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.
2009-03-27
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."
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