Cameron from Ferris Bueller's Day Off. He studies Japanese here and through that has some connection to the study abroad thing, CIDEF, so he knows a bunch of the Japanese students and hangs out with them all the time. He has posters of Miyazaki films on the wall. I tried to deduce the English titles from their French counterparts (which are never a direct translation.)
The four of us are still discussing this translation phenomenon when other students start showing up. After 30 minutes, there must be twelve of us in the living room. I try to teach the Cowboy Game to Ryo, which is essentially a rhythmically orientated mock Wild West pistol duel. We played a few times before he started giggling too hard to continue. He taught me the Japanese equivalent which is my game plus Rock, Paper, Scissors and an action which bears a striking resemblance to Goku's Kamayamaya in Dragonball Z. Now I was cracking up.
I notice that one of the girls is staring at me. I begin talking to her and realize she's marveling at my beard. (Asians are often impressed by my rather substantial facial hair.) She asks how long I've been growing it and I speculate a month; She gasps.
I talk to another Japanese girl, Minami. She's tall. Tall asians fascinate the hell out of me. But she's also a little cross-eyed, which makes it hard to focus on what she's saying. I kept thinking about a party in Chicago where Geoff approached a girl and after discovering she was cross-eyed repeatedly forgot, therefore having to make a conscious effort not to look over his shoulder to see what was so interesting behind him.
Minami tells me she spent a year studying in Perth and I tell her about how my sister spent time there as well. I talk about how I prefer the Japanese students here to the Americans because the Americans just speak in English all the time and have horrible accents. She says she doesn't mind them because she likes practicing her English. She notices the song that's playing and says in English "Oh! Jack Johnson! I love him! He's so hot!" This is the point where I realize she has an Australian accent. And not just her English, her French too.
I've given up putting effort into the conversation, I'm just trying to reign in my hysterics while talking to a tall, cross-eyed Japanese girl with an apparent Australian accent who just said that she's having "heaps of fun" at this party. She goes outside for some air and just in time, 'cause I've been holding my breath for a good ten minutes. After I recover, Ryo and Nori teach me how to say "not bad" in Japanese (warukanai) (that might be more than one word) with some help from the girl with the beard thing.
Minami returns and I talk to her and the guy next to me, Ku. Her accent is getting thicker as she gets more drunk. I can barely understand a word she's saying. I keep thinking of her wielding a samurai sword while riding a kangaroo. Ku tells me he's Chinese. I tell him I thought everyone here was Japanese except Julien. We do an ethnic survey of the room and discover (besides me and Julien) there are eight Japanese, one Chinese, one Korean and one Kazahkstani (for good measure.) I'm smiling, fascinated at the strange chain of events which culminated in my present multi-cultural situation. Then The Boss came on the stereo, singing "Born in the USA."
When we arrive, Julien's wearing a large white and grey sweater which I mistake for a hockey jersey, only serving to complement my knee-jerk realization that his face bore an uncanny resemblance to Cameron from Ferris Bueller's Day Off. He studies Japanese here and through that has some connection to the study abroad thing, CIDEF, so he knows a bunch of the Japanese students and hangs out with them all the time. He has posters of Miyazaki films on the wall. I tried to deduce the English titles from their French counterparts (which are never a direct translation.)
The four of us are still discussing this translation phenomenon when other students start showing up. After 30 minutes, there must be twelve of us in the living room. I try to teach the Cowboy Game to Ryo, which is essentially a rhythmically orientated mock Wild West pistol duel. We played a few times before he started giggling too hard to continue. He taught me the Japanese equivalent which is my game plus Rock, Paper, Scissors and an action which bears a striking resemblance to Goku's Kamayamaya in Dragonball Z. Now I was cracking up.
I notice that one of the girls is staring at me. I begin talking to her and realize she's marveling at my beard. (Asians are often impressed by my rather substantial facial hair.) She asks how long I've been growing it and I speculate a month; She gasps.
I talk to another Japanese girl, Minami. She's tall. Tall asians fascinate the hell out of me. But she's also a little cross-eyed, which makes it hard to focus on what she's saying. I kept thinking about a party in Chicago where Geoff approached a girl and after discovering she was cross-eyed repeatedly forgot, therefore having to make a conscious effort not to look over his shoulder to see what was so interesting behind him.
Minami tells me she spent a year studying in Perth and I tell her about how my sister spent time there as well. I talk about how I prefer the Japanese students here to the Americans because the Americans just speak in English all the time and have horrible accents. She says she doesn't mind them because she likes practicing her English. She notices the song that's playing and says in English "Oh! Jack Johnson! I love him! He's so hot!" This is the point where I realize she has an Australian accent. And not just her English, her French too.
I've given up putting effort into the conversation, I'm just trying to reign in my hysterics while talking to a tall, cross-eyed Japanese girl with an apparent Australian accent who just said that she's having "heaps of fun" at this party. She goes outside for some air and just in time, 'cause I've been holding my breath for a good ten minutes. After I recover, Ryo and Nori teach me how to say "not bad" in Japanese (warukanai) (that might be more than one word) with some help from the girl with the beard thing.
Minami returns and I talk to her and the guy next to me, Ku. Her accent is getting thicker as she gets more drunk. I can barely understand a word she's saying. I keep thinking of her wielding a samurai sword while riding a kangaroo. Ku tells me he's Chinese. I tell him I thought everyone here was Japanese except Julien. We do an ethnic survey of the room and discover (besides me and Julien) there are eight Japanese, one Chinese, one Korean and one Kazahkstani (for good measure.) I'm smiling, fascinated at the strange chain of events which culminated in my present multi-cultural situation. Then The Boss came on the stereo, singing "Born in the USA."
2009-02-27
7 (dice ferret)
There's a girl in some of my classes who wears a long black coat.
Okay, there are a lot girls in my classes like that, but this one's coat is really big, wide as well as long. She reminds me of this girl from home who wears a hooded sky blue cape. (Is that a cloak? Or a cowl? Who knows these things?) She puts it on after putting on her backpack, thus she looks kinda like a hunchback. Or a mound. She's into anime and fantasy and trading card games, all that modern D&D stuff. She carries around many-sided dice for such purposes. And she tells people to call her the Dice Ferret.
So this other girl here looks like the Dice Ferret; They both have broad, round Asian faces and girl-style bowl-cut black hair. But the real similarity is their gait. They kinda amble around, not in a hurry to anywhere with a sort of befuddled expression, like they're lost, but not especially concerned. It makes me think of the people who wear the animal costumes with big heads at theme parks. Or Teletubbies or Barney or other kids television shows with giant puppet creatures. I guess what I'm saying, is that if my life were a television this girl would be Baby Bop.
Okay, there are a lot girls in my classes like that, but this one's coat is really big, wide as well as long. She reminds me of this girl from home who wears a hooded sky blue cape. (Is that a cloak? Or a cowl? Who knows these things?) She puts it on after putting on her backpack, thus she looks kinda like a hunchback. Or a mound. She's into anime and fantasy and trading card games, all that modern D&D stuff. She carries around many-sided dice for such purposes. And she tells people to call her the Dice Ferret.
So this other girl here looks like the Dice Ferret; They both have broad, round Asian faces and girl-style bowl-cut black hair. But the real similarity is their gait. They kinda amble around, not in a hurry to anywhere with a sort of befuddled expression, like they're lost, but not especially concerned. It makes me think of the people who wear the animal costumes with big heads at theme parks. Or Teletubbies or Barney or other kids television shows with giant puppet creatures. I guess what I'm saying, is that if my life were a television this girl would be Baby Bop.
2009-02-21
6 (park)
After the marché, we went to the park today. It was big and spacious and grassy with paved paths. There was a girl wearing roller blades and more protective gear than I've seen in all the rest of Angers. I burst out laughing. Then I saw some goats, in the park.
That's Rei in the background. Here she is in detail. (She usually looks this excited):
And then I found some palm trees:
And a jungle:
That's Rei in the background. Here she is in detail. (She usually looks this excited):
And then I found some palm trees:
And a jungle:
2009-02-16
5 (fire)
Well, today on my way to school I had my second run in with a side-view mirror (get it?) I'll take the blame this time, though. I was walking in the street, against traffic, because my path was obstructed by the massive truck parked on the sidewalk. My bad.
While we're on the subject, I'd like to point out that fire safety doesn't appear to big concern for anyone here. See, my host-family's apartment has what appears to be a pretty standard deadbolt kind of key lock. You get home, pop your key into the slot beneath the handle, spin it twice, push down the handle and the door opens. To lock the door from the inside, one turns to the keyhole that is on the inside of the door and does the same kind of thing. The door can only be locked with a key. So in case you're opening your door when the Hamburglar rushes by and into your flat, he has no way of locking you out. Clever? Yes. But when walking Anna out the other night, I discovered that if the door is locked and you're keyless, there is no way to exit, excepting the third story balcony. I don't know who still installs two-way locks on front doors. How do you market that? Hostage friendly apartment? I've already been scared to sleep naked since it first became a viable possibility (i.e. college) for fear of the impending inferno pensively waiting for me to lose my boxers, that it might expel me in nude shame from my home to the delight of rubberneckers in the street below. So I'll just add this inescapable apartment thing to my list of "Fire Related Paranoia".
There's also only one stairwell in the building, which I don't think is uncommon. There seem to be no back doors in French cities. All stores, apartments and houses are butted against each other. That's why there are no dumpsters in France. Oh yeah, hey, how about that? I have not seen a single dumpster since entering this country, which means no free Hot 'n Ready Pizzas for yours truly (although some other factors may have pre-emptively thwarted that plan anyway.) At closing each day, businesses take all their garbage and put it out front. And garbage men come nightly (and loudly) to pick it up. I think that may be related to how much the French litter. I can't quite piece it together, though.
It other news, this apartment has only one wastebasket.
While we're on the subject, I'd like to point out that fire safety doesn't appear to big concern for anyone here. See, my host-family's apartment has what appears to be a pretty standard deadbolt kind of key lock. You get home, pop your key into the slot beneath the handle, spin it twice, push down the handle and the door opens. To lock the door from the inside, one turns to the keyhole that is on the inside of the door and does the same kind of thing. The door can only be locked with a key. So in case you're opening your door when the Hamburglar rushes by and into your flat, he has no way of locking you out. Clever? Yes. But when walking Anna out the other night, I discovered that if the door is locked and you're keyless, there is no way to exit, excepting the third story balcony. I don't know who still installs two-way locks on front doors. How do you market that? Hostage friendly apartment? I've already been scared to sleep naked since it first became a viable possibility (i.e. college) for fear of the impending inferno pensively waiting for me to lose my boxers, that it might expel me in nude shame from my home to the delight of rubberneckers in the street below. So I'll just add this inescapable apartment thing to my list of "Fire Related Paranoia".
There's also only one stairwell in the building, which I don't think is uncommon. There seem to be no back doors in French cities. All stores, apartments and houses are butted against each other. That's why there are no dumpsters in France. Oh yeah, hey, how about that? I have not seen a single dumpster since entering this country, which means no free Hot 'n Ready Pizzas for yours truly (although some other factors may have pre-emptively thwarted that plan anyway.) At closing each day, businesses take all their garbage and put it out front. And garbage men come nightly (and loudly) to pick it up. I think that may be related to how much the French litter. I can't quite piece it together, though.
It other news, this apartment has only one wastebasket.
2009-02-13
4 (maniac)
I came home the other day to a made bed, which I don't do. (Make my bed, I mean. I don't mind finding my bed has been made.) Anna told me her host parents liked her to make her bed. Worried I had been accidentally disobeying, I went to talk to Pascal. He immediately mentioned the made bed. I thanked him and asked if he wanted me to do that from now on. He said, "No, we're not, how do you say, rigid?" I asked if he was sure, since there must be some reason that they made the bed. He said that his mother cleans compulsively. She said that she was a maniac. I laughed and said "No, no, you're not a maniac." She looked me straight in the eye, unsmiling and said, "Yes, I am a cleaning maniac."
I went into my room and laid on my bed. Something jabbed me in the back. I pulled back the tucked in covers to find my laptop. And my hoodie. Michelle had made my bed over everything that was on it.
I went into my room and laid on my bed. Something jabbed me in the back. I pulled back the tucked in covers to find my laptop. And my hoodie. Michelle had made my bed over everything that was on it.
3.5 (yesterday's lesson)
Don't skip steps while descending spiral staircases because you're likely to twist your ankle and stumble down the remaining steps.
2009-02-11
3 (driving in france)
So French people drive a little crazy. So crazy, that their trees need guard rails to keep them from being destroyed:
The trees lining the streets all have these. Which makes sense considering the French park wherever the WTF they like:
Which is okay, unless you happen to jog, at which point it can get a little dangerous, because maybe things happen like, 'oh hey, a car on the sidewalk, i'll squeeze between it and the building until someone opens the car door in my face. i guess next time i'll use the street. perhaps people won't be driving maniacally there because all the cars are already on the sidewalk.'
There are all of three joggers in Angers. I'm half of them, and the others all move like they just set a wine glass down, which their doctor told them to drink for their heart, and are now onto fulfill the second part of the advice with the same gusto. I didn't realize it was possible to drag your feet and run at the same time, nor for people to look like they are expending less energy exercising than they do merely walking around town. Honest, I saw a guy walk past a jogger yesterday.
Anyway, so there are not only guard rails around the trees on the sidewalk, but also in the parks. This is strange, because the parks are the only places cars don't go. I think this is 'cause the parks aren't people parks but dog parks. There are these large vacant lot looking places every couple blocks or so with signs to signify, each with a couple (protected) trees and not too much grass, but a lot of dusty gravel.
Q: So since these dogs have their own large private waste receptacles that are free of traffic and pretty much useless for anything else, one can assume that the sidewalks would be clear of fecal matter (if not cars), oui?
A: There is dog shit everywhere.
You know how you're walking and you see the mess a dog's intestines made on the sidewalk, and you think, 'uh oh, watch out!' and then maybe you see another one and there's a footprint in it, so you think 'Drag city! Poor guy!' and really feel for the poor gent with the dirty shoe? Not the case here. If people were not consistently walking all over the presents left by the overactive digestive systems of legions of french pooches and distributing them evenly across the pedestrian paths thus allowing the daily rain to further spread escherichia coli throughout the community, none of it would ever go anywhere. It would be impossible to leave the house without wading boots.
NOTE: I have yet to find a suitable translation for the phrase "drag city."
The trees lining the streets all have these. Which makes sense considering the French park wherever the WTF they like:
Which is okay, unless you happen to jog, at which point it can get a little dangerous, because maybe things happen like, 'oh hey, a car on the sidewalk, i'll squeeze between it and the building until someone opens the car door in my face. i guess next time i'll use the street. perhaps people won't be driving maniacally there because all the cars are already on the sidewalk.'
There are all of three joggers in Angers. I'm half of them, and the others all move like they just set a wine glass down, which their doctor told them to drink for their heart, and are now onto fulfill the second part of the advice with the same gusto. I didn't realize it was possible to drag your feet and run at the same time, nor for people to look like they are expending less energy exercising than they do merely walking around town. Honest, I saw a guy walk past a jogger yesterday.
Anyway, so there are not only guard rails around the trees on the sidewalk, but also in the parks. This is strange, because the parks are the only places cars don't go. I think this is 'cause the parks aren't people parks but dog parks. There are these large vacant lot looking places every couple blocks or so with signs to signify, each with a couple (protected) trees and not too much grass, but a lot of dusty gravel.
Q: So since these dogs have their own large private waste receptacles that are free of traffic and pretty much useless for anything else, one can assume that the sidewalks would be clear of fecal matter (if not cars), oui?
A: There is dog shit everywhere.
You know how you're walking and you see the mess a dog's intestines made on the sidewalk, and you think, 'uh oh, watch out!' and then maybe you see another one and there's a footprint in it, so you think 'Drag city! Poor guy!' and really feel for the poor gent with the dirty shoe? Not the case here. If people were not consistently walking all over the presents left by the overactive digestive systems of legions of french pooches and distributing them evenly across the pedestrian paths thus allowing the daily rain to further spread escherichia coli throughout the community, none of it would ever go anywhere. It would be impossible to leave the house without wading boots.
NOTE: I have yet to find a suitable translation for the phrase "drag city."
2009-02-08
2 (stories from the force)
The streets are really narrow here, so much so that I was hit on the sidewalk by a car's sideview mirror as it drove by. The woman stopped a couple meters ahead and when I reached her, I adjusted the mirror so it was again usable. She waggled a knobby finger at me, which seemed to mean "don't hit my car with your body."
At the market yesterday, I bought des pommes, des pommes de terre, des avocats, et du fromage de chèvre. I still needed mushrooms, so I found a stand with some massive ones, each is maybe the size of a small apple. I want one of them, so I say, "un des champignons, s'il vous plait." He nods and goes about putting some in a bag. I realize he must think I want a kilo of them, which is fine with me. They go for 2.85 euro per kilo, so that won't be too many and won't be very expensive. Well, apparently I know nothing about the metric system, because a kilo of mushrooms turned out to be 8 or so and I get to carry a Santa's sack full of Super Mario-sized shrooms.
I woke up this morning and went to make breakfast, which was going to be the second half of a baguette from yesterday turned sandwich with mushrooms, avocado, eggs and Camembert cheese. So I pop the baguette into the oven to make it less stale, then scramble the eggs and fry the mushrooms, smash up the avocado and mix it with a little mayonnaise. Then I check the baguette and discover it is burned to a crisp and smoke is filling the kitchen, so I use a towel to pull it out of the oven and chuck it out the window. It's a good thing people don't have screens in the windows here. Also that they keep every door closed, so I had time to clear the room of most of the smoke.
This same oven-destroying a loaf of bread happened to me my last week in the states, except it was Jimmy John's day old and I didn't realize I had left it in the oven until after I had already left the house for half an hour.
p.s. Nobody told me the keyboards here were different.
At the market yesterday, I bought des pommes, des pommes de terre, des avocats, et du fromage de chèvre. I still needed mushrooms, so I found a stand with some massive ones, each is maybe the size of a small apple. I want one of them, so I say, "un des champignons, s'il vous plait." He nods and goes about putting some in a bag. I realize he must think I want a kilo of them, which is fine with me. They go for 2.85 euro per kilo, so that won't be too many and won't be very expensive. Well, apparently I know nothing about the metric system, because a kilo of mushrooms turned out to be 8 or so and I get to carry a Santa's sack full of Super Mario-sized shrooms.
I woke up this morning and went to make breakfast, which was going to be the second half of a baguette from yesterday turned sandwich with mushrooms, avocado, eggs and Camembert cheese. So I pop the baguette into the oven to make it less stale, then scramble the eggs and fry the mushrooms, smash up the avocado and mix it with a little mayonnaise. Then I check the baguette and discover it is burned to a crisp and smoke is filling the kitchen, so I use a towel to pull it out of the oven and chuck it out the window. It's a good thing people don't have screens in the windows here. Also that they keep every door closed, so I had time to clear the room of most of the smoke.
This same oven-destroying a loaf of bread happened to me my last week in the states, except it was Jimmy John's day old and I didn't realize I had left it in the oven until after I had already left the house for half an hour.
p.s. Nobody told me the keyboards here were different.
1
One time, I went to France. At the airport in Detroit, my mom was teary-eyed, my dad was proud, my sister was jovial, my sister was aloof and my youngest brother didn't show.
In the airport, I realized that the backpack I had just sewn for the occasion was quickly dissolving. I tried not to read the note that Olivia had told me not to read until I arrived in Paris.
Before boarding, I asked the pilot dude if I could change to an aisle seat. He told me I already had one.
My seat was next to a nun. I switched to one with more foot room.
I didn't sleep at all. I dozed for a bit, but not really. The in-flight movies were included a bunch I wanted to see like Tropic Thunder and Nick and Nora's Infinite Playlist (it looked cute, okay?) Already nervous enough, I decided watching a French movie in French would be more to my advantage. I watched one whose title roughly translates to "Dinner with the Assholes" and didn't understand more than fifteen words the whole thing.
Freaked and the only person still awake in the middle of the night (my flight left at 6:00 pm and arrived at 9h00), the entire cabin dark except for my light, I read Spider-Man comics and Raise High the Roofbeam, Carpenters. (So sometimes you're at a New Year's Party in 2008 and Beyoncé's "Single Ladies" comes on and then your girlfriend is all "Yes! This is my jam!"? Well, Raise High is my equivalent in book form. And Spider-Man's kinda like cookies and milk.)
I arrive in Paris. It's sleeting and snowing and I don't even own boots, let alone brought them to France where my soon to be home has averaged a sunny 50 degrees Fahrenheit compared to Michigan's 5.
I didn't have a plan as to how to get to my hostel in Paris, but it would be an expensive cab ride, so I hung out at a bus stop only to find ou that it connected to Disneyland Paris. Which explained why the majority of patrons were 10 or under.
I found a bus and was dropped off at l'Arc de triomphe. I spent a good 20 minutes attempting to read a subway map, then asked someone for help who turned out to be an Italian with an accent way too thick for my expatriate ears. So I gave up and hailed a cab.
12h00. At the hostel I had to wait until 4h00 to go to my room, so I read more Spider-Man in the lobby and kinda fell asleep on a table. At long last, I made it to my room.
After a short nap, I awoke to my new British roommates. They were super sweet and decided to go to a jazz club that night. They went out for la nourriture chinoise et j'ai fixé mon sac à dos. when they got back, we wandered Paris till we found this latin jazz place. It had no cover, so alright. Then inside, we took a look at the menu and the cheapest drinks were 4.5 euro. We asked the waiter if we had to buy something and he said we did, each of us, so we decided to spring for three Cocas. He brought them to us along with the bill. We discovered that there was a 7 euro charge per first drink per person on top of the already exorbitant price. So we each paid 11.5 euro. For Coca-cola. We were so mad we almost left right then, but that would have been even dumber since we already had paid.
When we got back, we discovered we had gained a roommate. He was asleep so we attempted to be really quiet, which didn't work and he woke up. His name was Sebastian Carbonell and he was from Ecuador but goes to school in Paris. He was staying at the hostel because his brother and his wife were staying in his apartment for a few days. This guy was so funny. He would misunderstand Engish at all the right points. I started a conversation about Secret Squirrel and Morocco Mole and then went on to something else and after a half hour of talking, said that I was probably keeping Sebastian awake and he said "No, no, it's not a problem. Actually, i have seen this Secret Squirrel." Classic.
We stayed up talking and giggling and sleepover times until four. At six, the Britons left and woke me up. I got up at seven to discover they had left me a poem.
I was really early to the TGV in Paris, but that was good because je ne comprenais pas that it is unknown via which track/platform in the station the trains will arrive and ran around asking everybody which one i was supposed to go to and they all said, <<>>, at which point les écrans would display the correct voie at which mon train would arrive. So eventually I went to a help desk where someone told me in English what to do. My train was quinze minutes tard et it left the station peut-être quarante-cinq minutes tard.
I arrived way late in Le Mans, where I had missed my connection to Angers. I bought another ticket and then on arrival in Angers tried to figure out how to get to my new home. I tried calling my host family, but my card didn't work in the pay phone.
So then i just grabbed a cab and had him drop me off at the apartment building. Then i scrolled through the family names on the display outside the building until i found Poupard. I buzzed, and was let in. (okay, so i dunno if you've ever played any text-based computer games from pre-1994, i.e. hugo's house of horrors, but that's how i feel this whole france adventure has been, because things have to be worded a really specific way or nothing occurs. it's the greatest exercise for problem solving i have ever encountered.)
I received a warm reception from Michelle. She's a fairly nice but cranky old lady. Her son a treinte ans or so and is legally blind, but wears crazy thick glasses and can kinda see. They have a stupid yippy dog named Ratatouille. Elle est si timide that I can't get near the thing to make friends so maybe it won't bark chaque fois j'utilise la toilette à soir.
Another international lives here, Sam. He goes to Central Michigan and he's pretty nice. His girlfriend is studying at le Catho aussi and she lives vint minutes away. She's nice too. But they're both pretty uninteresting. He wears Beatles and Jimi Hendrix shirts and has a peace sign tattooed on his wrist.
So on Tuesday we had to be at le Catho to take the placement test. I introduced myself to the girl next to me, Anna, who is from Missouri and looked about ready to crawl under the carpet. All the Americans were speaking English and I made a resolution to keep them at bay and take as many of them over to the casually speaking French side as possible. (not that I can casually speak french, but i sure as hell try.)
The test was pretty difficult, but that's good, 'cause I don't want to end up in a class harder than I can handle, right? I'm pretty sure I did better than Anna, Abby and Sam because I've had a lot more French than them. Although one of my stronger points is pronunciation and we didn't get tested on our speaking ability.
After, the four of us hung out and I met Joe, another guy from Central who was really! nice. Probably the coolest guy yet. We wandered downtown and then decided to take a break and meet up later at the bowling alley. I walked back to le Catho with Joe and Anna so I would have to figure my way back to my apartment on my own. I didn't get lost!
I passed out back home and could barely drag myself out of bed at 8:30. I got super lost trying to find downtown and arrived 15 minutes late, but no one was there yet anyway. It was raining and my shoes were squeaking. I was worried no one was going to show. Anna arrived with her roommate who doesn't seem that cool and shortly thereafter Abby and Sam showed. We realized Joe had probably been there earlier to use the internet at McDo and had left when we didn't show.
I'm a decent bowler but, here in France, the lane just has a community set of balls that are used by whomever is present as opposed to finding the right fit and weight for the individual bowler. So I could've done better. Which is important because everyone knows that if you are a great bowler in France everyone loves you and gives you five euro.
Anna didn't want to walk back to her place all alone, so I escorted her part way and then bought a panini fromage. It was excellent, but not too much food. I'm definitely adjusting to less food here.
Sleep is generally touch and go. I wake up a couple times a night.
Yesterday was un tour aux Catho. Anna didn't see Sam and Abby when she arrived for her group's at 9, so she went upstairs and used the computer lab until I arrived at 10h45 for mine. The library is pretty gorgeous here.
Then I followed Anna on a search for Euro boots. It took a long time. I was pretty beat by the time we got back to my house. But I did buy some jus de pomme from a street vendor.
Abby came over and she, Anna, Sam and I killed time trying not to nap. We're all on jetlag nap schedules that we need to break. Then we went out for dinner and ended up at an awesome pizzeria. The cheeses that they use on pizza here blow my mind.
On the way home, Abby, Sam and I saw Joe at McDo. Which is good, because he doesn't have a phone (like me) and we thought we'd never see him again. His homestay is a mansion and his host family is leaving for a week, so we're thinking maybe we can have a dinner party at his place sometime. I'm pretty stoked.
I got back to my place at about 8, took a shower and fell asleep by 9. I woke up at three and then again at six. I've been up since, working on this.
I want tacos. I want Taco Bell.
So here's a cool thing about France. I love Jimmy John's day-old, right? Well that's 50 cents. Baguettes here are 50 centimes (more like 75 cents, but that's due to the weak dollar, not the actual relative value.) So check that out! My mission today is to get some inexpensive cheese and a baguette so I can stop eating out all the time.
Also, I need to take out another loan, 'cause I have about 3000 us and I have to pay 280 euro rent a month and that only leaves about a grand for food and travel and frankly, that's just not happening. It's hard to use a credit card here, the boulangeries and patisseries don't really roll like that.
Oh yeah, there's a castle in the middle of the city. That's pretty cool.
In the airport, I realized that the backpack I had just sewn for the occasion was quickly dissolving. I tried not to read the note that Olivia had told me not to read until I arrived in Paris.
Before boarding, I asked the pilot dude if I could change to an aisle seat. He told me I already had one.
My seat was next to a nun. I switched to one with more foot room.
I didn't sleep at all. I dozed for a bit, but not really. The in-flight movies were included a bunch I wanted to see like Tropic Thunder and Nick and Nora's Infinite Playlist (it looked cute, okay?) Already nervous enough, I decided watching a French movie in French would be more to my advantage. I watched one whose title roughly translates to "Dinner with the Assholes" and didn't understand more than fifteen words the whole thing.
Freaked and the only person still awake in the middle of the night (my flight left at 6:00 pm and arrived at 9h00), the entire cabin dark except for my light, I read Spider-Man comics and Raise High the Roofbeam, Carpenters. (So sometimes you're at a New Year's Party in 2008 and Beyoncé's "Single Ladies" comes on and then your girlfriend is all "Yes! This is my jam!"? Well, Raise High is my equivalent in book form. And Spider-Man's kinda like cookies and milk.)
I arrive in Paris. It's sleeting and snowing and I don't even own boots, let alone brought them to France where my soon to be home has averaged a sunny 50 degrees Fahrenheit compared to Michigan's 5.
I didn't have a plan as to how to get to my hostel in Paris, but it would be an expensive cab ride, so I hung out at a bus stop only to find ou that it connected to Disneyland Paris. Which explained why the majority of patrons were 10 or under.
I found a bus and was dropped off at l'Arc de triomphe. I spent a good 20 minutes attempting to read a subway map, then asked someone for help who turned out to be an Italian with an accent way too thick for my expatriate ears. So I gave up and hailed a cab.
12h00. At the hostel I had to wait until 4h00 to go to my room, so I read more Spider-Man in the lobby and kinda fell asleep on a table. At long last, I made it to my room.
After a short nap, I awoke to my new British roommates. They were super sweet and decided to go to a jazz club that night. They went out for la nourriture chinoise et j'ai fixé mon sac à dos. when they got back, we wandered Paris till we found this latin jazz place. It had no cover, so alright. Then inside, we took a look at the menu and the cheapest drinks were 4.5 euro. We asked the waiter if we had to buy something and he said we did, each of us, so we decided to spring for three Cocas. He brought them to us along with the bill. We discovered that there was a 7 euro charge per first drink per person on top of the already exorbitant price. So we each paid 11.5 euro. For Coca-cola. We were so mad we almost left right then, but that would have been even dumber since we already had paid.
When we got back, we discovered we had gained a roommate. He was asleep so we attempted to be really quiet, which didn't work and he woke up. His name was Sebastian Carbonell and he was from Ecuador but goes to school in Paris. He was staying at the hostel because his brother and his wife were staying in his apartment for a few days. This guy was so funny. He would misunderstand Engish at all the right points. I started a conversation about Secret Squirrel and Morocco Mole and then went on to something else and after a half hour of talking, said that I was probably keeping Sebastian awake and he said "No, no, it's not a problem. Actually, i have seen this Secret Squirrel." Classic.
We stayed up talking and giggling and sleepover times until four. At six, the Britons left and woke me up. I got up at seven to discover they had left me a poem.
I was really early to the TGV in Paris, but that was good because je ne comprenais pas that it is unknown via which track/platform in the station the trains will arrive and ran around asking everybody which one i was supposed to go to and they all said, <<>>, at which point les écrans would display the correct voie at which mon train would arrive. So eventually I went to a help desk where someone told me in English what to do. My train was quinze minutes tard et it left the station peut-être quarante-cinq minutes tard.
I arrived way late in Le Mans, where I had missed my connection to Angers. I bought another ticket and then on arrival in Angers tried to figure out how to get to my new home. I tried calling my host family, but my card didn't work in the pay phone.
So then i just grabbed a cab and had him drop me off at the apartment building. Then i scrolled through the family names on the display outside the building until i found Poupard. I buzzed, and was let in. (okay, so i dunno if you've ever played any text-based computer games from pre-1994, i.e. hugo's house of horrors, but that's how i feel this whole france adventure has been, because things have to be worded a really specific way or nothing occurs. it's the greatest exercise for problem solving i have ever encountered.)
I received a warm reception from Michelle. She's a fairly nice but cranky old lady. Her son a treinte ans or so and is legally blind, but wears crazy thick glasses and can kinda see. They have a stupid yippy dog named Ratatouille. Elle est si timide that I can't get near the thing to make friends so maybe it won't bark chaque fois j'utilise la toilette à soir.
Another international lives here, Sam. He goes to Central Michigan and he's pretty nice. His girlfriend is studying at le Catho aussi and she lives vint minutes away. She's nice too. But they're both pretty uninteresting. He wears Beatles and Jimi Hendrix shirts and has a peace sign tattooed on his wrist.
So on Tuesday we had to be at le Catho to take the placement test. I introduced myself to the girl next to me, Anna, who is from Missouri and looked about ready to crawl under the carpet. All the Americans were speaking English and I made a resolution to keep them at bay and take as many of them over to the casually speaking French side as possible. (not that I can casually speak french, but i sure as hell try.)
The test was pretty difficult, but that's good, 'cause I don't want to end up in a class harder than I can handle, right? I'm pretty sure I did better than Anna, Abby and Sam because I've had a lot more French than them. Although one of my stronger points is pronunciation and we didn't get tested on our speaking ability.
After, the four of us hung out and I met Joe, another guy from Central who was really! nice. Probably the coolest guy yet. We wandered downtown and then decided to take a break and meet up later at the bowling alley. I walked back to le Catho with Joe and Anna so I would have to figure my way back to my apartment on my own. I didn't get lost!
I passed out back home and could barely drag myself out of bed at 8:30. I got super lost trying to find downtown and arrived 15 minutes late, but no one was there yet anyway. It was raining and my shoes were squeaking. I was worried no one was going to show. Anna arrived with her roommate who doesn't seem that cool and shortly thereafter Abby and Sam showed. We realized Joe had probably been there earlier to use the internet at McDo and had left when we didn't show.
I'm a decent bowler but, here in France, the lane just has a community set of balls that are used by whomever is present as opposed to finding the right fit and weight for the individual bowler. So I could've done better. Which is important because everyone knows that if you are a great bowler in France everyone loves you and gives you five euro.
Anna didn't want to walk back to her place all alone, so I escorted her part way and then bought a panini fromage. It was excellent, but not too much food. I'm definitely adjusting to less food here.
Sleep is generally touch and go. I wake up a couple times a night.
Yesterday was un tour aux Catho. Anna didn't see Sam and Abby when she arrived for her group's at 9, so she went upstairs and used the computer lab until I arrived at 10h45 for mine. The library is pretty gorgeous here.
Then I followed Anna on a search for Euro boots. It took a long time. I was pretty beat by the time we got back to my house. But I did buy some jus de pomme from a street vendor.
Abby came over and she, Anna, Sam and I killed time trying not to nap. We're all on jetlag nap schedules that we need to break. Then we went out for dinner and ended up at an awesome pizzeria. The cheeses that they use on pizza here blow my mind.
On the way home, Abby, Sam and I saw Joe at McDo. Which is good, because he doesn't have a phone (like me) and we thought we'd never see him again. His homestay is a mansion and his host family is leaving for a week, so we're thinking maybe we can have a dinner party at his place sometime. I'm pretty stoked.
I got back to my place at about 8, took a shower and fell asleep by 9. I woke up at three and then again at six. I've been up since, working on this.
I want tacos. I want Taco Bell.
So here's a cool thing about France. I love Jimmy John's day-old, right? Well that's 50 cents. Baguettes here are 50 centimes (more like 75 cents, but that's due to the weak dollar, not the actual relative value.) So check that out! My mission today is to get some inexpensive cheese and a baguette so I can stop eating out all the time.
Also, I need to take out another loan, 'cause I have about 3000 us and I have to pay 280 euro rent a month and that only leaves about a grand for food and travel and frankly, that's just not happening. It's hard to use a credit card here, the boulangeries and patisseries don't really roll like that.
Oh yeah, there's a castle in the middle of the city. That's pretty cool.
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