Archives: September 2004
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I'm a little concerned because I just read in a New York Times article that overseas voters are going to have a hard time getting their ballots. I asked for mine over a month ago and have not yet received it. This election is too important for states to just up and forget about us overseas voters. What a mess. I smell a conspiracy.
Meanwhile, I listened to an interview last night with Bobby Kennedy on the Al Franken Show (while knitting). The conversation freaked me out about fish forever. I might just have to go buy Kennedy's book. It is astounding how little we know about environmental protection/destruction... I knew that mercury levels were a problem but not to this extreme. There's a militant environmentalist in me somewhere, I can fell it.
And finally, last night, I watched a show on C-Span that focused on the debating styles of Bush vs those of Kerry. It was an interesting show - I thought James Fallows was very well-spoken and did an incredible job of being objective. At any rate, the woman running the show asked for callers to call in with suggestions on how Bush/Kerry could increase their chances of "winning" the "debate" this Thursday. It struck me that all of the Bush supporters called in saying, "Well, Bush just needs to be himself. He's so warm and charming..." (gush, gush, gush) whereas the Kerry supporters would call in saying, "He needs to talk about Iraq" or "He needs to talk about the economy" and so on. Kerry supporters were interested in policy, Bush supporters were interested in personality. Fallows pointed this out a bit more diplomatically, but I wonder if Bush supporters know anything about the issues.
Anyway. The semi-broken foot and the new love of knitting has allowed to catch up on politics before school starts again next week. I can't believe I spend my vacation time knitting on listening to talk radio. I must be getting old. Proof: I'm turning 25 next week.
Edit: You can read an article on the Bush and Kerry face-off by James Fallows here. It's pretty good. The thingie on C-Span was interesting because of the visuals, but the article is very thorough and interesting.
Jesus, the drinking. I'm awake now, and luckily I don't feel hungover. I just feel the throbbing pain in my right foot from when I fell and missed my chair.
Ok, so I am absolutely the most social person on the planet when I drink. I had forgotten this because I don't really drink all that much anymore. My sister says that most people - except some people with drinking problems or bad reactions to alcohol - just become more exagerrated versions of themselves when they drink. That means that I am the most outgoing, chatty, friendly, laughing person ever. I made seven new friends last night. Seven! I don't even think I have seven friends not from the bar.
ANYway, I'm really upset about my throbbing foot because I don't think I can do any yoga in this condition. If the swelling doesn't go down by tomorrow, I think I'm going to have to skip class. Kathypath fell down the stairs yesterday (not drinking-related) and fell on her elbow, so I guess we're in the same boat.
So I was thinking we were going to have a big party next week but now I'm thinking that that's way too expensive. I invited my seven new friends to the party (I also learned Polish) but without info on where or when. Lordy. I think it would be fun to do the party but I just don't think I'm built for these kinds of events anymore. Still, maybe I'll have to find an excuse to hang out with the two Pierres again. They were nice boys.
I am drunk as a skunk. I hate drinking to this extent, and I did not realize how drunk I was until I walked in the door to my house. I am afraid to get into my own bed because I do not want to watch he world spin around me. Honestly, watching the screen is not much better.
I tried to finish my New Yorker article on Al Gore but I am having a hard time. I am drinking tons of water while trying to ignore the shivers because it is almost winter here.
Tonight was nice, even despite the excessive drinking. I met two really nice boys. They are studying to be physical therapists, and they offered me some help with my elbow. I am thinking of having a big party with a bunch of people next week. I am tired of everybody being seperated and disjointed. In my ideal world, we would all get togeter in one big fiesta and boogie down. Hopefully next week that will happen. I will invite my new friends Pierre and Pierre Orléans (that is so not his name, I can't even fucking remember it!) next week. Jesus Christ. I can't believe people actually enjoy the feeling of being drunk. I have made so many damn typos and have had to go back to change them seven hundred times. And I don't even think I am all that drunk. Just really drunk for myself, which is maybe minimally drunk compared to most people.
I have had three cups of water and am determined to have a forth before cashing in for the night. I am so goddamn tired but I know I'll regret it tomorrow if I go to sleep in this condition.
What a strange and interesting night. I missed my stool at some point and fell flat on my ass. The strangest part was that I wasn't even very drunk at that point, but thirty minutes prior I had been talking about that one time where the stool just wasn't where I had thought it would be in another bar. It was some sort of Murphy's Law thing: if the stool could be placed in the wrong place, it would be.
Kathypath and I had a long dinner convo this evening. It left me confused, but feeling better. Then I fell on my ass, and hurt my foot. Kathy hurt her elbow falling down the stairs on the bookstore. Overall, we were quite a mess.
But I have five new people to invite to my 'can't the world just get along' party next week.
Oh, and before all the drinking chaos began this evening, I learned to knit the afternoon. You guys... I can actually do the knitting and pearling! It's a big milestone for me. I realized that I had been doing a certain step wrong when I tried to learn before, hence all the problems. Now, eventhing is crystal (or at least sea-blue) clear. Tomorrow we are going to hang out and watch ER together while we knit.
In another coupla years, we'll be talking about our grandkids, but I'm ready. Bring the knitting on!!
My clothes arrived from Vietnam today! I'm flipping my shit. Winter coat, spring jacket, knee-length skirt, ankle-length skirt, tank top, strappy top, pants, and embroidered dress. Sneakers, sandals, and heels.
All. Tailor. Made.
I just did a fashion show for The Boy. He reacts poorly to anything I buy because, you know, there are people starving in the world and I could do better things with my money. But this time he didn't even give me the lecture! He just said, "No way! That coat only cost $14! But it's great!"
This is a glorious, glorious day. Tomorrow, when I get to initiate some of the new clothes, might just be even better. I'm going knitting in my new pants. Yes sir, I am.
My Dad organizes tickets for me to come home every Christmas. Most years, I fly back to France on Dec 30, arriving the morning of Dec 31. The Boy and I have managed to flee Paris after my arrival by taking trains to Brussels and Amsterdam each year.
This year, I found out that I'll be flying back on Dec 31, arriving in France on Jan 1. It's not a big deal, but I felt a little bad about leaving the Boy all alone with nobody to kiss (I hope!) on New Year's Eve.
When I went in to the living room to tell him, he said, "What? I thought we had a year!"
Confused, I looked at him like he was crazy and he repeated, "You told me that was in a year."
"What are you talking about? I said I'll come back to France on New Year's Day, so we won't get to do New Year's together," I said, trying to clarify in some way or another.
Suddenly he understood. "Ohhhh..." he said, "I thought you were leaving for good."
Beat.
"No," I answered. "That is in a year. I'm just talking about going home for Christmas."
Beat again.
"When you put it that way," I said, "New Year's seems very trivial."
"Yeah," he answered, sort of to himself. "I've started thinking about your leaving a lot... It makes me so unhappy."
My eyes had already started brimming with tears, but I just looked away. Then we hugged and he said, "Hey, can you help me with this? There's something I don't understand..." and he went on to show me some internet problem.
But you know? For some reason that was very touching. He has never said anything that emotional to me, ever.
On another note, do you think they'll hand out champagne on the New Year's Eve flight? What a strange way to bring in 2005.
Kathypath and I sat in a small bar on a corner near the Centre Pompidou. We talked about everything and nothing - vegetarianism, roomates, and movies - and the people across from us laughed too loudly. The walls were covered with magazine cut-outs, some old, some new, and a woman's voice sang below in a bluesy, melancholy sort of way.
I baptized the place with the water from my Evian bottle and declared it out new hangout. She just laughed in the way she does, and I knew she knew I meant it. We had just outlined the week's worth of movies we're going to see (because we got an unlimited card for the rest of the year!) and I'm sure we'll be back there before the weekend.
As we left, the bartender said, "See you soon!" and I told her that means he knew about our baptism.
We said au revoir, I walked to the metro, and got on board. We went through the order of stations on the line four - I could know when to get off the train blindfolded. The smells, the sounds, the doors opening. I saw the bum I know at St Germain des Près, I recognized the fruit-seller on his way home on the platform opposite. I know the line four like I know my own feet.
Sometimes I sigh. Paris is so beautiful and I've been so priveledged to live here so long. Tonight was one of those nights where everything was perfect, and so irresistably French in that mysteriously romantic way of this country. The air was cool, enough for a scarf, but not enough for a jacket. The French are fond of scarves, and I've grown to like them myself. I'll wear them wherever I may find myself in the future.
Kathypath had asked me from across the table in the cramped bar, "Do you think there are certain behaviors that we've learned here that we'll take home with us?"
"Yeah," I said, a little sad. Hundreds of them came to mind. "I'm sure."
"Well," she said, "I was referring sort of to the food. We eat less here. Do you think we could keep that up if we went back home?"
"Definetly not," I said.
And then I wondered how well the me that I know now will transfer to the me I will be back Stateside. Will I still feel confident or will it all disappear? Will I be as happy? Will I wish I had never left Paris? It's all just speculation, but a curious thought nonetheless. For right now, I just know I won't eat ribs or cheesesteaks. I'll stay myself when it comes to food.
I was going through the battle of where I want to move "back" to. Wherever I go, it's going to be new and different because I'm not going back to the three US cities I have already lived in.
So I think I've got the choices narrowed down. And then I started fantasizing about furnishing my non-existent home, with each of the vibes of my respected locations taken into account. I've been going back and forth between these choices for days, and I'm almost to the point of just drawing a city out of a hat.
But then I came up with the perfect solution. I needed to narrow the field. And what would determine where I would want to live more than this one, simple question?
Read more »I'm feeling a little scared about my future. You know what the best advice I can give someone who is afraid of their future might be?
Don't look to the internet for answers.
I know, it might seem simple. But really, folks, you might be able to find out about admission requirements or how to buy a used car, but you can't find out what your heart really wants. You have to go to an astologer for that.
For reals, though, I'm tired of wondering, wondering, wondering. I feel like I've been wondering for years. Maybe it's more like I've been wandering for years. I just don't know where to put my feet down next, and I fear that if I make the "wrong" decision, I'll get stuck somewhere I hate. So, I turn to the internet because I believe that if I do enough research, I'll know a thing or two more about whatever the hell it is I get myself into. The real truth is that whatever I do, I'm going in head first.
I can't discuss the details because the whole plan could fail miserably and I could bellyflop hard core, and boy would that be embarassing.
In the meantime, I'm going to tell this site's faithful readers that a thought crossed my mind today: odessastreet won't really be an appropriate name once I no longer actually live on Odessa Street. It would just be too sad, pretending I haven't left my precious Parisian niche. I love my little street so much. Just today I ordered pizzas from the guys downstairs and they all said, "Oh, Mademoiselle! I know you! You haven't been in here in so long!" I laughed and another said, "It's ok though, because you walk by every day..." I love those encounters, and I know I'll have them elsewhere, but my street is magnificent. I am absurdly attached.
So the site name is going to have change (along with everything else in my life) just to spare me the heartache. But that will be sometime in the distant (but dangerously close) future. I have a name all picked out and everything, like my little internet baby.
Today is the Technoparade in Paris. All parades come traipsing through my neighborhood, as do all protests and Take Back the Night-esque gatherings.
Usually I don't mind these types of things, but the Technoparade is so obnoxious. Maybe if I liked techno, I'd find the whole thing really fun and exciting. But for right now, the parade has come to a full stop half a block away from my bedroom window, and I can feel the bass in my floor. It has been bam-bam-bamming for the last hour and a half. They just finished - no joke - a techno rendition of Rod Stewart's "If You Want My Body (and You Think I'm Sexy)" song.
My plan for the day was to drink tea, finish an essay, go to the natural foods store, and finish Memoirs of a Geisha. A techno backdrop is too bright and colorful for what was going to be a more beige-toned day. It just feels wrong to sit and casually sip chamomile while your entire body is thudding from the hammering sounds in your ears.
I just don't get techno, and I don't think today is going to push me any closer towards understanding.
The Boy has been living in France for almost 15 years. He saw his mother for the first time since leaving Congo (at the age of 20) about two years ago (at the age of 33). They recognized one another immediately at the Brussels airport. She was half her normal weight, but he told me later that he had been expecting worse: her trip over to Europe was an emergency attempt to save her life from the weight loss, fainting, and fevers she was suffering as a result of AIDS. Luckily, it has been a success and she is now both pleasantly plump and a working woman. She is a perfect example of someone living with AIDS (active in the church, working part-time, laughing a lot) instead of dying of it.
Today marked the second installment in what is sure to be a story that unravels year by year. The Boy managed to get his youngest brother enrolled in a school here, and at 2 am last night we received the call that he had received a visa and was on a plane heading towards Paris. The plane was to land at 6 am. Shocked and excited, The Boy went to sleep in the wee hours of the morning and slept through the alarm. I woke up at 7 and said, "What are you still doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at the airport?"
He freaked out, but I think he was just nervous. His brother - whom he hadn't seen since his brother was a little kid - was now arriving in Paris. He's now 22, a grown man that The Boy later said he didn't even recognize at first glance.
His brother, a sweeter, gentler, taller, thinner version of The Boy, came to France with only one suitcase. When I saw it in my living room this morning, I asked, "Is that all you brought?"
"Oh, well, I just came like this," he said, motioning to his clothes. "The suitcase is for maman." He essentially moved to France today, with only the clothes on his back. We promptly went out and bought him a warm coat and pants. Obviously, Paris' climate is not the same as in the northern Congolese jungle.
I like meeting The Boy's family, even in these most extraordinary of circumstances. I am forever in awe of what he has managed to do, how he has managed to bring his family together since his father passed away and disaster has struck. They are a mighty bunch, and I admire his effort to keep them together despite time and difference. "I am the head of the family now," he tells me matter-of-factly. "That means I have to do my best."
When I think of the incredible duty he has - and fulfills - towards his family, I get tears in my eyes. He can be a moody little bastard, but he's one of the most honorable and amazing people I have ever met, a true pillar of strength. Right now, he is sleeping in the bed next to me (with Tracy Chapman as a lullaby) after spending over 24 hours arranging and meeting and helping with his brother's adjustment. The Boy is such a turbulant person, so full of pressure and worry and fear, that when I see him sleeping like this I can only hope he is having soft, pleasant dreams. He deserves a few moments of peace more than any other soul I know. My only wish is that he enjoy today's small victory for at least a day or two before he tries to tackle the next problem.
I just discovered that one can watch clips of The Daily Show on Comedy Central's website. I don't know why I didn't know this before.
And it's funny. But, I got sad watching Clinton's interview with John Stewart. Things have gone so far, and I'm sad for our country. I'm sad because this is a bum election, and people have swung so low, and I don't exactly care for either candidate, but damnit, I REALLY don't care for one of them, and we're in some deep shit here, guys.
I miss the Clinton years. Things felt better then, didn't they?
Sometimes I get frustrated because I don't have access to good media here. In the end, it's probably a good thing. I get upset so easily about everything, and maybe it means I should just pay attention to the basics. But you know what? Just doing that isn't good enough, because I'm pretty sure that's what half of America is doing. And look at who half of America thinks is fit for office.
I'm down. It's Saturday night and the United States is falling apart. Same day, different time, growing problem.
You wouldn't know it to read the crap I put up here, but I spend years editing stuff I care about. I think I overdo it, because whatever I do hand in has to be golden.
Today I brought my essay to the neighborhood cafe for Beccarah to give some feedback on. She was great about it, until the sun went behind the clouds and the rain came pouring down. It was hilarious, really, out on the porch with all the Frenchies. We gave the rain cloud about thirty seconds to see if it would just blow over. And it did... right over onto the cafe terrace and across my coffee and essay. So we ran inside and gave up the battle for the perfect sentence. God was telling me that I needed to just let. it. go.
For now.
Here's the thing: I know when words feel right. I have a few sentences that just feel ON. But there's a huge part that feels all mushy and wrong. I've done the taking-a-few-days-off technique, and not looked at it for awhile. I've tried meditating on it and coming back to it. I've tried rewriting and rearranging. The damn sentences just aren't working.
But they will.
The lamest part is that this essay doesn't really matter. I just want it to be perfect for perfection's sake.
Or I just don't feel like studying for the GRE anymore.
I seem to be losing my hair. I am on the verge of getting worried enough about it to go see someone. Two people have commented on how much hair I had on my shirt, and I have found tons of my hair on my desk/bed/etc. I have never lost hair in my life. I have no idea what is going on.
At first I thought it could be stress-related. But besides the fact that I just took a practice GRE and got a 900 (oops), I don't have much to be stressing over at the moment. I doubt it could be food-related, either. I've been eating really well and staying pretty healthy. My shampoo hasn't changed. Nuthin'.
I don't know.
Meanwhile, could somebody remind me how square roots and exponents work again? I seem to have forgotten in the eight years since I was last enrolled in a math class. Further proof that if I haven't used the damn stuff in my normal life, I didn't need to learn it in the first place and I don't need to re-learn it for the GRE.
I just talked to a good friend whom I haven't spoken with in months. She is almost eight months pregnant, and thus is going to have the baby very soon. I hung up with her, went to yoga, and came back to check my email. A good friend of mine whom I haven't spoken to in few weeks recently got a new job. She says she likes the job but she misses her baby boy while she's away so much it physically hurts. Then I went to Dooce's site, and all she talked about was her baby. Then I went to Yvonne's, and she talked about her baby.
What the hell is going on here?
I think I need to start corresponding with people my age. Preferably people my age who are still living with their parents. None of this I-got-my-master's-and-am-just-chillin-at-my-'rents stuff, either. You have to be going nowhere and have never left your parents. Then I'll feel all right about where I'm going with my life.
I did, however, line up all but one of my recommendations for next year. I've got a sneaky, sneaky plan, but I hope it will work out. By God, if it works out, I am going to flip my shit.
You know what else I really want in life? A Honda Civic Hybrid. Is that too much to ask?
I realized today (well, I calculated today, but realized long ago) that if I move back to the States, I am going to be seriously indebted to my parents for awhile. There is just no way I can function without a computer, and I am not going to have the money to buy myself both a computer and a bed. And something to eat. I might be able to scrounge up enough cash for like, a tatami mat or something. That's bed-like enough for me. But I'll need all that other shit too: new bank account, new phone, deposit on an overpriced place to live.
So the computer thing will have to be done by the parents, somehow, until I can pay them back. I always try and ask for these things as combined birthday/Christmas/President's Day presents, but Mom always goes to the Limited anyway, just to have something to wrap. I really would understand if I had no presents under the tree this year, if it meant that come summer I would have a shiny new laptop.
I'd really like to start saving now. It would be nice if the people I supposedly work for could tell me if I have a job or not.
Even though I slept 'til noon (what are vacations for?), I was ON IT today. I love days when you get mad shit done. They feel so much better, in the end, than days when you just sit on your ass in front of the tv. Or in my case, in front of the window.
Anyway, I signed up for the GRE a few days ago, and I actually reviewed today. For maybe two hours. Then I installed the software that came with the book, and it freaked out my computer, so I had to go buy a new mouse and rearrange some stuff. Then I cleaned up my kitchen: I moved everything out of the way and scrubbed the floor, threw out anything I hadn't touched in a year (lots of oils and some teas, mainly) and then I dusted off all the wine bottles. It spahhhkles now.
Then I came into the bedroom and wrote an essay for an application. It's too long, but I had a good time writing it. I think I have to write a different one, though. The question is:
What obstacles have you had to overcome in recent years in order to achieve academic or professional success?
I'm not joking when I say I actually wrote about learning how to talk back to secretaries. That was my topic. And although I actually really like the essay, I realized it might not be wise to hand that in to admissions decision types. It's a pretty hilarious essay, though. I don't want to have to write some touching shit about overcoming cultural differences, even though talking back to the secretaries is an example of that. My whole point is that in America we learn that niceness gets you places, and that insisting with kindness is the way to go. In France, you just have to be a bitch to get anything you want. That is very difficult for me, and the essay was about learning to be a bitch despite my natural resistance. I didn't use those words, of course, but that was the basic idea.
It just doesn't seem like the type of thing one should write about, in the end.
You guys know me (sort of). What should I write about?
It's 4 am on a Friday night/Saturday morning and I'm on a bit of a political high. I decided to catch up on my convention coverage (both Dems and Repugs) because that's my idea of a fun Friday night.
The Boy and I went out to dinner this evening, and then I ran home to settle into my chair. I have not moved. I was just listening to Air America while searching through Daily Kos (I should really diversify my sources), and here are my thoughts:
1. I love Barack Obama. I know I am not alone, but I have never seen him speak before so this is all new to me. The written word just doesn't get across how nice his smile is. Now, I'm not usually one for overally patriotic discourse, but damn if I didn't get some goose bumps when he mentioned the skinny black kid with a dream during his speech. Kinda makes me want to move to Illinois. (But not really. Been there, done that.)
2. Janeane Garafolo is so funny. She just said, "I guarantee that where there are smoothies there are sandwhich wraps, and where there are wraps there are smoothes. AND, where there are men with khakis on business trips, there are Tom Clancy novels."
3. I would pay $20 to see a video of that Crosstalk interview between Zell Miller and Chris Matthews.*** I read the transcript and the words are wild enough, but I would love to have the accompanying visuals. Yes, I know I'm behind, but I told you I was playing catch up. Just work with me here, mmmkay?
***Update: Just found the interview. For free. It's like Christmas: check it out. God, he's wacky. But you gotta watch his RNC speech first (find it on c-span).
Why do all yoga nuts talk in the same way? I signed up for classes today and even though the girls were speaking French, they still had the same lilt in their speech that American yoga types have. What is that? Does yoga actually affect speech, or is it a lifestyle thing, or what?
The women were really nice, but sometimes I'm thrown by the creation of atmosphere in some of these yoga places. They had a mini rock formation with a mini waterfall in the corner, meditative music in the background, and mellow yellow walls. I felt like I had to whisper, or at least employ the yoga accent myself. The place fit the description of your typical yoga joint. Some day, I want to go to a yoga place that is in some huge-ass garage, with cement floors and rap music on in the background. In my dream yoga center, people do the poses in high top sneakers, and a 40oz serves as the after-class treat each session (instead of the vegan brownies available at my yoga joint). The instructors can say "motherfucker" every other sentence and they'll start of classes by saying, "Get on the floor and meditate, suckas!"
While I'm still waiting for my style of yoga center, I went ahead and bought my little purple mat that I will cart around with me on the metro. Gotta settle in somewhere, and I don't have the cash to start up my dream yoga land. You know, I didn't even know they fabricated special yoga-mat-carrying bags. The whole time I was in Santa Cruz, I sort of made fun of these yoga types, but I'm becoming one before my very eyes, because I actually caught myself considering investing in one. Then I said, "Slow down, tiger. No buying the bag until you can touch your toes." So I've got goals and the incentive to make them happen, yo.
Read more »I woke up this morning (er... um... afternoon) to the phone ringing. It was one of the profs at the high school I worked at all last year, wondering why they just received word that I wouldn't be coming back. Apparently, somebody else was given my position.
I had feared this would happen. Last June, I wrote the school district and asked about the rumor I had heard that renewing assistants wouldn't get their jobs back. The woman in charge of the assistantship program wrote me back saying, essentially, that, yeah, my job was probably given to someone else, but that I shouldn't ask her about it anymore because she's no longer in charge. She also said the system had changed and incoming assistants are now given priority over returning ones.
I wrote back once more, screaming "Bloody injustice!" and requesting that they reconsider. Is it at all logical to give a job that I've been working for a year - where I know and get along with the students and coworkers - to somebody else? My coworkers also requested that I be given the same assignment, and they were upset today when they found out I wouldn't be coming back.
This sucks. Donkey balls.
I have yet to hear if I have even been placed somewhere else. It's amazing that they don't think to tell us these kinds of things. What am I supposed to do? Just wait around and hope they find me a position? Or should I just start applying to other jobs elsewhere?
If I'm going to be working for assholes, I think I'd rather go with the latter. I'll miss my coworkers and a fair number of my students (I told so many of them that I would be back this fall!), but what's done is done. If it's not coming across on the screen, I'm extremely pissed. I was counting on this job, I lost it through no fault of my own, and now I have no way of getting it back.
Hopefully I'll find a better-paying, closer-to-home job that I'm happy with. In the meantime, I'm going to stew a bit.
