Archives: May 2005
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Because I have this strange obsession with being REALLY early for flights (don't tell me I'm alone here), I have to keep this short.
1. Didn't fail my exam. In fact, I prepared two questions, praying that they would be on the exam. They were. Maybe not flying colors, but the colors were definetly sort of waving in the sky, if you will.
3. Immediately after I breathed a sigh of relief after the exam (literally... I was sort of surprised to hear it as I did it) I went to hand in my paper and book at the library. I finished that task, and felt free as a bird. Then I promptly fell down the stairs. Sort of ruined the moment.
4. Did anybody else notice that I totally skipped number 2?
5. It is VERY hot in Paris, and I am thinking it will be toasty in Italy. I have not had contact with my parents for a few days, so I am guessing the plan is just to meet up at the hotel? I have no idea. They're probably on board, though, so I guess I won't find out. It feels pretty funny to just fly to Italy, hoping that the people you are going to meet there are, well, there.
6. WonderBoy is really wonderful. I always get so sad when I have to leave him. After almost six years together, I think that's a blessing in disguise.
I spent all day yesterday reading and preparing for a ten-page paper I have to write by Friday. I am not as big of a slacker as it sounds: my parents called and offered me a mini get-away this weekend (meeting up with them in Italy - they just found out they were going to be there two weeks ago), which in turn meant I wouldn't be in Paris on the day the paper is really due (Monday). Therefore, the weekend I had been planning on slaving away on this paper suddenly turned into a weeekend in Italy, and thus the three days I had this week to study for my exam on Friday turned into the three days I have to write a paper, study, and do laundry. Guess which element is just going to have to wait?
So yesterday was reading/prepping day, and today was writing day. And MAN, did I write! I cranked out eight pages before I decided to take a coffee break.
When I came back from the café, I picked up right where I left, when suddenly...
POP!
Read more »I'm a little obsessed with Rizzo. I did everything on bike today. It's just as fast, if not faster, than the bus/metro. And I'm not even killing myself doing it. There are some pretty bad hills out there (hello avenue Marceau!), but what a great way to get in some exercise!
Plus, I'm really stressed out right now, and I know the physical activity is helping... it always does.
So I'm dorky enough to have marked out on a fuzzy map of Paris what I did today. From Montparnasse to Jussieu (blue line), from Jussieu to the Champs-Elysees (gray line), and from the Champs to the house again (green line). All in all, about an hour and a half of riding. A little less, in fact.
The most pleasant part was without a doubt riding along the bike lanes near the Seine. The least pleasant part was getting hit on by the man bicycling behind me. I dreaded every stoplight. Another unpleasant aspect of the day was when I went over a particularly tough bump and everything fell out of my basket. But I thoroughly enjoyed snarling at the tourists who almost ran me over... that felt very snobby and very Parisian, and therefore somehow very right.
So I have been working all day, comparing French neuter pronouns, but I decided to take a break. I watched two snippets from "The Daily Show" - because I have to get my fix. Then I noticed there was an advertisement for "Ellen," and I found myself wondering if SHE has snippets of her show online.
Boy, does she ever.
But here's a little heads up. If you have PMS, do NOT watch the clip about making a ten-year-old recovering cancer patient's dream come true. I cried all over my pronoun notes.
World, meet Rizzo. Rizzo, meet World.
Yes, it's a girl. And yes, she's named after the head of the Pink Ladies (there's pink writing on the side). I just hope she doesn't get accidently knocked up, too.
I had been hemming and hawing about buying a bike for at least a year, but I have spent the last two weeks going from used bike store to used bike store. Unfortunately, everything was over 250 euros, a price I couldnt justify. Finally, I went to Go Sport and saw a bike I liked, but at 179 euros. I didn't try it, opting to dream instead. The next day, however, I thought I should at least try it, to see if the dreaming was wortwhile. I went to a different Go Sport, one that is right next door to my house, and lo and behold, the bike was on sale there! For 139! I jumped on it and bought the damn thing... now I am completely in love.
So in love, in fact, that I way overdid the bike riding and now I have a mega sore ass. Still, what fun it is to ride through the deserted streets of Paris at night. It's a great way to get some exercise, and an added bonus is not even having to worry about making the last metro.
I only have two friends at school. I realize that's rather pathetic, but you have to understand the degree of bitchiness in my 20-something-member program.
My buddy, let's call him Ahmed, is a quiet, kind, considerate type who remembers to get papers for me when I am absent. He's Algerian, and we spend a lot of time exchanging French administration stories. Our friendship has rarely gone outside the doors of our classroom, but we are comfortable calling one another and grabbing coffee between classes from time to time.
Last February, Ahmed came to class a little more quiet than usual. He told me that he had recently found out that his mother had breast cancer, and that she had been hospitalized. They hadn't wanted to tell him about her health problems, so as not to distract him from his schoolwork, but he found out through an uncle.
I tried to comfort him by saying that I understand what it is like to be far away from home and worried about someone you love. He took comfort in my telling him that my own mother had had breast cancer a few years back, but now she is alive and well, five years down the road.
Last night, while griping about parts of our bodies that we don't like, I turned to my friends, grabbed my saddlebags, and said, "This is the problem for me. Right here. I'm pretty much fine with the rest, but I hate these!"
My French friend turned to me and said, "It just means you have to exercise more."
I turned to my other, American friend and said, "Ok, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. No what is your response?"
Without skipping a beat she said, "What saddlebags? You have nothing to worry about! Great legs."
The French friend blushed, walked away, and yelled back, "I can't believe I didn't respect the protocol!" in shame.
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When I showed up at work yesterday, Vinnie was putting away a Very Important Photographer's book. As he did so, he told me the story of when his friend, AnorexicGirl, was stopped on the street by said photographer. He wanted to take pictures of her, but she never went because she was afraid the guy just wanted to get her nekkid. Of course, she later realized he was the real deal, and she regretted not becoming famous via his photos.
When Vinnie told me the story, I relayed my own about being stopped on the street that very morning by the man who wanted to paint my cheekbones. I mentioned that I, too, wouldn't do it either, for the same reasons AnorexicGirl had.
Vinnie turned to me and said, "Yeah, but back then AnorexicGirl was so beautiful. I mean, it would make sense that someone would stop her and ask to take photos of her." His tone insinuated that her situation was different than mine, and that obviously in my case the guy was just some scammer.
I said, "Vinnie, what the hell? You just straight out said I'm not beautiful enough for somebody really to want to paint me."
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I am addicted to strawberry-banana smoothies. I just feel so damn good after I drink one.
Feeling a little grody from a weird-night's sleep (I went to Berlin in my dreams) and a shit-I'm-late wake-up disaster, I hurried along to my appointment to take care of (yes, even more) French paperwork.
I wasn't really paying attention to anything except the time quickly ticking away, when a man walking past me suddenly stopped, turned around, and said, "Excuse me..."
Me: Yes?
Him: You just walked by me and I wanted to know if you ever do any modelling.
Me: (laughs in his face)
Him: I guess that means no?
Me: (Still laughing) Yes. That means no.
Him: Well, I'm a painter, and I am interested in your cheekbones - I look for with really defined, angular faces as subjects. Are you an artist of some sort?
Me: (laughing again) No. I study linguistics.
Him: Oh... wow, that's great. Ok, well, I don't know if you actually would ever feel comfortable modelling for me, but I'm serious about the offer. I'll give you my telephone and you can call me if you're interested.
Me: Ok. But I'm in a big hurry so we'll have to make it quick.
Him: Oh, I'm sorry! Ok, here... here's my number (hands me a paper that he just wrote it on) and, well, are you familiar with the neighborhood at all?
Me: Not really. I just come here to do paperwork on rue Miollis.
Him: Oh! Right around the corner. Ok, my atelier is just three blocks from here, on avenue de Breteuil... hopefully you'd be willing to come by sometime during the week?
We exchanged a few more words and that was that. I actually have no doubt in my mind that the guy is legit; I don't think it was a complicated way to pick up on me or anything. He seemed genuine and very professional. I also don't think he was looking for nude work, but one can never know. Regardless, I'm obviously not going to call him, because I am too self-concious to sit and have someone paint me for hours on end.
Still, nice to be stopped by an artist interested in your cheekbones, anyway.
Today was my last day at the high school. It was incredibly anticlimatic. I had a few really great students (who have been amongst my favorites since day one) bid me farewell, but otherwise, not much to report. I didn't even say goodbye to anybody while in the teachers' lounge - I just gathered up my stuff quietly and left. I doubt anymore than five of them (other than the English teachers) knew my name anyway. Sad, really.
I thought I was going to feel a huge wave of relief, or maybe even some sappy sort of feelings towards the school, but nope. Not really. With noted exceptions, everyone seemed very indifferent to my departure, which of course made me feel the same way. There are a few students I would gladly teach again, but overall the entire experience this year was neutral. Last year was positive and fun, whereas this year was not good or bad, it just was. A job, with a paycheck, and nothing more.
It could just be that I am exhausted, operating on two hours of sleep. I need to get a little nap in before I head out to work again at the bookstore this evening.
Favorite Image of the Day:
A bum, middle-aged, attempting to make balloon animals out of a condom found on the ground.
I am back from Prague and thus back to the normal life. Mom left this morning, which was sad for two reasons. One, it meant that mom would be gone, and two, it meant that I have to start doing things other than sip coffee and work on crossword puzzles.
The madre and I agree on Prague: it's a beautiful city that has been completely and totally hijacked by tourists. Shame, really, but I suppose that's what happens to precious things these days. With a little advertising, Prague has made itself a tourist haven (and I am sure quite a profit), which is good for the city but bad for its charm
Mom summed it up by saying, "Prague is sort of like a cold, rainy Florence." And although that's a bit simplistic (ya ya, different architure, different culture, different people...), there's some truth to it. The bridge is the main attraction. The buildings are cool. The place is swarming with tourits. And puppets are on sale everywhere.
I think Prague is worth a visit, but not a long one. We felt our two full days there were the perfect amount of time, although had the weather been a bit nicer I am sure we could have whiled away another day just sitting on a cafe terrace, guessing the nationalities of passersby. But I wouldn't go out of the 2-3 day range. There are only so many strangers' home videos you want to be a part of, you know?
Also, another tip: if you're going to Prague and you want to visit the Jewish neighborhood, don't save that little excursion for a Saturday.
The real deal of this story is that I enjoy hanging out with my mom, no matter where we are. I feel very lucky to be able to say that. And that's the great part about the trip, outside of discovering a new, beautiful city. We giggled a lot, and we bitched about the rain, too. We talked about some serious things, and some not-so-serious things, and we walked in silence, and we bitched about the rain again, and we did another crossword, and we rested our feet when needed, and we poked fun at one another, and we occasionally got on one another's nerves, and we miraculously avoided going on a massive shopping spree, and we ate good food, and we spent a fast and fabulous week together.
About Czech food: I like cabbage.
Anyway. Usually after a visitor goes, I feel a sort of relief, as in, "Oh that was fun but it's nice to be able to go back to my normal life." But you know what? I would really like it if my mom always lived down the street from me. And maybe my dad, as well, because I love him and how many times he called "just to say hi" a whole lot, too. It's great to be 25 years old and to want your parents to live a block away.
(Their solution to that would be to move back to Michigan. I suggested they buy a house in France. Obviously, we're in a bit of a bind here.)
And, finally, totally unrelated: my mom brought me lots of knitting stuff - well, enough for two projects anyway. It is going to be a knitting extravaganza here! Also, I have several books to read, some courtesy of mom, some from my recent trip to the English bookstore. And? My tortilla press came in mom's bag, too, so tortilla experimentation will be had in my kitchen.
In other words, I feel fully prepared to start working on my thesis now.
Mom and I are off to Prague now. She came with yarn for me, so this means that I will be knitting on the train to the airport, knitting while waiting for the plane, and knitting on the plane. I think I will put down the needles for the first few minutes in Prague, but I am taking it as a good sign that I am already looking forward to the transit part. I hope the city is as pretty as everyone says... we've got rain on the forecast for the weekend but, as mom said, "Nothing can stop us."
I technically have work to do, and I don't know when I am going to find the time to do it, so I'm not bringing any of it with me. Just my knitting needles and some books, and good walking shoes to get to know Prague in. It will be great to take a mini-break.
You know, everybody says that Tori Amos has gone down. Or everybody in my circle says so, anyway. For them, it was like, Oh, Little Earthquakes was great, but since then... and then then they shrug their shoulders and look around the room, searching for the Tori they loved.
But I've been oddly faithful throughout her career, not exactly wanting to openly declare myself as a Tori Amos fan. It's the sore spot in my otherwise hip-hop-dominated collection, if you will. "Well, I really like Mos Def, and I've always been a Tribe fan, Tori Amos is cool, and I have every album The Roots have ever made." You see? It just doesn't work.
Anyway. Via Rhapsody I have again had my music ignorance pointed out to me, having totally missed the boat on Tori's latest CD. I've been listening to it all night, mainly because I discovered Suzi Suh via NPR and Tori made for a nice segue from the smoky, female voice thing Suzie has going on.
And you know what? I think I actually prefer The New Tori to The Original Tori. Less gut-wrenching, screaming, piano-bench-humping (she totally does it) and more interesting combinations of different voices and floaty, life-is-weird-but-happy stuff that makes me think of driving the car down Highway One on a day when it's too cold to have the windows open, but you do anyway because the air smells so great right by the ocean.
The end of the story is that I'm a fan. Through and through. There. Said it. Done. My one criticism would involve "Witness." It's been taken off my Rhapsody list. Otherwise, great album.
I got in a bit of a tif(f?) with The Boy today. I asked, "I'm going to the store, do you need anything?" and, apparently, he's tired of that question. He got outrageously mad at me for asking him, and I got equally so for how mad he got. I said, "Already I do your shopping for you, don't get pissed when I ask you what you need!" His reasoning? I should just know, and not have to ask.
I still maintain that he was wrong to be so pissy, but I think he was just feeling crabby and needed someone to take it out on.
Anyway, as all conflict makes me cry (and usually slam doors), I left the house - to do the laundry, no less - in tears. Walking up the street feeling sorry for myself, I finally managed to stop crying by the time I got to the laundromat. I hate crying in public. I'm not a huge fan of doing it in private, either.
I dumped off the clothes and put the coins in the slot, then headed down the street to where the madre is going to stay during her time in Paris. I needed to change her reservation.
I felt crummy and gross and a little hateful towards the world. Then I walked into the lobby, took one look around me, and walked right back out.
Dressed in my laundry day clothes, with my tear-stained face and my runny nose, I just couldn't confront what was happening in the hotel lobby:
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