Archives: April 2006
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HOLY SHIT!!! I'm working and going about my normal life, studying and what not. I opt to take a little break and stumble upon Stephen Colbert's address at the White House Correspondants Association dinner.** How the hell did he get invited? And OH MY GOD is he amazing! Where did he get those balls? That was incredible.
I might have something coherent to say later, but for right now I am just amazed that somebody - anybody - could be so ballsy with the President of the United States sitting just ten feet away.
As many of you know, I am a longtime Colbert fan. This has sealed the deal.
** The link takes FOREVER to load. I mean, five minutes on my computer. But it's so, so worth it.
FASTER LINK: Available on You Tube. The speech is broken down in three, this is the first link -- the other two sections can be found in the list on the right. Uploads immediately.
The couch is still in the hallway. No neighbor complaints. Yet.
However, my landlord freaked. And then she called me back much later, seemingly more calm, and left the following message on my machine:
"Ok, so I talked it over with my husband. We've decided: tomorrow, you and your boyfriend can bring the couch back downstairs. Then, I'll put it in the van in exchange for a couch we will give you -- it's our own couch, from our house, in our basement. It's a nice couch, also with a fold-out bed, and you can just take it and I'll take the one that won't fit in your door. Ok? I think that's the perfect solution. I'll call you to confirm, but it will be at three o'clock tomorrow."
This message disturbed me in many ways. I am trying to be as zen as possible about this, because as annoying and preachy as it sounds, I think I'm finally starting to accept that worrying about things doesn't help them much. And honestly? The things I stress the least are almost always (let's say 99% of the time) the things that turn out best. It's curious.
So in my zenness, I let the fact that she just started making decisions without asking my opinion first just slide. I called her back and said, "I have already taken two half-days off of work. This is a problem because I am currently working six days per week, and I go to school full-time. So taking a half-day off just once is an incredible inconvenience. Three times is impossible. Maybe I could work it out so that I could be home at noon, but three o'clock? No. Absolutely not."
She responded with a message that actually said, "Mademoiselle, you can't say that. There is no other way. We can't get the couch out of the hallway any other day. You have to be home tomorrow at three."
When I finally got in touch with her, I had a variety of things to answer to that. The majority of them weren't very nice. But I remained selective (and zen!) and simply stated that I could not pay the rent if I did not keep my job, and that I don't have the luxury of missing three half days per week. I know my landlord doesn' t work for a living, and that she inherited the money that allowed her to buy two apartments in Paris that she now only semi-looks after. I don't expect her to really understand the words I NEED TO WORK but she does understand the words I NEED TO PAY RENT. So then she suggested I find a friend to come over, bring down the couch, and so forth. Wha? Wait... wha? My friends work, too. And seriously? Not their favorite way to spend a Thursday afternoon.
Am I weird in thinking that this is her responsibility?
Read more »The Boy and I live in a small (very small) furnished apartment. This is good in some ways: 1) we never had to buy any furniture 2) there's gotta be something else good about it. This is bad in others: 1) I hate the furniture my landlord chose 2) a lot of it needs to be replaced in a serious way and 3) my landlord is an incredible penny pincher.
I finally convinced her that the 7-year-old clic-clac (that's a fold-out couch) in our living room needed replacing. The whole process was extremely long and drawn-out. She had to come over, sit on it, open it, flip the mattress, sit on it again, etc until she finally agreed that, yeah, it should probably go. It's 7 years old, people! It's from Conforama, which is not even as high as Ikea on the quality chain! It's not meant to last seven years!
Even after I told her that I am embarrassed to invite people over because my couch is so jacked up, she still said, "And are you sure it's not just the mattress that needs replacing?"
Finally, she gave in and had to go clic-clac searching, and then she had to go on vacation, and then she didn't have time, and blah blah blah. A month whizzed by and finally she found a couch she liked, and I agreed to it (anything, just give me anything!) and a date was set for delivery.
That date was yesterday, but something came up and she couldn't deliver it. Meanwhile, we had dumped our old couch on the curb at the appointed time for the Parisian cleaning crew to come get it (you actually have to make an appointment with them for it!). I'll have you know the appointment time is six am, which had The Boy and I carrying the couch down several flights of stairs sometime around five am this morning.
So with no couch and little free time, we pushed the new couch delivery date back to noon-ish today. Upon arrival, the Landlady dropped off the couch and ran away to return the rent-a-truck on time (otherwise she would have to pay a late fee). That left The Boy and I to bring the damn couch up to the sixth floor by ourselves. Luckily, the guy who runs the kebab joint downstairs came by, and honestly, he did most of the heavy lifting. I'm still baffled by his generosity.
But six flights later we realized that my landlady might have looked really damn hard for a new couch, but she didn't think the MEASURE it first. Naturally, we couldn't get the thing in our front door. And we never will.
Now the couch is sitting on the little bit of space in front of my apartment door. My neighbors must hate me. My landlady is beside herself. And I am going to eat dinner on the floor tonight.
Because, of course, we have no kitchen table. Could you imagine the chaos that would bring?
It's been a little tricky to come up with things to write about recently because I am so freakishly concentrated on my job right now. I attribute this to three things:
1. The job is still very new
2. I need to be sure that I can actually do all of the things my boss is asking of me - the tasks are growing exponentially by the day.
3. This is the best job I have ever had in my entire life
Strangely, I almost feel guilty for number three. I've been jumping around from job to job for the last, oh... decade. It feels weird and wonderful to have a job where I feel all kinds of warm and fuzzy things. Meanwhile, a lot of my friends are still floundering, even though they're perfectly capable of greatness. I don't see why I have been given such an awesome opportunity and not them, and I find myself caught between looking at this whole gig objectively (simply amazed by it) and feeling somehow undeserving (the guilt).
That's not say it's not hard work. I am busting some serious ass, and as a consequence, I have a hard time, occasionally, relating to my friends who are still talking about the same old shit. It's similar to when you're studying like mad for finals or something, and suddenly everybody wants to party. It's just a shift of gears that is not always easy. For example, a typical conversation from last week went, "Wha? You got really drunk and were out until six am? Weird... I was at work at 7..." And then I had nothing else to say, because staying out until six isn't very interesting to me, but the fact that I was sitting in front of a computer at seven is not particularly fascinating either.
I guess maybe I understand now why my dad would come home, watch Jeopardy! with us, read, and then go to sleep. A man of few words, I wouldn't be surprised if most nights, the only things he said were "What is Istanbul?" or "Who is Harry Truman?" before caving in for the night. Although, let's give him credit: he got WAY more points on Jeopardy than just that. Still, my point is: it's hard to transition from work world to non-work world when your brain has been on turbo in work-world for 12 consecutive hours.
Partially, I blame the internet. My work is all online, and I can therefore access it at any time. This is dangerous, as I am sure you can understand. I also blame myself, as I always get overzealous with projects, and bow howdy! This is a biggie! I can't help it if I get up on Sunday morning and think, "Oooooh! I bet I could get answer a few emails! That way everything will be ready for Monday!"
I think this will pass. It sort of has to, if I want to maintain some sort of balance in my life. But I would be lying if I didn't admit that I'm really, REALLY happy right now. Happy in a way that isn't because of someone else, happy in a way that isn't fleeting or temporary, but just happy in that I enjoy the things I do every day and I feel lucky as hell to be doing them. And honestly? It's sort of hard not to want to ride that wave for as long as possible.
Here are two funny things about my new(ish) job. The bookshop is located in a typical Parisian covered passage. It is also next to the dumping-off place of tourist buses. This means we often have groups of tours going through the passage. I am always amazed by:
1)The Umbrella Guide stopping in front of the store to tell a group something. If only I could speak Italian or Russian, I would know what he/she was saying. How great it would be if it turned out to be absolute bullshit: "This store was built in 1802 by the famous De La Rose family..." It is always a little unsettling to have 15-20 people standing in a circle around your front door, but I'm getting used to it.
2) the independent tourists who want to look into the store. They could open the door, sure, but why not cup their hands around their eyes and press their noses against the glass? That makes me sense to me. Especially when we make eye contact, and they just keep on breathing heavily on our window pane. Weirdos. I have a special soft spot in my heart for the two grown women today who called over yet a third so that all three of them could stare into our windows. Because that doesn't make me uncomfortable. Not at all.
COMPLETELY UNRELATED:
Read more »1. I've taken to running again. If I wasn't already persuaded, it took but one trip down to the park in my "excercise" pants (aka my "pajama" pants, my "lazy day" pants, and my "run across the street for milk" pants) to realize that my ass has taken on epic proportions. Something needed to be done - pronto! I am still reeling a bit from the discovery, but I am trying to tell myself that this is a temporary thing.
I do, however, have the awesomest boyfriend in the history of all mankind. After I came home from my jog - and corresponding realization about The Ass - I said to him, "Do you see my ass? It has a mind of its own. I walk one way, and it decides to go another. When did it decide to stick out so much? And to make its own decisions?" He looked at me and said, "That's the way we like 'em." Then said something in his own language that translates as "Your body is sexy sexy." (repetition for insistance). Then he shivered and fake fainted as a direct result of The Ass's glory.
2. Everybody! And your mother! You absolutely must go to This American Life and listen to the greatest thing ever. Go to the archives page and find the piece on Neighbors (2006). Skip past Ira's introduction and listen to the first story in which the founder of Found Magazine went to meet Mr. Rogers. And it is the cutest damn thing I've ever heard.
I have started up the most lovely habit of going to work on the weekends when nobody else is around. I positively binge on NPR -- on Sunday, for exampleI listened to back-to-back episodes of TAL, and then two episodes of Wait Wait Don't Tell Me! in which I actually banged on the table two or three times in laughter. Good thing I'm alone in the store.
The Scene: The Boy and I are walking home from dinner at one of my favorite Lebanese joints. We walk along the Ile de la Cité, and stumble upon La Conciergerie.
The Time: Roughly 1 am.
The Temperature: Impending-spring-feeling air.
The Moon: Just shy of full.
The Dialogue:
Read more »This is my first week of vacation and I am more exhausted than ever. Ain't that the way?
The Little Guy was here visiting for the last four days - he just left five minutes ago. He's such a great kid, it's scary -- but it's still a bit of a challenge having him around. The linguistic barriers make it difficult, and it wasn't until I brilliantly began incorporating Babelfish into our conversations that we got past the limited vocabulary available to us using gestures. His French is coming along, but our slow-motion conversation via the computer translations revealed that not only is he cute and good-natured, but he also has a quirky sense of humor that would indicate he's also quite bright.
I wrestled with a fair amount of issues this week, getting a glimpse for the first time of what it must be like for working moms. Of course, The Little Guy is nine and can fend for himself. But then again, he was here, alone, in a foreign country, without friends, and was 100% dependent on us not just for basic needs, but also for entertainment. I played tons of "Flying Hamsters" and the three of us had a wrapping-paper roll battle that lasted at least an hour. Legos, Sudoku, and paper airplanes also were important features of the week. It was fun, but mixing all that playing with all that working makes for rather long, tiring days. At one point, The Little Guy was reading a copy of "The BFG" ("Die VGR" or something in Dutch) and I couldn't help but think to myself that it is IMPERATIVE that my children love to read as much as my brother, sister, and I did growing up. It's insta-silence! The recipe for working while at home! Awesome!
Read more »Here's the bad news: I think I'm allergic to wine.
This has been a long time coming. I love wine in a fairly casual way - a good bottle with a good meal is always a great thing. I'm not a connaisseur and I'm not big up on names, years, or specific châteaux. But, as I don't like liquor and I'm not the beer type, I defaulted to wine when I first came to France.
Unfortunately, I might have to default to orange juice, soon.
For the last six months, every time I drink wine, I eventually lose my ability to breathe out my nose. It makes no difference if I have one glass or six; I will be stuffed up for the rest of the evening and the entire following day. Last night, my nose was so clogged that I did a eucalyptus steam in order to be able to sleep. Again, this morning, I had to do another.
Read more »Lots of commotion over here in the last few days. I've been drinking a lot of caffeine, so naturally this commotion feels even more commotion-y than usual. I'm really going to have to cut back some time soon. I get all extra jittery and insane after 1.5 cups. I guess I have low caffeine tolerance.
First and foremost, my boss gave me the "company" camera so that I could learn to use it over the weekend. He said, "I have no idea how these things work, so just see what you can figure out and then teach me everything you know." Ok!
I said, "Do you have the USB cable?" and he responded by looking at me in that dismissive way and saying, "Now you're just spewing out techno-babble. You've lost me."
I'm a bit of a technology whore despite myself, so of course I started playing with the camera as soon as I could. It's beautiful, it's wonderful!
As proof, I took a picture of my "office."
Read more »Twenty years down the road, I might look back on today and remember it as the day the universe smiled at me. A bright, beaming, teethy smile -- so sunny and warm and unrestricted in its friendliness that I couldn't help but finally realize that yes, somebody's looking out for me.
Today, I found all of the notes for all of my classes - online.
Somebody - God bless his/her soul - scanned a year's worth of weekly grammar lectures and then uploaded them onto a web site. Another person, God bless his/her soul even more, went through all of his/her Islamology lectures and TYPED THEM up into a 125-page document.
This is the kind of thing that makes me remember why we consider technology progress.
I will admit to having skipped a few grammar lectures. Ok, I skipped all but six. I was working my way up to asking a classmate - none of whom I am particularly close to - about possibly borrowing all of his notes. No need! I've got them all!! All!! And in really good writing.
Now all I have to do is learn everything. Seriously, yo, my workload has been cut in half. I felt like, by comparison, the learning was the easy part. If these anonymous uploaders had a tip jar, I would pay them.
While I on the phone, complaining to my best friend about possibly putting on some weight over the winter season, I mentioned a little problem with a certain pair of pants. For any woman who gains weight in her lower back/hips (as opposed to the stomach or thighs), this problem - and the way it sort of morphs the body in a certain region - is all-too-familiar.
"Oh, you mean the Muffin Top?" she asked me. "Yeah, the Muffin Top is bad..."
Ok, I have never heard this term before (remember, we don't speak English around here, and getting lingo to cross the ocean is a bit complicated), but I fell in love with it at once. Sure, it haunts me 24/7, but I think it might just be the greatest linguistic creation yet. I might be behind the times, but only by two years or so.
Urban Dictionary suggests this is a "fat chick" problem, but the previously linked NY Daily News (always accurate news source, I know) shows images proving the contrary. My deep, analytic study would suggest that it is often an issue resulting more from the positioning (aka "Low rise") of the pants than from their actual size.
I personally avoid wearing pants that are too small (duh, they're uncomfortable) but have a slight Muffin Top issue with one pair in particular. I can't quite figure out why this happens, but you can be sure I am never wearing those pants again. The constant voice chanting "Muf-fin Muf-fin Muf-fin" is enough to coivince me it's just not worth it.
UPDATE: I just read that the male version of this is called Stud-Muffin Top. This just gets better and better.
