Archives: June 2005
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I got up extra early this morning, and decided to waste away my Sunday morn (before going to work) by watching the much-discussed clip of Tom Cruise talking with Matt Lauer about psychiatry (mini-transcript here, full clip can be watched on MSN).
Essentially, Tom discussed his opinion that nobody should ever use psychiatric drugs to treat, well, psychiatric problems. He even went so far as to say that "chemical imbalance" does not exist. He's taking a lot of heat for saying that Brooke Shields shouldn't have used drugs to help her post-partum depression (something for which she has gotten a lot of approval for coming out and talking about). The response from much of the female community is that once he grows another human being in his body and then pushes it out his crotch, then we might want to listen to what he has to say on the issue. In the meantime, shut the hell up.
What I found so appalling in the interview is not so much what he said (which was just completely ridiculous and embarrassing), but how he said it. He continuously said to Lauer, "You gotta understand" or "You don't understand" or other variations on that theme. How belittling. Or another particularly beautiful exchange (on Brooke's use of drugs for her depression, again):
Read more »My friend/boss - let's call him Vegas - is one helluva character. I feel as if he was just lifted right out of a Fear-and-Loathing-esque novel and thrown into my life. God love him, he's the most disorganized business owner I have ever met. He also can't keep himself from giving customers unasked-for discounts, a habit I have yet to comprehend. His hair is wiry and wild and he forgets to zip his fly at least twice a day, but he is also wicked sharp and has a memory that has impressed me on more than one occasion (and I'm MemoryGirl, so that's something). Plus, he just happens to be one of the kindest and most thoughtful men I have ever met.
The one thing he really, really cannot do, however, is deal with the computer. He's been nabbed by that strange phobia that is common in members of any given pre-MTV generation, even though all of his friends are twenty years his junior (and he has more energy than any of us, to boot).
So, for all things computer-related, he turns to Kathypath or myself. We are very cool and understanding about this, mainly because it takes us two seconds - as compared to his two hours - to do whatever task he has asked of us, and office time gives us a breather from the clients and phones. I also like getting to see the inner-workings of the store; what I refer to in my own imaginary world as the real "guts" of the business to give it a sort of intense, cutting edge. And of course, there's that whole computers-are-fun thing that I can't seem to shake. So overall, I don't mind doing the online/computer tasks.
Today, however, I spent some quality time with Vegas, trying to work out how to set up an online account for some things he is selling, well, online. We had to respond to some emails and what have you, enter some numbers, change some passwords...
Read more »I come from a dorky family. When my books for my thesis arrived today, I was very excited. First amongst them? Mathematics and Humor. It's hilarious in ways only people who think logic-gone-wild has the potential to be funny. And? Oh yes, I am one of those people. I kept chuckling to myself on the café terrace today - because did you see how he set up the incongruity? WACKY! Oh, the good times I will have with this book! I'm considering buying a copy for every memeber of my nerdy family for Christmas. If every book I had to read for my paper were this amusing, I'd be done next week...
It's hot! hot! hot! and I'm finished with exams. This last one was a real doozy (everybody agreed on this during post-exam chat time) but it's over and I feel light and breezy.
Silly, really, because I still have TONS of work left to do for my degree, but at least the sitting-in-hot-classrooms part of it is over. The only regret I have at this point is that the Sorbonne still hasn't posted our scores for the exams we took two weeks ago. I don't think I will be going back to look (a nice three-month break from the building will do me good, eh?) but I have relegated the task to my classmates.
Today is the Fête de la Musique in Paris, and biking back from school this evening, I passed by several oddly-assorted bands playing mediocre music at high volumes. Everybody in town seems to adore this city-wide party, but I tend to pass on it. I don't know why I dislike it so much -- I think it is the same problem as New Year's: everybody is out but nobody really knows where to go. I also have a serious issue with hearing different bands/music styles at once. The clashing makes me dizzy and it always has. Still, it was nice taking my time coming home, and my usual walk to the grocery was accompanied by a terrible all-women brass band that was, despite a lack of skill, REALLY getting funky with it. The cutest part? Catching the eye of a little kid in a stroller who was dancing to the music without a beat.
Anyway, today has been lovely. My sister called me on a drunk-and-dial mission, and we giggled for an hour straight. I wasn't the drunk one, of course, but I still chuckled quite a bit. Then I got up, stopped by the local café with The Boy for awhile, and looked over my notes. Biked to school, took the exams, felt great. Am now sitting in the breeze in my house, thinking about how good my salad is going to taste when the sun goes down.
I work all day tomorrow but I think I am going to spend my first "real" day of summer just doing some stuff around the house... I'm more tired than I realize and I sort of just want to bask in the relief for awhile.
Ahhhh...
Today I got to spend a good hour with a three-month-old puppy. This particularly pup (Maya) is the cutest damn thing I have ever seen. I was technically "at work" but there weren't any customers because God turned up the thermostat in Paris today. It was sweltering, and people tend to stay inside if they're sweating buckets.
Our new job is at the outdoor book market (if you're ever in Paris on a Sunday, check it out! It's fabulous... it is the marché Brassens right near the Parc Brassens. Great ambiance and - even better - TONS of books and people interested in books. I'll buy you a coffee) and one of the booksellers has just integrated Maya into his life.
Maya is the perfect puppy because:
- her fur is soft and fluffy
- she is clean
- she doesn't yip
- she is the littlest ball of incredible fluff that I have ever seen
Kathypath took her for a "jog" down the street, and from the back, Maya looked like a bunny hopping along. We took turns coo-ing and caa-ing, and her owner was really chill about it, not all protective and annoyed by the attention we were smothering her with. He said, "I'm going to be over here (motioning to somewhere far away), so hang out with her as much as you want, and put her in her cardboard box if you leave." The problem was the Maya has outgrown her cardboard box and has figured out how to jump out of it. We didn't mind, though. We just kept on wanting to hang with her. Even her sharp puppy teeth hardly hurt. She's just precious.
Cutest moment of the day, though? When Maya flipped over her water bowl and started rolling her belly in the spilled water to cool down. So she's not only cute, but smart, too. I bet you all the dogs in the hood want her.
Kathypath and I are going to begin working Sundays at the outdoor market, so stop by and meet Maya if you can. We'll be the only two young women in the place, with one of us most likely holding a ball of fluff in her lap.
This summer is gonna rock. It takes so little to make me happy. A summer job working at book market with a puppy nearby. Pure bliss. The one drawback is that it gave me the I-want-a-puppy burning hardcore. My master plan is to get TheBoy to come to stop by the market one day - just so he can see where I "work" - and then I'll introduce him to Maya. I don't envision him being able to resist her charm (NOBODY can), and maybe he'll fall in love enough to want one of his own. Then, Kathypath is going to "surprise" me with a puppy, and well, since it was a gift, I can't exactly just turn the poor dog away... right?
I had an oral exam today. The teacher told us the topic (which varied from person to person) and then we had fifteen minutes to prepare.
When he told me my topic, I asked if I could have a different one. I realize that's not kosher, but JESUS, I had no idea what to say on the topic he gave me. He politely said no, and I slunk back to my desk in confusion. I later related the question to having been as difficult for me as "Discuss American presidents from 1880-1890 and their political achievements." I didn't even know where to begin.
So um... yeah. I had the whole range of emotions: fear, discourage, indifference. When he called me to his desk, I began by saying two grammatically incorrect sentences in French. Stellar start, that quickly transformed into a randomly selected string of terminology without any logical or coherent structure to the madness. The professor is a nice man, and at least he nodded as if I were making sense.
Things got really bad when I mentioned a certain linguistic phenomenon and he asked me for an example of a language where said phenomenon occurs. I blanked, and came up with the witty, "I'm going through all the languages we discussed in class and I don't see an example of it..." leaving the door open for him to say, "Well, how about in (fill in language here)?" and then I would nod and say, "Oh yeah!"
Instead, he got a mischevious look and said, "Hah! That's because it's a trick question!! We didn't study any languages like that!"
It was a sub variety of Slavic languages, just so you know.
Really though, I think that got me on his side, because after that, he pretty much did the rest of the oral exam for me. The topic is one that he loves, and has written two books on, so it was a little embarrassing that I couldn't exactly talk about it, but now my theory is that he just wanted to talk about it himself anyway.
In the end, I spat out some more shit and tried to come up with more to say, but I mainly just garbled out a few more pieces of terminology and then finished up the exam by saying, "And I can't think of anything else to say..."
That's always a real great finishing thought. I winced as I heard myself saying it.
Oddly, he said, "Well, my. That was VERY good. You obviously know exactly what the subject is about and you were able to present a clear and rational argument on the topic. Well done. I can't even ask you any questions to clarify things because you presented it all so clearly."
At first, I thought he was kidding, but when he moved on to asking me about my other classes (just conversationally), I started feeling the welling of giddiness of having done well on something I thought I had bombed. I'm still really, really confused as to how I got a positive response out of such a botched presentation, but I'll take it. Sometimes I feel like the less prepared for things I am in France, the better they go. What a weird, weird day.
Well, I have to say: if I thought it was funny having the rooms I needed for research be unaccessible on Monday, today was DOUBLY funny.
This morning, I opted to go to the library at the Centre Pompidou because I needed to be in the area anyway (to pick up contact lenses... why oh why do I have to spend money on such boring things when there are so many fun, exciting things that I would rather be spending my money on? Like Body Shop lotion, for example?). Sooo... I waited in line for an hour in the rain, got into the library, checked out where my books would be, got a little confused, figured it out, then noticed that, strangely, the entire section - Languages and Litterature, for the curious - where my books should be was PLASTIC-WRAPPED. Just like Kathy Bates in "Fried Green Tomatoes." The whole damn section of books was just wadded up in Saran Wrap. The books, of course, are not available until June 27 - at which date I assume somebody will fun with scissors and will open up that plastic party. In the meantime, I can't use that damn library for shit.
It's funny in retrospect, but at the time - over two hours after I had set out on my researching quest - I really just wanted to cut someone. Deep. But instead I laughed out loud, kind of a maniacal laugh, I admit (and a little too loudly in the quiet library) because seriously? Can I have any worse luck when it comes to Parisian libraries? First it was the psycho bitch at one library, then the unavaiable rooms at the other, and now it's plastic-wrapped sections within the library? Wha?
So ha ha ha, giggle giggle giggle. In the end, Amazon just got some more cash out of me because the effing libraries are no help.
At least this way, I'll get to read the books in English.
The good news, however, of this pitiful story, is that I found one measly little book that related to my topic (in the philosophy section, which was conveniently NOT plastic-wrapped). Oddly, although it gave me no information whatsoever on my topic, it had a kick-ass bibliography and I am soon going to be partying with all the linguists my professor taught us about in class - who also happened to have written useful pieces on my topic. Swanson, Grice, Austin, Searle. In my head, they look like the walking shadows on the cover of the Reservoir Dogs poster. Badass linguistics, yo.
(Dude, I'm just doing whatever works to get me motivated. Let me use the Tarantino technique if it means I will get this paper done.)
There's a guy who comes to the bookstore where I work whom we call "Tricorne" (Three-Horns). This is because he wears a hat with three horns on it. If this isn't testimony to how fucking crazy he is, let me continue. From what we can gather, he is from somewhere in the former Yugoslavia, and my theory has is that he witnessed some pretty messed up things over there. He is fascinated with Hitler (regularly saluting him and occasionally lifting my hand in salute as well) and the words I have been able to understand as he jabbers on in his language have been: partisan, gestapo, ss, etc. I don't know if he actually supports Hitler or is trying to make a greater point about genocide/ethnic cleansing, but he just sort of mumbles out these words as he walks around the bookstore.
One time, he came into the store and pointed at a female co-workers genitals and said, "Marie Antoinette." Then he pointed to himself and said "Louis XVI." Maybe your French history isn't good enough to know what he is insinuating, but you can probably guess.
Another time he came in and pointed to my boss, claiming he was a member of the French resistance movement. He then said that I was a Nazi (which in his fucked up world means that we get along swimmingly) and that I killed my boss.
For all of his psychoticness and Hitler-talk, I think he's probably my favorite crazy person ever. Having lived and worked in Santa Cruz California for several years (where Reagan shut down a mental institution while he was governor, sending all the people desperately in need of psychiatric aid out onto the streets of the small town), I've had my share of batty regulars. Some of them would hang out back at the end of the night, waiting for us to hand over the remaining rice and peanut sauce. They were all ok, but kept their distance.
I'm sort of a fan of TriCorne because he's very happy to talk with us and get to know us and show us his passport and RL Stine novels. As far as crazies go, he's sort of a pleasure to have around.
Not cool. Today, in two words: NOT COOL.
First and foremost, my cell phone bill - normally 57 euros - was 250. This is due to travelling and lots of international phone calls, and also not knowing that I was charged at over 1 euro/minute.
Soooo... I already was having a hard time trying to scrounge up the cash to pay for a ticket to visit my friends - as promised - in New Mexico this summer. And now I REALLY can't afford to tack on a trip to see my sister and her glorious new house. The phone bill just sealed the deal. I am very, very unhappy about this.
One positive note was that I spent the morning taking care of administrative shit. This is always a pain, but oddly cathartic. My pile of do-something-with-me papers disappeared, I finally sent out two letters I wrote over a month ago, and so on.
I also spent the morning preparing a list of books I wanted to check out at the library later this afternoon. I read some abstracts, yada, yada. With my list prepared online, I went to print it and discovered we had no ink. Motivated as I was, I wrote down the title, author, and reference number for the ten top picks, and then packed up TheBoy's laptop and my books before heading out towards the library.
I quickly realized I would not be able to take my bike (laptop does not fit in basket; is too heavy to ride around with on my back), and shortly thereafter realized I had left my bus pass upstairs. I couldn't bear to walk all the way back to my house and up the stairs with the heavy-ass bag, so I sucked it up and paid 1,40 euros for the one-way fare.
On the way, the busdriver messed up the route and missed his turn, only realizing it when the mood on the bus turned to one of confusion several blocks later. At a stoplight, he turned around and asked the passengers "Was I supposed to stop there?" to which we unanimously said "Yes!" with the bitterness of hurried Parisians in an ugly neighborhood. Several blocks from the original stop, he dumped us off sheepishly, and I carried the damn laptop much further than I would have had to otherwise. I felt bad for the driver (I think he felt pretty stupid) but I wasn't really cool with the error, either.
Of course, when I got to the library, I found out that all the rooms that my books are in are reserved for Special Researcher Types on Mondays. So I couldn't go in. I could have gone to the super deluxe research center, but as I only have the right to 12 more entries in those rooms, I wanted to save my entries for a day when I could spend six or seven solid hours there. So great. I packed up and went back home.
All in all, over an hour of transportation time, 2,80 euros gone, a missed bus stop, and an unneccessarily heavy bag made me a pretty grumpy cat.
Then I came home, ate some cashews, got a blistering headache, and fell asleep for two hours.
TheBoy and I just played volleyball in our bedroom for about an hour. We started at midnight, and didn't stop until the neighbors hit the ceiling in warning.
I love volleyball and think it's the only sport I've ever been really good at (at one time basketball was in there, too, but I never pursued it after I turned 14).
What started as an innocent game turned into an all-out battle, and we managed not to break the computer or stereo... although I further broke my already fucked up lamp.
Still though, I believe we have found a new activity. Pesky ceilings and walls are a bit of a hinderance, but otherwise, good times.
Hello! If I know you in RealLife (TM) and you don't live in the same country as I do, will you do me a HUGE favor? Will you go download Skype (www.skype.com), install it on your computer, find yourself a headseat, and give me a ring?
This is free calling, people. This could potentially change our lives forever. Sign up and call me! I love and miss all of you, but cannot call your damn cell phones from here. So let's have a conversation over our computers instead...
TheKnitter and I went out for a grumpy café yesterday in the Marais. I don't know what was wrong with either of us, but we were sort of gloomy and frustrated and incapable of making decisions.
When we finally plunked down at a table at a pretty good people-watching crossroads, we began the intense discussion of what to do with our lives. This a recurring theme for my non-French friends living in this city, scraping by financially with or without the added help of outside sources. The truth is that a) this city is very, very expensive and b) it is difficult for French people to get jobs, and even more so for foreigners. Voila.
After a few minutes of sipping coffee and finally having the clearheadedness to converse, a young man asked TheKnitter if he could roll a cigarette with her paper/tobacco. After introducing himself and what not, we began a 30-minute conversation.
Read more »After several days of riding my bike around town, I've concluded one thing: my apartment is on a hill.
Ok, ok. I've come from three of the four major directional points, and all of them require massive pedaling at the end. This makes for a triumphant departure from the neighborhood, but a rather scraggly, breathless return.
Quick Poll: How many people under the age of 35 - nah, make that 40 - actually balance their checkbook? I'm saying, you write down every amount you spend, every withdrawal you make, EVERYTHING. How many of you do this?
I think I have two entries in my checkbook from 1999, in a checkbook I used to write a total of four checks. That is how often I "balance" my checkbook.
We were talking about this over lunch in Slovenia. All but two of the people at the table balance their checkbooks; one of the 'nays' being yours truly. I mean, c'mon. That's what the internet is for, right?
My mom told me that she caught the bank messing up twice. One time they randomly charged her fifty bucks. Another time they accidently gave her forty-five. Seriously, that five dollar difference is not enough to convince me that all that writing and adding and subtracting is worth the money-saving catch-the-banking fun. Of course, she called the whistle on one and not the other. I told her that, depending on which came first, I think the bank was just trying to get back its own cash.
I'm still baffled people actually keep track of this stuff.
One thing I don't really appreciate is when perfect strangers (as opposed to imperfect ones?) make comments on my life without knowing me.
I say this because, for some unknown reason, I have been picked up semi-frequently lately. I'm not sure what this is about, maybe it's just the hot weather, but I don't mind. I've had some interesting conversations, and have actually met some men I would like to be FRIENDS with.
Anyway, yesterday I got picked up by some guy who apparently has a rich father. He was tall, reasonably good-looking (but not so much as my WonderBoy of course) and very, very dark-skinned... so black he was almost blue. Our conversation was actually really amusing because we established quickly that both of us are in serious relationships, although he obviously has a different definition of serious than I do. Regardless, once he found out that my man is African, the conversation turned drastically towards the surreal:
Read more »I've been wanting to write for a bit, but things have been a little rough since my return from Italy/Slovenia (great trip, though... hopefully more on that when I can concentrate better).
I don't want to just bitch, bitch, bitch, so I won't go into details. I wish I were the type of person who could string humor through the badness, lightening the load a bit. But I can't seem to do that...
Still though, things aren't terrible. I still can leave my house and laugh during the day and concentrate in my classes. They're just a little off-kilter and it's throwing me into a funk. Not the danceable kind of funk, more the kind you find on the underside of your kitchen sink. Maybe I'll write about it when I come out on the other side.
In the meantime, while in the throes of sadness this early evening, I ran into the metro and stepped onto the line one to head towards my Spanish class. I hadn't eaten all day and was quite hungry, and I had picked myself up some pre-packaged lentils. I sat down on a metro seat and ate some, but gave up when I realized they tasted like ass. Moments later, a 40-something guy walked by one woman and yelled, "It's not couscous, lady!" in her ear as he beelined towards my seat. That had me a little worried, not knowing what he was referring and fearing the lentils had something to do with it.
Of course, he was referring to something in his head, but no matter - he was on to a new topic and letting everyone know about it. Shortly thereafter, he began singing opera-esque songs at high volumes, with sweeping motions of the arms and the whole deal, while most of the train turned to see who the hell was making such a racket as I dodged his flailing arms.
Then a young man got up to get off the train, and apparently my Crazy Friend liked the looks of this guy, or at least found them highly amusing. For the next two minutes, maniacal laughter poured from the Crazy Friend as he made the "PPpphhhh" sound that little kids make after they say, "Nani-nani-noo-noo" and then stick out their tongues. This guy dropped the preface and went straight for the act, doing 10- to 15-second-long "Ppphhhhh" sounds, followed by his own laughter. The guy getting of the train didn't appreciate it all that much, though.
Next the Crazy Friend whipped out a brochure from his pocket: Fez, Morocco. He began reading the brochure out to the train, adding little commentaries as he pleased (maybe it all related back to the cousccous comment, I don't know... but there was a picture of couscous in the brochure). The train got to know all of the details of his upcoming trip, and which parts he found more amusing than others.
It was pretty cool sitting next to him for more then ten stops. My ears actually hurt afterwards from the yelling.
Other odd things I have dealt with today include:
1. A man at the bike repair store who yelled at me when his phone rang, as if I were somehow responsible
2. An hour-wait in a doctor's office with no air circulation, followed by a six-minute visit with the doctor that cost me 50 euros and ended with a "let's see one another again in four months"
3. A Boy who yelled at me this morning for asking him if he would come to the doctor's with me.
4. A crying fit in the middle of the street while talking on the phone with said Boy several hours later.
5. A very hungry stomach.
Bad, bad Thursday. Praying for Good Friday.
