Some like it hot

 

Today was a beautiful day. It’s really starting to feel like springtime around here. Springing forward on Sunday and the gorgeous sunshine seems to have put everyone in good spirits. It’s finally time to ditch the winter coats, and there’s almost nothing better in the world than walking along the ocean and feeling the sun for the first time in months!

 I know this sounds uncharacteristic of me, since I tend to hibernate indoors during the summer. Don’t worry, it won’t last long, this enthusiasm for warm weather. I’ll be back to sulking about heat stroke and skin cancer before June, guaranteed. I can’t stay out in the sun for more than 10 minutes without frying like a lobster. My family calls me mean things like “fish belly white” and “vampire child”…all in good fun, of course. Soon I’ll be tucked away inside my lair, nursing the wicked sunburn I got while walking from my house to my car.  

Me today

Me in July

This afternoon as I was walking home from class, enjoying the day and the Mumford and Sons album that I can’t stop listening to, I saw the strangest thing. I don’t know where he came from or what was really going on, but I was walking up the hill to my apartment and a guy in a chef’s uniform blew past me, yelling something in French to someone that I couldn’t see.  It’s a pretty steep hill, and that little man in white ran all the way to the top in about ten seconds flat like it was nothing. Then he disappeared around a corner.

Ever since, I’ve been wondering what had happened to cause the chef to bolt like that…maybe they ran out of flour and he was running to get some? We know how the French love their bread! Maybe he cut his finger while julienning some carrots or something and really needed a band aid? No bleeding allowed in the salad niçoise!

My favorite made up scenario is that the guy just freaked out like that air steward on Jet Blue last year. Rather than the typical French "go on strike until we get what we want" method, he opted for something with a little more flavor (bad pun?). Instead of the dramatic exit via the emergency slide, the chef decided to run rampant through the windy back roads of Vieux Nice, a carving knife in one hand and a baguette in the other. He didn’t actually have a baguette, but I really wish he did. That would have made for a really great story…

"I'm a monster!"

Today Chloé and I had another bonding moment over the keyboard that has recently turned up in our living room. At first, I was really excited about it- the keyboard, that is. But that was waaaay back when I assumed that someone who lived here actually knew how to play.

It’s becoming a nuisance.

But this evening I was surprised to come home to something other than cacophony. It was no Mozart by any means, but it was listen-able. Chloé was at the keyboard and her hours…and hours…and hours…. of practice have apparently paid off. I told her it sounded pretty good and was jealous that she picked it up so fast, to which she replied that her friend had been working with her. She asked if I wanted to learn how to play and I figured that would be interesting. She pulled another stool up to the keyboard and unknowingly began a futile attempt to teach me how to play something barely more complicated than “Mary had a little lamb.”

Let me tell you, this is one instance when having what have been described by some people as “creepy baby hands” is disadvantageous. It sure was a challenge to try to reach all the keys I was supposed to be reaching with one hand. I was also afraid to move my hand because I knew that as soon as I did, I’d never find my way back to home row position…(Do they refer to piano keys like that, or is home row a term just for keyboards?). I tried really hard to stretch my pinkie over to hit a note without taking my thumb off of the main key I was using, but it was impossible. Then I’d get lost and Chloé would have to help me find my way back again. She also kept tsk-tsking me for using the wrong fingers, plucking them off the keyboard and moving them to the appropriate places. It was completely useless for her to even bother, but an amusing experience. I seriously think that Buster Bluth would have done better than me.

I just don’t think these hands are built for piano. Oh well, back to something I’m good at, like reaching into vending machines…

Kidding-I never actually do that unless my chips get stuck! 

Also I just google imaged "creepy baby hands" to find a funny picture for this post. Big mistake-I'm really weirded out now. 

Cat lady by day- anime villain by night?

I can’t help but notice that the subject of blood type keeps popping up in conversation around here. No one really talks about that back home, and I remember being a little weirded out at breakfast one day shortly after my arrival in France when my host mom asked me what my blood type was. The question was totally out of the blue and when I told her I was AB positive, her eyes nearly popped out of her head and she exclaimed “Oooh! That’s rare!”

Then she immediately went back to sipping her coffee and abruptly changed the subject.

I’m not gonna lie-for a few weeks I was pretty uneasy. I just knew I was going to wake up in our horrible pink bathtub full of ice…and missing a kidney. 

But I’ve decided that if they were going to harvest my organs, they probably would have already “gotten crakin’” on that endeavor by now- so I’m no longer living in fear. My host family is actually fantastic, and as it turns out they’re just really interested in the theory of blood type affecting personality. This concept was completely foreign [hehe] to me, but is apparently pretty popular, particularly in Japan.

The whole thing seems a little questionable (much like astrology), though fun to compare, nonetheless. Different websites seem to have conflicting ideas about each blood type, but here is some basic info taken from my favorite site- the one that paints the best picture of the AB group, of course!

Beginning in approximately 1930, the Japanese embraced the idea of matching personality traits with one's blood type. This phenomenon is as popular in Japan as the idea of matching horoscope with personality is in the States.

Almost all Japanese are aware of their blood type. The idea began when some in the west were touting the idea that the asian peoples were more closely related to animals then humans, or lower on the evolutionary chain, since type B blood was the predominant blood type in asians and animals. As ludicrous and unscientific as this idea was, it was insulting to say the least. Modern science disproves this obviously faulted idea. In the 1930's Furukawa Takeji (1891–1940) set out to disprove this notion and a new idea was born.

However, the idea of personality traits being influenced by blood type remains. Companies in Japan even had divided workers by blood type.

Here are the general ideas of each blood type. The Rh factor plays no role in the blood type/personality idea:

Type O:
Type O's are outgoing, and very social. They are initiators, although they don't always finish what they start. Creative and popular, they love to be the center of attention and appear very self confident.

Type A:
While outwardly calm, they have such high standards (perfectionists) that they tend to be balls of nerves on the inside. Type A's are the most artistic of the blood groups. They can be shy, are conscientious, trustworthy, and sensitive.

Type B:
Goal oriented and strong minded, type B's will start a task and continue it until completed, and completed well. Type B's are the individualists of the blood group categories and find their own way in life.

Type AB:
Type AB's are the split personalities of the blood groups. They can be both outgoing and shy, confident and timid. While responsible, too much responsibility will cause a problem. They are trustworthy and like to help others.

Compatability by Blood Groups:
A is most compatible with A and AB

B is most compatible with B and AB

AB is most compatible with AB, B, A and O

O is most compatible with O, and AB

http://www.bellaonline.com/articles/art22988.asp

To be fair, other sites aren't too fond of us ABs.

AB is considered the worst blood type. In predictability-loving Japan, they're loose cannons. They also like to set their own conditions and reserve the right to drop out when things don't meet their expectations. They're known to be sensitive and considerate—at times—but it just isn't enough to balance out the flaws in this blood type. For a while, some companies tried dividing their employees into work groups based on blood type, and no one wanted to work with the AB group. Anime villains are likely to be type AB.
http://www.issendai.com/rpgs/takemywings/bloodtypes.htm

Anime villain? Really?...It seems unlikely to me that anyone has actually thought or cares about the blood type of a cartoon character. If we're just going to throw around assumptions like that willy nilly, I think that Robin Hood, one of the best cartoon characters, must also be an AB. 

Now the occasional comment “Oh, well he’s a B, so that’s why.” Or “Didn’t she know that? She is an A!” make a little more sense. Having looked this up, I’m almost certain that my organs are safe.

What is the noun form of "swashbuckling?"

I just finished watching a movie with my host mom. I’m not exactly sure what it was, and neither was she. After dinner I was doing some dishes and she came into the kitchen to tell me there was a “swashbuckling” movie that was coming on.

Since I love a good ole’ fashioned swashbuckling, I immediately abandoned the dishes for the TV. Besides, I was down to the silverware, and that’s the most pesky part of doing the dishes anyway, right?

I was really hoping it was an actual French version of The Three Musketeers, my all-time favorite book and one of my favorite movies. The Disney version, featuring Chris O’Donnell, Oliver Platt, Kiefer Sutherland, and pre-“tiger blood and Adonis DNA” Charlie Sheen…oh, yes sir!

Turns out it was not The Three Musketeers, but a film based on another Alexandre Dumas book. Sophie and I both missed the name of the movie, so I have no idea which one it was. Process of elimination also proved ineffective for trying to guess, since the plot whittled my choices down from around 15 potential books to 14 (I was pretty quick to deduce that it wasn't The Count of Monte Cristo, since there was nary a count to be found.). It was typical French musketeer-era shenanigans…Catholics and Protestants fighting, someone trying to overthrow the king, pretty young feisty woman married off to the crusty old mean guy who is in cahoots with the group trying to overthrow the king, etc….

So this movie came on basic cable right after the 8:00 news, and it was full of naked people. Every other scene featured someone’s wobbly/dangly bits that would never make it on TV back home. I have no problem with this, but I was cracking up and thinking to myself that by the time they censored out enough nudity to make it appropriate for American TV, I'm pretty sure the whole movie probably could have fit into a commercial break.   

Charlie Sheen at his best. The Three Musketeers (~1993).

  

Diabetic kid in a candy shop

A couple days ago I made the mistake of asking for cheap airline recommendations from my fellow study abroad students. I got great responses and found some truly fantastic deals. As a result, I’m having a really hard time deciding where, when, and how much traveling my bank account can actually handle. The answer is...nowhere, never, and not a lot.

I also booked a flight to Frankfurt today. I’m going to visit my friend Judith, who I met when she was a foreign exchange student in Georgia. We’ve really wanted to get together, but flights were just so pricey, it wasn’t working out. She messaged me today saying she found a great deal, so we immediately booked. Since it’s one of those discount airlines based out of Germany, she made the reservation for me, and I got a disturbing confirmation email…it was all in CAPS and in German with a few exclamation points and umlauts thrown in.

Other great news is we finally have a very vague travel itinerary established for when my friends come to visit in June. We’ve been bouncing around places for months ranging from Geneva, Paris, Zurich, Barcelona, Nice, Madrid, Copenhagen, somewhere in Germany or Italy. Finally today 4 our of 5 of us were able to meet up online and agreed on Geneva, Barcelona, and Nice. The group thinking was that this will give us a nice mix of the Alps, the Riviera, and my host family. Airfare between the three is also very reasonable, thanks to the awesome websites my friends suggested.

Now to somehow increase my funds…

A few of my favorite things

A couple days ago I got an awesome care package in the mail from my aunt, Brenda. She’s always been a great gift giver, but she really outdid herself this time. She even went on the wild hunt for the elusive frosted animal cookies, which are the best. I wasn’t expecting it at all, and it was a pretty big box stuffed with all of the things I miss from home, including:

a big mug

a picture of us

post-it notes

good pens

phase 10 (card game)

a flat sheet for the bed!!!!

oreos

honey buns

Cadbury caramel filled chocolate easter eggs

salmon flavored tartar control cat treats (I’m trying to ration those out and not eat them all in one sitting-gotta make them last til June!...I hope it’s abundantly clear that I’m joking here.)

I’m already making use of some of the stuff. Fortunately for my host family, I’m being generous with my sweets. For those of you who know me better, don’t expect the same treatment! I shared the Cadbury eggs and they were going crazy. They couldn’t stop talking about them. Those and the Reeses cups are definitely the winning candies for the French.

As for the post its, I’ve already got several hot pink sticky reminders strategically planted around my room (all written with my sweet new papermate gelpens, of course!). This is excellent news, because now I can stop stealing post its from the Erasmus language exchange meetings. Let’s face it…that’s the only real reason I show up every Thursday night.   

Finally, Plume the cat is getting chubbier by the day. She loves the salmon treats and it seems that we’ve created an even bigger monster. She seems to think she deserves a treat approximately every 2 minutes, and persistently pesters you until you cave. 

But really though...who can say no to this?

Thank you, Brenda!

Why I can't count.

Why is the French number system so complicated? They make you do math. Seriously. Count von Count did not prepare me for this.

Failure.

The basic numbers are a snap…up until 69. Dix (10), vingt (20), trente (30)..etc. Then you add the single digits to those. Take 33, for example…trente trois. Easy as pie. Chocolate pie, because it’s the best.

But somewhere between 69 and 70, that pie disappears and things get very complicated, very fast. Rather than chocolate pie, you’re left with a 50 layer lemon cake, overly complicated, looming, and terrible.

Quatre vingt dix huit- anyone wanna take a stab at what number this is? 

It literally translates to “4, 20, 10, 8”

Somehow you’re supposed to get 98 out of that.

 It’s just a slew of numbers that combine together in several different ways. Some of them you multiply together and others are added. There is no rhyme or reason. Why?!?

The years are the worst, and I’m sure I’m not alone, here. For as long as I have been taking French, all the kids dread the numbers. You know when you have to read a paragraph aloud, and there’s that one sentence with a year in it? Everyone is secretly praying that they don’t end up having to read that sentence, because the pressure of doing math on the fly like that is unbearable…at least it is for me, and probably most of my fellow right-brainers…

This kid likes the French numbers. He's the only one.

Speaking of numbers-
Happy birthday to my Mom, who is (fortunately) well under 69 years old. Maybe I'll have mastered the numbers by then!

What in "tartare"nation?!?

Yesterday I went to a restaurant called The Hippopotamus Grill.  It’s a French place that my host mom keeps recommending to me. She goes there all the time with her friends, and even though it’s a chain, she swears it’s fantastic…and how could it not be, with a name like that? I had high hopes for the hippo.

Fortunately, I was not disappointed. The place was great. The staff was really friendly, there were lots of options, and the prices were very reasonable. The Hippo’s specialty is red meat, so I decided that it was a good time to try a steak tartare. I’ve wanted one for a while, but was waiting for the right opportunity. They’re always either way too expensive or from a random little restaurant where I’m just not quite willing to risk it.  So I ordered the tartare, and out it came in all of its totally raw ground beef glory, complete with a raw egg on the side to pour over it.

I was fine with the beef; it was the egg that was really giving me the creeps, jiggling around in a little dish on the plate. But I decided that if I was going to have the full “steak tartare experience,” I needed to do it right. So I dumped the egg on the beef and surprisingly, it made absolutely no difference to me, flavor-wise. I wonder what the point of the egg is? I assume it’s a texture thing.

Anyway, it was quite tasty. Stop turning your nose up (I know you are!) and give it a chance! You could tell that the beef was really high quality and fresh. They also give you a dipping sauce on the side that was a little bit horseradish-y. The only downside to the meal was that it sat pretty heavy in the belly for a while.

Great experience, and I have not keeled over or contracted a dreadful parasite from eating a hunk of raw beef (yet...).  

Penny Pinching

These are the trips I have planned:

-Spring break-Berlin, Prague, Vienna (flights, trains, hostels, buses already paid for)

-Barcelona (nothing paid for yet)

-Paris (program pays for transportation and lodging…we’re on our own for the rest)

-Amsterdam (free lodging with my friend Rabiah *Hi Rabiah!,* but must buy plane ticket.)  

-Geneva, Paris, Zurich with Lori, Sam, Heather and Justin (nothing paid for yet)

Estimated cost: billions of dollars

Actual funds: 5 dollars (approximately)

Thank God for tax refunds.

Willy Nilly

 
I’ve come to realize that the French and American university systems are very different.

Pros-French System:

-Tuition is almost free

-No books

-Classes generally only meet once per week

-2 weeks of spring break

Cons-French System:

-No one is ever there. This goes mainly for administration. You have from 10am to noon or from 1pm-2. If you can’t make it there in that very limited time window, you’re just out of luck. It actually took me almost 3 weeks to turn in my class schedule for the semester.

-I’m thinking this must be a direct result of the first issue…No communication. Professors don’t give out email addresses or a syllabus. No one knows what’s going on. They’re changing class times and schedules willy-nilly, and they must be stopped.

This is a complaint post. I’m sorry. Let it be known that I still love France.

So last week my “scary” teacher tells us “I am going to move our class from Tuesdays 2-4pm to 1-3.”

I just look at her thinking please tell me you’re not serious. I have a 3-hour grammar and literature class from 10-1. I really need that one-hour break in between to scoop my brains off the table and back into my head and prepare myself to withstand her burning stare that makes me feel like I know absolutely nothing in the entire world.

But alas, she was serious. Her lone little dread lock sticking out of the side of her head bobbed in the affirmative, and my Tuesdays got a little bit worse. She realized that this change would mean a few other people in the class and I would actually have 5 straight hours of class, with no break. Her response: “Well, I get bored because I have to wait around for an hour. It’s ok though. You can bring a sandwich.”

OY! So today I brought my sandwich and the 5 of us went straight from literature to writing, only to discover that we were the only ones there. We waited…and waited...and waited. An hour later she showed up and says “What are you all doing here so early?” We remind her that she changed the time of the class and she says “OH! That hasn’t gone into effect yet. Didn’t you guys hear? I couldn’t get a hold of administration in time for them to change it for this week. That will start next week! I told the kids in my other class.”

Well, sorry, you big meanie. Thankfully, I am not in your other class.  Unfortunately, this has proved disadvantageous…for once.

Cat pictures:

Speaking of meanies-this one bit me when I had to move my arm!

Public Pervert[s]

You know, for people who really aren’t into hugging, the French are all about PDA. In the words of my father, “you can’t swing a dead cat” without smacking into a couple in the midst of sucking the lips off of each other, or at least getting a little too handsy. One time, I even saw a couple doing this: 

I think this is pretty strange, but my main problem is when
you get stuck behind pocket partners, they're usually really
slow walkers and nearly impossible to maneuver around.

 Also:

Swinging a dead cat. The couple wasn't doing it (hands in pockets!), but I
wanted to give you the visual to go with the expression.

Recently I went to a great little coffee shop with some friends. It was really cozy inside and we picked a corner nook to sip our Nutella hot chocolate (Yes, you heard me! I’m also not 100% sure about the grammatical rule here, but I think Nutella deserves a capital letter.) and we did a little people watching while we were at it. This couple came in soon after we settled in and the guy playfully pushed the girl down onto an overstuffed sofa, which seemed a little inappropriate to me. Then he proceeded to straddle her and start up a hot and steamy make out session, right there in the middle of Amelia’s Coffee and Cookie shop! I’m sure my eyes bugged out of my head a little and I was thinking, “It’s lunch time! Is anyone else seeing this?”…

The answer is yes, and no one cared. In fact, right in the middle of all the action the guy came out from behind the counter and brought them their drinks. Seeing that they were obviously…shall we say preoccupied, he left the drinks on the nearby end table and walked away as if there was nothing strange about the situation at all. In fact, I’m starting to realize that those kinds of things are pretty par for the course around here. What was I supposed to do? I think the answer is clear-order another Nutella hot chocolate and mutter under my breath about "kids these days!"

Potterheads

I think that Chloé and I have entered into a new phase of our relationship as host sister and fake foreign sister.

I know I’ve mentioned it before- I think she’s very nice, but we just don’t have a lot in common. Also she speaks so quickly and is almost 6 years younger than me. It’s always a little strange when we’re both home because the apartment is so small, it’s nearly impossible to leave my bedroom and not be within 5 feet of whoever else is here. In such close proximity, not talking is just awkward. Also this is seriously hindering my lounging around in my pjs all day routine. I see people here (other than Lori) and feel like I have to be semi-presentable. Usually I do the half smile, nod, and shuffle awkwardly through the room thing, all the while wishing I could be shuffling through and not caring in my sweat pants.

Earlier this week en route to the kitchen I saw Chloé watching TV. It was in French, but it seemed so familiar. All of the sudden it clicked. I asked,

Me: Are you watching Harry Potter?

Chloé: Yes, I love it! Do you want to watch with me?

Me: I don’t know…I have a lot of homework…

Chloé: So do I! Come on, just for a while.

And so we watched Harry Potter. It was the first time we’ve really done much of anything together, and ever since then she’s been a little more chatty and it’s made my shuffling a little less awkward.

So Sophie’s been out of town for the weekend, Chloé’s been out and about as usual, and I’ve pretty much had the run of the apartment, which has been glorious. I haven’t really been home alone in such a long time! But yesterday I was laying on my bed with my ankle propped up on a stack of pillows and Chloé came home, which was a surprise. She popped her head into my room to say hello and saw my ankle and was just so sweet about it. She brought me an ice pack and approximately 8 different types of medicine to choose from (They all seemed the same to me.). She was going to a choral concert and was just stopping by to change. She invited me to come along, too! Unfortunately my mangled cankle made that impossible, but I appreciated the offer.

This is the amazing part. When Chloé got back home a few hours later, she saw that my ankle looked even worse and offered to give me a foot massage. Can you believe that? Fortunately, I had foresight. I anticipated people looking at my foot, so one of the few things I dragged myself out of bed to do yesterday was to give myself a pedicure…good thinking!

She rummaged around in our cabinet full of grape seed extract, herbal teas, and strange balms and found some eucalyptus oil that she said would reduce the inflammation. Since my foot was, at the time, way too swollen to even put on a flip flop properly, I took her up on her offer. I’m certainly glad that I did, because it really seemed to make a difference. We popped in Harry Potter again and after spending a good half hour working on the foot and chit chatting about which Weasley is best (Papa Weasley), Hermione’s hair, and how Neville Longbottom may have turned out if he had been the chosen one (see below), Chloé wrapped my foot in an ace bandage.

So it turns out we do have something in common. We’ve got a good solid wizarding foundation and two months left to build on it! 

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix- bringing people together one sprained ankle at a time.  

Neville-The early years...

Modern Neville...looks like he did just fine, Chosen one or not.

Now that's what I call a cankle!

I didn’t post again last night-I’m a failure! But I think I have a pretty good excuse, again…I was supposed to go dancing.

I realize that “supposed to go dancing” isn’t actually an excuse for shirking my blogging duties. I’m a terrible dancer and wasn’t particularly looking forward to it. But I haven’t done much with the other Maryland kids lately and I miss hanging out with them, so I decided it was time. They’ve invited me to go dancing several times and I’ve always backed out. For good reason-trust me. No one wants to see me electric sliding around the dance floor, and that’s pretty much the extent of my skills. Oh, also the Macarena, which is equally as cool as the electric slide. I was probably doing them a favor by sparing them from the humiliation of being associated with me.  Anyway, since “Candy Club" is supposedly pretty dead before midnight, we went to our friend Amaia’s place. She lives in a hostel and it’s a fun place to hang out. Walking back to town from there was a straight steep downhill.  It was really dark and the road was uneven. I’m not exactly sure what happened, but somehow I ended up misstepping. I didn’t fall, but I did sprain my ankle. It hurt, but didn’t seem too terrible last night. I threw a bag of frozen peas on it and figured they would work their magic the way that only frozen peas can, and my ankle would be fine in the morning.

Negative.

Today it looks horrible and doesn’t feel so great either. I suppose the peas, the laptop and I will be staying in bed. At least it will be productive.

Apparently I’ll do anything to get out of dancing.

Here is where I will subject you to disturbing images of Plume with my mangled ankle.

Switcharoos

As I was rummaging around for some breakfast this morning, I stumbled across a box of the French version of coco puffs. They were exactly the same thing, but they had a fancy French name (and are therefore much more classy?). Ok, maybe not classier, but there was no creepy bird with crazy eyes on the front of the box, so I figured they had to be at least a bit tastier. Plus they were organic or something.

Sadly, we were out of oatmeal and I resigned myself to eating the coco puffs. As I was munching on the chocolate coated organic cardboard and being secretly pleased that at least I got some chocolate soy milk out of the deal, I noticed that the back of the box featured The Incredibiles. The funny thing is, they were called “The Indestructible.” In fact, I’ve seen quite a few movie title switcharoos like that around here. I understand changing the American movie titles here in France to something that’s, you know, French. But most of the time they change the title, but it’s still in English, which is really amusing.

Examples:

The Incredibles =  The Indestructible

-This makes no sense to me, since the French word for incredible is incroyable. Why bother?

No Strings Attached= Sex Friends

-This is a pretty new movie. I suppose the French title is just a little more straight to the point. Still, it’s funny to see “Sex Friends” advertisements and billboards posted around town.

Animal House = American College

-I shudder to think that what goes on in that movie could be considered typical “American College” life. Although I don’t know. ..I’ve never lived in a dorm... 

Cheese monster mecca

Everything in France is expensive. 

Everything, that is, except for cheese. Actually nutella and beer are also pretty reasonable, but it’s the cheese that is truly amazing. It’s the cheese monster Mecca. Cheese with fruit, with honey, with nuts, sheep cheese, goat cheese, soy cheese, cheese with cinnamon, stinky cheese, moldy cheese, ricotta cheese, cottage cheese…any kind you could possibly want or imagine is right here at your fingertips. Some stores devote an entire corner to the cheese selection. The best part is you can get it all for about 1/3 of the price you’d pay in the U.S..  The other day I got a small wheel of brie for 2 euros. That kind of price here blows my mind, considering I have to pay just to use a public toilet.

Question: How many squares of toilet paper are included when you pay to use the public restroom?

Answer: 2

Other question: How many times did I use the word "cheese" in this post? (Including just now?)

Answer: 15

Shamed and confused

Today I got my first major assignment handed back. The French grading scale goes from 0-20. They say 20 is perfect, 19 is for God, 18 is for the professor, 16-17 is for the suck up in the class, and anything between 10 and 15 is good. I’ve also been told that if you screw up on an assignment, the teacher will shamelessly mock you in front of the entire class. I thought to myself “Surely that’s an exaggeration. It can’t be that bad…”

It really is that bad.

I actually did really well on my assignment (Not “suck-up” level, but pretty well nonetheless) so fortunately, I was not the poor soul who was relentlessly tormented by the professor for the remainder of the class.  I was sitting beside him though, and she kept telling him that she only gave him a 9 because she “wanted to encourage him by not giving him a 2 on his first homework...but no more generosity the next time around. Maybe he should consider moving down to a lower level of French classes, since his skills weren't adequate to be in our group.” She also kept saying “since you don’t know what’s going on, talk to your neighbor, Kendall, because she gets it.” It was kind of awkward being singled out like that, but I’m glad I’m in her good graces because frankly, she terrifies me. I can’t remember the last time I was actually intimidated by a teacher, but something about her….yikes. Maybe it’s the single dread lock that pokes out sideways from her otherwise very short haircut. Maybe it’s because she’s loud and abrasive and likes to put people on the spot. I don’t do well put on the spot, so when she barks a question at someone and I’m the unlucky recipient I’m always flustered. If you don’t answer her question within about 5 seconds, she stares at you like you have lobsters crawling out of your ears (A Christmas Story reference in March!) and says “do you know what’s going on?”

 

Yes, I know what’s going on…for now. Let’s hope it stays that way!

A Slippery Slope

Tonight my favorite of Sophie’s friends came over for dinner. It was just the three of us because Chloé was at kung fu. Her absence makes it easier for me to carry on a dinner conversation since I only understand about 50% of what she says. Don’t get me wrong, she’s very nice. I do like her…although I’m sad to report that today she broke the coffee mug that I just bought myself a couple weeks ago. It shattered into a million pieces and she felt terrible about it. I’m secretly way more bummed out than I should be, but I don’t want to make her feel any worse about it.

Anyway, dinner was tasty and it came up in conversation that I have never been skiing before. This came as a huge shock to Sophie and her friend since we’re so close to the Alps and everyone around here skis. I told her I was invited to go yesterday but I decided against it for a couple reasons. A- I don’t have any proper skii gear.... at least I don’t think my pleather coat and jeans are appropriate attire for hitting the slopes. And B- I was talking to a friend who just came back from her maiden ski voyage. She was telling me it hurt, she fell all the time, her feet kept getting stuck, and that if I decide to go to  pay the extra 3 euros for accidental death and serious injury insurance.

Sophie told me that I should have asked her and she would have lent me her ski stuff. It was a generous offer, but I’m starting to think I’m just not meant to ski. One of my earliest memories is of my parents going on an anniversary ski trip and both coming back injured. When I mentioned this to Sophie she told me I just needed to take a short tutorial. She wants to go on April 3^rd if there is a class available. She said she doesn’t want to ski, but she’ll sit at the bottom and eat French fries with mustard while I struggle. Very encouraging. This is what happens when I decide to talk during dinner…

-These are pics from a photography exhibit I went to yesterday. Artist is August Sander (German). Most of the pictures were taken in the 1920s. All of his photographs are divided into 7 groups, each group featuring a specific type of person. Groups included "Women, Manual Laborers, The Disabled, The Sick and Dying," and a few other categories. I had to go for a class, but I really liked it. Don't mind the glare in some of them...they are not the greatest because I wasn't sure if I was allowed to take pics, so I was being sneaky about it.  

My favorite-an early feminist, according to on-site expert

Don't mind my hand. Circus people.

Blind children

"Elegant woman"

Disabled

Old

Slacker

Yesterday I didn’t blog, and I feel like my day was just a little bit less fulfilling because of it. I’ve been really proud of myself for actually sticking to my commitment of doing a post per day, but there are just some occasions that merit a skip day.

I went to Avignon with Paymon yesterday. It was really beautiful and The Lord of the Rings dork in me kept thinking about how it looked like Gondor.  We spent most of our time within the city walls, and the whole place looked like a medieval kingdom. There was a lot of cream colored stone and big old trees with no leaves. Avignon is famous for lavender, so I’m sure the city’s even more beautiful when it’s in season. We went to the Palais des Papes, which was where the popes took up residence from 1309 until 1378. It was huge and incredible and for a pretty cheap price we got to go in and wander around on a self-guided tour with these giant devices that looked like old school cell phones. Each room or exhibit was numbered, and you typed in the number on your “cell phone” and got an explanation…or you could read the plaques, which pretty much gave you the same information.

We did a couple other museums and got to see a Botticelli, which was amazing. It was right there, just inches from my face. Completely exposed and out in the open with no glass protection or anything. I could have sneezed on it...although I'd probably have been tackled by the overzealous museum police. They literally followed us around through the rooms and exhibits to make sure we didn't do anything like that. I understand the need for them, but we were the only ones there, and the way they constantly kept within ten paces of us made the experience slightly uncomfortable.

The coolest thing we did was go out on the bridge (Le Pont d’Avignon). It’s a medieval bridge across the Rhône River. The right side was repeatedly washed away by floods, so after several reconstructions, they gave up on it and now it’s just half a bridge. Does anyone remember that song from high school French classes? Sur le pont d’Avignon, l’on y danse, l’on y danse? It’s just a silly little kid song, but it was stuck in my head all day and I knew that I had to go on the bridge or my day excursion wouldn’t have felt complete. And I did. I went on that bridge. I was sur le pont d’Avignon. 

After a full day of walking around I was exhausted and sunburned. We headed back to the train station only to discover our train was delayed by 40 minutes. We had a connection in Marseilles but assumed that we’d miss it since our first train was so late. I can’t decide if it was fortunate or unfortunate that our second one was also delayed and we managed to catch it. We rode for about an hour and then had to stop because of inclement weather. The tracks in Antibes (a city we were passing through) run right along the ocean and were flooded. So we had to wait for the tide to roll out or something.  2 hours later we finally start moving. And because we didn’t make it back to Nice until after 1:00am, none of the trams were still running, so we had to walk from the train station home in the rain.

Overall a fantastic day, minus the 7 hour return trip. Back to daily blogging! 

PJ Creeper

I don’t have much to say today because I spent quite a bit of time loafing around in my pjs, doing homework and facebook stalking people during my many study breaks. In my defense, I tried to go to this photography exhibit. It’s a requirement for one of my classes, but when I got there it was closed for some reason or another (Oy, the French…no one ever works here!)… so back to the pjs!

In between my Jezebel and facebook creeping, I actually did manage to hammer out a rough draft of a paper that’s due Monday. The problem is that it’s too long, so I’ll have to do some editing. Yes, apparently I am that student. You know that one…the suck up who writes TOO much.

Next serious task is to muddle through this book I have to read for the same class as the photography exhibit. Le parfum. If you’ve never heard of it, consider yourself lucky. If you’ve ever thought about reading it, don’t. It’s terrible. Basically it’s about this orphan in Paris and he gives everyone the creeps because he doesn’t have a scent. I don’t really understand why this is an issue. But the kid’s also a ginger, so that could have something to do with it. They keep commenting on his reddish hair, pale skin, and light eyes. Despite not giving off a smell, he actually has an extremely keen sense of smell. He ends up seeking out women who smell good and killing them. Creepy.

Day trip to Avignon tomorrow with Paymon. Our train leaves at 6:35am. It’s already 11:30 and this grandma typically requires a full 8 hours of rest. Avignon better be worth it!

The king is dead!

I just got home from Carnival. Tonight was the closing ceremony, and it was amazing! It’s also the first and last carnival activity I’ve taken part in, since I’ve been too cheap to fork out the money for the weekend parades. Fortunately the closing was free.

It started with everyone gathering on the beach in eager anticipation of the burning of the carnival king. At this point, they turn off the Macarena or whatever other crazy song was blasting on the beach and start playing something very dramatic to set the mood. The king gets put on some kind of stand, set on fire, and is tugged along behind a boat while everyone watches from the beach.

Tough to get a clear picture, but that's the king burning on the water.

After they killed the king, our attention was directed to the chateau on the hill. There was a short smoke and light show, which served as an intermission to prep the fireworks. 

Smoke and light show

The firework show was the most amazing I’ve ever seen. They were launched from several boats out on the water, so they were really spread out and seemed to take up the entire sky. They were perfectly choreographed to music ranging from “Pretty Woman” to Edith Piaf, to Madonna, to another of those dramatic good versus evil church choir sounding songs (you know, the kind they put in Disney movies during the fight with the bad guy).  Incredible.