2009!

Just watched "Les Enfants du Paradis" with the ineffable Arletty (who looks peculiarly like Katie Gregory!). God, it was wonderful. Heart-wrenching (and y'all know not much wrenches my heart) and tragic and glorious. I didn't really pay all that much attention to the cinematic devices, but it was really difficult to tear myself from the plot.

My next assignment for M. Bondurant's conversation class is to observe my host family's behavior at dinner and write two pages about what they do. This assignment amuses me, because while most people's families seem to have very traditional hour-long French familial dinners, my family plops hot food on my plate, tells me to eat it before it gets cold (which we all commence doing as soon as the food touches our plates, ensuring that we all finish at very different times), pours me a glass of wine, and begins to chat loudly and very much in French about topics such as follows.

#1. Maritime law and the chemicals allowed in fish nowadays.

#2. How unfair it is that when boys have 1+ girlfriends then they're awesome and if girls do then they're sluts. My mother was getting really worked up about it.

#3. Non-polluting cars (My eldest brother and my father are into machines - engineering stuff. My mother and I pretended to fall asleep at the table once motors were brought up.)

#4. Obama's healthcare plans (upon which I cannot elaborate since politics #1 make me insane #2 pretty much just make me insane in a huge variety of ways) vs. French healthcare (free hospital visits, but as long as the immigrants keep taking advantage of it, who knows? according to my family. Oy.)

#5. Baking. My father is very good at it and I am very very bad. He wants to teach me how to make noodles.

#6. House slippers.

#7. Jean Gabin the famous French actor

Zut!

My new French class is in walking distance from my phonetics class, which I greatly prefer to the metro during the lovely sunny day. Abby and I walk together, which saves her from a certain annoyance and is generally wonderful for me.

This weekend is "Nuit Blanche" which is, as you can read here, an all-night arts festival in which various neighborhoods are open all night to provide space for various art installations and performances. Also, prime time for staying out late drinking in the park, at least until the metro begins to run again at 5h30 (in the morning). Abby has a friend in town this weekend, so we'll be drinking at the Tour Eiffel for his tourist pleasure on Friday and then on Saturday, during the day I will try to write some of this cinema paper on "L'Age d'Or" and once night commences (once you stop saying "bonjour" and start saying "bonsoir" - i.e. about 6pm), we will be heading to some club in the 14eme to see Abby's host mom's boyfriend play in his funk band. After, we will have drinks and we will chill in the Jardin du Luxembourg for probably most of the night, dancing to Nuit Blanche's musical offerings and toast champagne and whiskey all night long.

"Les Enfants du Paradis" made me think once again about how lucky I am to be able to travel. The main character, Garance ("comme le fleur") returns to Paris after 6 years of traveling with her kind-of lover and she has been remembered with the hearts of the others, and as G. Garcia Marquez says, the heart shuts out the darkness and calls upon the good in its remembrances.

Hope you all remember me for my good. There is a bit.

A bientot!

2004!

Found my online journal from 2004-2005. Oh. My. God.

1987!

New French class is much much better.

Got chatted up by not one but three cute French boys this evening. It must be when I wear my hair like this and read in public. And tuck in my shirt like it's 1987.

Must watch "Les Enfants du Paradis" some tonight, some tomorrow night. Mainly tomorrow night. My wine headache is too bad for much analysis this evening.

Will have more good French stories soon. Promise.

Ezra Pound, anyone?

In a Station of the Metro, Chatelet-Les Halles

Soggy coats slumping into
primary-colored patent plastic seats:
salamanders, drowsy and wet.

by yours truly

Avec Mes Freres, Ce Soir

I'm switching French classes tomorrow. Apparently, the class that I was placed into was the highest-level "elementaire" (intermediate for UNC) class, which meant that it was meant to move faster and cover material with which I was not comfortable. At all. So, after my professor first said that she was concerned for my happiness and my success in the class, she informed me that she had gone ahead and switched me into the other class. That makes it easier on me, definitely.

This evening, after working a bit on my application for Advanced Poetry next semester, I sat outside with my brothers smoking cigarettes and sharing various cool clips on YouTube, including Jabbawockeez dance performances, a French rapper that I will be adding to my project for Bondurant called Rohff (a bit cheesy, but cool production. Sometimes.), a sweet (and unknown to me!) Lil Wayne freestyle entitled "Reggae Freestyle", and a b-boy battle between Hong 10(?) and some French dancer named Lilou. It was insane. I really recommend that everyone watch the dance-off. Good god. And the whole thing is worthwhile.

Then we watched videos of drunk people, T-Pain, Chris Brown, Justice, and listened to the MySpace music pages of some of Julien's friends, including a (less-than-talented) DJ called DJ Matt M (original) and another band called The Cigs. The French are very funny.

Going to watch L'Age d'Or or read "Love in the Time of Cholera." Which rocks more?

Sundays in Paris

Coke Light +

flea marketing this afternoon with Abby +

lunch with my family (talked about fishing and how fish have three heads and 6 arms from all of the chemicals in the ocean) +

noodles +

"L'Age d'Or" +

film readings

_____________

un bon dimanche.

CZK

Another thing: booked a cheap cheap flight to Prague with Abby for the weekend of October 23-25th and am staying in a hostel recommended by Ms. Juliet Sperling, whose expertise I trust after her voyages in Prague last spring. I am beyond thrilled. Also the exchange rate rocks. Which will be a nice change of pace.

PRAGUE!

Box-and-Whisker Plot

Jeudi soir: After the best Mexican food of my young life (margarita, enchiladas verdes with everything made from complete scratch, guacamole, Mexican bean dip) at Anahuacalli, Boyce and I headed to the nearest "8 a Huit" for some vin and (our classiest move to date) the purchase of some small plastic cups to prevent against H1N1 outbreaks between the two of us. Bought some 2 Euro wine, walked down the Seine in an easterly direction and found a cozy spot on a stone structure above some young people who looked to be having a good ol' time. Here, we proceeded to drink our delicious vin, discuss various things (including AP Government class - SHOUTOUT!) and watch in shock as the huge group of young Frenchies played a game that we could understand as having the following rules:

#1. the group chooses one player to stand out in front of the larger group (closer to the Seine) while the large group sings some sort of song at them.

#2. the player responds to the song with "Non! Non! Non! Non! Non!" and the group responds similarly with "Si!" (which means yes when used as a response to a statement with a negation in it...I know, what?)

#3. Everyone is drunk and keeps yelling at the player, who is usually laughing and simultaneously being subjected to all sorts of sexual advances from their friends. The player begins to take off his/her clothes until s/he doesn't want to anymore. Then proceeds to moon whatever tourist night boat is passing on the Seine.

#4. Everyone screams and claps and the player puts his/her clothes back on.

#5. They pick someone else.

Presumably, this goes on until there is a "winner" or the person who took off the most clothes. In this way, Boyce and I not only got drunk by the Seine but we also got a floor show wherein we saw many people's butts and two boys completely naked. Lucky us. After the novelty wore off, we went to pick up more wine and some chocolate! And scoped another nice river spot. At this point, I was really resigned to having to make another long trek home late at night, but somehow (and I will never understand how), after saying adieu to Boyce (have fun in Tours!) I found my way not only to the proper metro station to get me as close as possible to my home, but in fact onto the RER A a mere one stop before my home stop at 12 on a Thursday! This doesn't make since to me considering my previous adventures with late-night travel (see "The Unbearable Unreliableness of the Paris Metro") but I wasn't complaining. Got home and smoked a cigarette with my brothers and talked about jets exploding and then went to bed.

Vendredi: My plans for yesterday were #1 to sleep in, #2 go to class, #3 get a bit of vin, #4 go to the Louvre, #5 go home. The first 4 went as expected, but at the Louvre with Sally and Abby we ran into people we knew from our program (Madison and Melanie)! Odds notwithstanding, we decided to go out and grab some food (well, they did, I was not willing to eat out again this week) and subsequently found a cute cute Japanese place where they served us little kirs before our meal and sake after. The girls had sushi and we all had 66cl Tsing-Taos (which are big, for those of you not familiar with metric) and generally a good time. Madison and Melanie were telling us about this crazy bar they found near Bastille the previous weekend and so we all hopped on the metro and made the very easy trip to Charlotte Bar.

The bar was small and crowded and played tons of American rap and rap/pop, which, truth be told, I have been missing amidst all the techno here in Paris. The bartenders were gorgeous and remembered M&M and made room for us ladies at the bar. After a few drinks, we were quite a hit with the bar patrons and employees, the bar photographer taking our pictures left and right and the Belgian boys to my left introducing themselves to all of us. They were very cute and spoke good English and were impressed by all of us studying in Paris. Sally began to dance in the tiny amount of space between the bar and the railing leading downstairs and one of the Belgian boys, Mathias, who I had been talking to for about an hour, hopped off of his stool and ran to dance with her. We were all very surprised to find out that he was a dwarf! I guess that's the politically correct thing to say. I really wished that a certain Ashley Moore could have been there for this little event...literally. You would have loved it!! But it was very funny and his friends started making jokes about him being so short but that the ladies loved him, etc. etc. Very very funny.

I didn't have much money so I was hesitant to get anything else to drink, but after being at the bar for over an hour, I was feeling the need for a whiskey, and so I sucked it up and ordered one with Coke. It was good. Expensive, but that is Paris. Then the Belgian boys asked why I wasn't drinking and I said it was because I am poor and Paris is trop cher pour moi. Then they bought me a drink. Wonderful boys.

Not being a big bar-goer nor a big meeting-people-at-bars enthusiast, I was a little out of my element in this packed-to-the-seams place. But it reminded me of when I was 17 and would go out with Water Street friends and Hilary & Donta, and none of those were bad things. So I loosened up a bit and began to make a bit of a fool of myself. Especially once the (gorgeous!!!) DJ/bartender put on "Single Ladies (Put a Ring On It)" by Beyonce ONLY MY FAVORITE SONG AND THE BEST VIDEO OF ALL TIME (thx, Kanye!). Plus I know every single word. And I appreciate the sentiment of the track. So, all-in-all, I screamed and proceeded to sing every word. THEN they played "I'm So Paid" by Akon with Jeezy and Weezy, another song to which I know every word. Oh man oh man. Thank you, Charlotte Bar.

So, 2am rolled around and we had to leave the best-looking bartenders in town. Everyone was pretty tipsy/drunk at that point so off we went to our respective metros/buses/cabs. I jumped on a bus I saw that said "Montreuil" on it, thinking that, duh, it'll take me to Montreuil. That's what you would think. No. Instead, the bus went to the complete opposite side of the city from where Montreuil is. So, I got on at 2am, rode the bus for about 2 hours with my headphones on, then got off where I vaguely thought I lived, since my house is actually in between Montreuil and Vincennes, which is a bit to the south. And, considering my aforementioned Plan For Vendredi, I did not bring my map with me for the first time ever. SO 4am, somewhere kind of near my house. So I walked. After 5 blocks I was getting really nervous that I was lost forever, then what do you know? MY STREET! Rue de Sergent Godefroy. I was thrilled.

Came in the front door to find Mathieu and Julien playing video games with Anais asleep on the couch and with another of Julien's friends. They asked what time it was and I said 4am and that I had ridden the bus in the wrong direction for 2 hours. They laughed at me and I went to bed, completely exhausted. Today I am still tired, though more chipper. And I went grocery shopping at the Ed. I love it. Sipping my Jus d'Orange and made a tomato sandwich.

Something I'm definitely getting better at is not freaking out about things that are outside of my realm of control, such as the bus sitch. I had no idea where I was and I didn't have a choice about what to do, so I just chilled and didn't get enraged like I probably would have at home. Sweet.

Now to relax more. My muscles hurt from so much walking.

A bientot!

Mexican Food in Paris?

The answer is YES! There is some. And if my old friend Boyce agrees, then we will be eating some for dinner CE SOIR!!! Thank the lord.

I left class today with a terrible migraine. Am now home, with a new box of goodies from Mom (I LOVE GUMMY BEARS THANK YOOOOOU), laying pantsless on my couch watching 30 Rock and Top Chef. Thursdays make my brain hurt, though I did not fail my first test like I thought I did. Time for some Aleve and then MEXICAN at 19h30. So thrilled cannot even discuss.

"La Bete Humaine"

Just watched this movie, based upon Emile Zola's novel, with Jean Gabin for cinema class. It was good! Morbid, but good. Jean Gabin is growing on me as an attractive human specimen. I'm beginning to develop a black-and-white crush. I got the DVD to work after about 20 solid minutes of rubbing it with the cloth that came with my Macbook...I guess to clean it, though I'm not really sure.

And I don't know if anyone is familiar with Arthur Rimbaud the French poet, but we read a poem by him in class today and "analyzed" it, i.e. listened to the Swedish girl garble around for some deep-rooted existentialist French vocab and laughed at the truly ridiculous questions the boy from California always asks.

Had dinner with my family (a weird quiche thing with sugar & bacon that I was more fascinated by than interested in, pan-seared meat and a potato au gratin thing, and melon for dessert, and vin rouge, of course) then smoked a cigarette with them outside and talked about the weather, my host father's travels, and video games. My dad wants to teach me how to make my own pasta this weekend, and I said that I would cook them some crevettes (scrimps - I want to blacken them but don't know how without adequate heat of the spice variety) sometime next week. Hopefully.

Tomorrow night I'm going to have dinner with Boyce from NHHS hopefully at this cool little bistro in the Latin Quarter that I discovered online. Prix fixe, 3 courses, master chef, good wine. I will be very pissed upon returning to the States that I cannot have vin with every meal like I do here. Even petit dejeuner sometimes. Which means "breakfast." Actually it means "little lunch," which explains the French desire to eat bread and have a coffee for breakfast. My family actually thinks it's weird that I want to eat fruit in the morning.

Luckily, the weather for the next few days is supposed to remain gorgeous. All the better to drink vin outside, my dear.

A bientot!

Le Deuxieme Etage

In France, the first floor is not called that. I'm not actually sure what it's called, but the 2nd floor is the "premiere etage," the third is the "deuxieme etage," etc. It doesn't make much sense. So, when I say to you that my French classroom is on the "troisieme etage," you would think that means that I climb two sets of stairs to get to my class. No. It's three. And for those of you familiar with my class pet peeves, number 3 is having a class on a floor above the 3rd. Like my math class last spring. 4th floor. Too many stairs.

Last night I discovered a website that streams ambient music as a background for sleeping. The home page came with a warning, which I found amusing: "do not listen to this website while operating heavy machinery." Similar to what one finds on nighttime cold medication. Little did I know that as soon as I turned on the station while I was reading "Love in the Time of Cholera" last night, I would completely gone until 11am today. It was unbelievable. And nice, since I have had trouble falling asleep lately. I needed the help last night after my day yesterday.

So, today I decided, well-restedly, to shake off my worries and have a good long day full of French and walking around. I did it! Except for getting lost on the way to my walking tour and not having people understand my jokes (something I'm getting used to, both from the spacey California kids in my class and the Europeans), I skipped around all day in a cute outfit listening to my "Teenage Mix" that I made on my iPod last week once I realized that I was in fact 20.

Got to Boulevard Raspail (where phonetics lab is every day at 13h30) and grabbed a baguette and Coke Light for lunch. Sat on the bench outside to read my notes and listen to more music. This old man was sitting with his back to me on the other side of the bench, and after visibly creeping out one girl (who got up and scurried off after he tried to stroke her cheek), moved on to me. I just looked at him like "seriously who are you kidding" and said "Arretez, s'il vous plait." He backed off immediately and I sat there munching my baguette while he continued to hit on students of the Cours de Civilisation Francaise. What a looooser.

Our walking tour was through Belleville this evening, and though yet again I understood nary a word of what our very cute little French tour guide was saying, I had a wonderful time. This was even despite the fact that I had to literally run to our meeting place in my heels (something I hadn't planned on), which resulted in the creation of huge and (the understatement of the century) unpleasant blisters on my poor feet. Luckily, an angel in the form of Jenna had a BandAid for me. Glorious. But Sally and I lingered at the back of the group making random comments. She got my jokes, which was very nice. Abby is no longer ill and so seeing her was also quite wonderful. We wandered through some cute little rues (streets) and saw tons of excellent graffiti. I also found where all of the cute artsy French boys have been hiding: in the poor neighborhood! Just as I suspected.

After the tour, Sally, Abby and I decided to get dinner at this crazy-looking Chinese restaurant right off of Rue de Belleville and each got the "prix fixe" menu of salad/soup, main course, dessert. With wine and an after-dinner whiskey and coke (which Sally had never had before!) to go with our weird pre-wrapped "glace" (ice cream). Our waiter was very Chinese and very sweet and he told Sally that she looked like Monica Lewinsky and insisted upon calling her that for the duration of our meal. Bahahaha. Hilarious. Good thing she didn't mind.

Belleville ended up being quite near where I live, and I wouldn't have minded a walk home except that my feet were basically bleeding. So I got off the metro at Vincennes and took off my shoes (very un-French) and walked home with my headphones on, but NOT BEFORE being stopped by some random man who talked and talked and talked to me then asked where I was from and for directions to somewhere. I had no idea what he was talking about except that he asked my name and I said "Carlotta. J'ai fatiguee. Bon nuit!" And peaced out.

My cute family was smoking cigarettes and watching a movie (except for Victor - asleep - and Julien - probably out partying). Too much in pain to stop and chat, so I said "Bonsoir! Ca va?" and after appropriate responses from all parties, said "J'ai fatiguee et beaucoup de travaille." Which isn't exactly true, since I really just wanted to soak my feet and watch Mad Men and go to sleep. Which is what I'm doing. Only now it's 30 Rock.

A bientot!

Merde

Shitty day. Will instead focus on the goodness of the new Miyazaki movie, which I am currently watching. Have a dinner date with my friend from high school this week. That will be nice.

Skype makes me laugh. And this sweet flick.

A bientot.

Cholera, Impressionism, etc.

From the top: train-mail-car turned book shop in Auvers-sur-Oise, where we also experienced the creepiness of the Age of Impressionism Museum. No photos, it was too frightening. Next: a wall outside of Claude Monet's Giverny home, where he cultivated extensive gardens and painted his famous water lilies series. Next: Me and Claude. Old, old friends. Next: This is one out of many completely alien-looking flowers to be found in Mr. Monet's gardens.

Giverny was gorgeous and it was nice to smell plants and not people. The bus ride consisted of me sleeping and reading "Love in the Time of Cholera," my next book for the month. It's quite good thus far, a lot about Parrots and people with strange, not so very Latin names, as Garcia Marquez tends to do.

My French family doesn't have a can opener so I opened my can of tuna with a bottle opener, punching a series of holes around the edge of about half of the can then attempting to rip off the top before someone came in and asked me questions about what I was doing. I don't have the vocab for that. Cut my hand, but the tuna on a fresh baguette with hummus and water was delicious. Tomorrow: bacon sandwiches! Then I must make my French recipes this week. I'll let you know how it goes. Hopefully I'll be able to avoid all of the cream.

Also, not brushing my hair after a shower turns it into nothing less than a fiasco.

A bientot!

Hilarity Ensuing

Overhearing my host brother and his girlfriend having a very brief sexual encounter. Hilarious.

3 Weeks in France

Things realized thus far:

#1. I miss peanut butter. And sushi. And spicy food. Though I'm going to make stuffed peppers soon I think. But the lesson is: don't ever take the foods you love for granted because in France they just don't understand peanut butter. And the sushi is very expensive and not delicious.

#2. Don't drink wine on a stomach only filled with bread.

#3. I have many a time gotten frustrated with people's inability to understand one another. To communicate, to exchange basic ideas with one another. To say difficult things. I have said that there are no words to describe something. I have said that others seem like they're even speaking a different language sometimes, and have subsequently resigned myself to a miscommunication. Let me just say that you've never experienced miscommunication until everyone around you is speaking in a language that you only know from textbooks and CD recordings. There is nary a miscommunication for me here because I can't even get to the communication part. So, dear readers, know that there is always a word (I'm talking English, though there may be one in French that I do not know) for what you're trying to say. And you're never speaking a different language. You just have to be willing to compromise a bit with your understanding of things. This goes for all involved parties. The listening is important. I have never listened as much as I have to hear. I have to be very very patient.

#4. I miss driving. I'll probably be very out of practice when I return. But I'll have the radio, which I also miss. Namely WKNC (N.C. State's radio), which will, as far as I'm concerned, top WXYC any damn day. Unless of course, one of my dear friends is playing music of their choice. Like Julian's whale sounds at 4am.

#5. Speaking of Julian, I miss my roommates. I even miss how filthy they are. And I miss all the girls. And the boys I don't live with, obviously.

#6. I love riding the metro.

#7. When I'm walking around, sometimes I forget where I am and I look up and am subsequently very startled. I think that the French tradition of drinking while walking on the street will be a hard one to let go of as well. Luckily I'll be 21 in less than a year!!!!

#8. I really like it here. And I'm really starting to like my own company in a way that I haven't been able to before. It's very comforting to feel like all the company you need is with you all of the time. Not that I don't drive myself crazy. But it's funny to be a clueless American in Paris if you don't take anything too personally.

A bientot!

Ile-de-France to Brussels?

Just sent my first ever CouchSurfing request to this 21 year old beer loving cook dude in Brussels, Belgium. I found his profile, was like "PARFAIT!" (which, appropriately, is French for perfect. Since parfaits are one of the most perfect foods.) and sent a request, including info including that I'm from the US, love to cook, also like beer, and really want to visit Brussels and be shown the city by a local. And, truly, to make some new Euro friends. Though, after reading a bit of "Culture Shock!" (that my former Parisienne, now CHienne friend Jenn gave me before I left), I learned that the French take a very long time to develop friendships with anyone, not just American girls who speak no French.

Today was a good day, however. I skipped my 2 hour French class to sleep since M. Bondurant keeps rescheduling film viewings for 9am, which requires one to get up by 8am at the latest. Movies first thing in the morning are not helpful for a productive day. By the end of Phonetics lab at 13h30 (1:30) I was passing out in every direction and so, giving my homework to Kayla & Christy, I took the metro home. Then I read, watched some "Mad Men," and passed out until 18h00 (6:00). Got up, made tomato sauce with Camembert, tomato coulis, garlic, pepper, and onions and boiled some spaghetti. Will have food until Sunday b/c of my bulk-cooking skills. I really want to marinate my chicken soon but it's frozen and should be fine for a while, i.e. after my pasta (and my risotto!) runs out. But I was thinking Hoegaarden, OJ, olive oil, herbes de provence, gray pepper (I know right - what exactly is that?!), and cayenne? Sounds good. A bit of citrus never hurt anyone.

After dinner (and three glasses of vin blanc) I discussed the exchange rate with my French mom. In French! It's amazing how much better I feel about opening my mouth after some vin. I suppose that's in any language though. Then they made pizzas and my host dad came home from 8 hours of meetings today (merde!) and came in to say hello and show me his collection of French comic books (including Tintin, Mom!). The collection is VAST and he said they might help me learn some familiar French phrases. He's so nice.

Mathieu just asked me to join him outside for some hookah, so I suppose I will. Bon mercredi!

A bientot!

Skype

...is wonderful. Just talked to Beth and Cole. Still "working" on this infernal French project. It's really not too bad, actually, just translating my opulent English language skills is #1 bastardization and #2 super awkward. Everything I write sounds like I translated it directly from English. Because I did. I will never be able to think of ideas in French. Not after my 20-year love affair with English.

One contributing factor to my French ineptitude: my French teacher. Yesterday was tolerable, today was literally insufferable. For the last 20 minutes of going over the formation of the passé composé, which, for you non-Francophiles, is the second verb tense one learns in French 101 after the present tense. Plz kill me. It wasn't even like review either, it was literally explanation after explanation of -re verbs and -er verbs and verb families and how they are formed in the p.c. For 2 hours. I stared at the gorgeous apartment building outside. Our facility is right across from Notre Dame, something none of us will be able to get used to, despite our 10 hours a week in class there.

After class I was so unbelievably zoned out that I immediately ran from the building, changed my last bit of American cash and strolled up to Rue Rivoli, headphones on (No Age's latest album - so wonderful), to find me some decent boots for a decent price. Thinking that the latter would be my biggest challenge proved to be false: there were SO MANY STORES with cute and functional boots for under 30 Euros. It was pretty overwhelming. But, I quickly realized that not only are women in France about as slight as my skinny wrists, they all have teeny tiny feet. Size 40 is the largest size carried with any regularity, which is equivalent to about a 9.5 in the US. As you may or may not know, I wear nothing less than a size 10. Religiously. This required me to search through 4 different 5-story department stores to find the extremely rare pair of boots for under 70 Euros that would even allow my foot to enter the mouth of the damn things.

Found some pairs. Of course, they were hideous. They must assume that girls with big feet are fat and un-fashionable, and therefore could NOT be French. The black calf-high ones I selected to try on were like moon boots: puffy and unflattering. The gorgeous light brown leather (my favorite kind!) knee-high ones were adorable but for someone with legs the size of baguettes. I finally found a pair not unlike the ones I scrounged from Charlotte Russe last winter: ankle, light brown leather, buckles, small heel. But these are French! And were on sale!!!!!!

SO went to find a desperately-needed heavier sweater. (In the men's section, since women are slaves to the fashion industry that would take your first born for a pair of heels.) Found some cute ones that reminded me greatly of the ones that my host brother's girlfriend wears: tight sleeves, v-neck pullover knit. I selected the royal purple initially, then upon the sad realization that they were out of Mediums (even men are much smaller in France), found a gorgeous lavender twin behind it! Size M! Yessss! AND ON SALE! The sweater's adorable and I think it's quite flattering even while being assez French (not an easy feat).

I have to be at the Foyer International at 9h00 tomorrow for a screening of La Belle at La Bete by Jean Cocteau for my film class. Then a test on our first two walking tours (which dedicated readers might remember me mentioning and saying that one of which was conducted in French by the very soft-spoken Dr. Costello and I failed to understand a single word of the entire tour. Can't wait to be tested on "the French that I should have known when I started the program that everyone else speaks and I do not!"), which I am really looking forward to having out of the way. The real truth: I don't care!

This program is going to hear it from me once I leave, saying things like "you don't have to know French when you arrive." Yeah. Fucking bullshit. But the real truth about the test, to restate: I don't care. It's about Parisian geography as well and we all know how I feel about maps (hint: I love them all, and not just the Yeah Yeah Yeahs song).

A bientot!

Aujourd'hui

Just now learned that "aujourd'hui" is spelled with an apostrophe and not a damn hyphen. Wish they had taught me that in my three French classes so I didn't feel like such a doofus. Got to sleep in today, get up and read some Texts From Last Night and work on my HCB paper more. Thank god for FreeTranslation.com.

Think I need to buy some cheap boots. My Toms aren't doing much for me in the way of warmth. Looked up some Couchsurfers in Prague and Amsterdam last night. I'd really love to go to Prague and I think I might even take a day or two off from class to spend a good few days there. It's supposed to be super cheap and gorgeous. Plus I just finished "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" which is set largely in Prague (or Praha, as it's called locally) and from the sounds of that novel, it was the place to be after the Soviets invaded. Bahaha. I now know where the name for Regina Spektor's 2003 album "Soviet Kitsch" came from: that book. I love her even more, if that's possible.

OK, off to Phonetics class and then French for another day of many a chuckle.

A bientot!

My Evening

Not much to do and the rain has forced me indoors. So, I watch Project Runway, Top Chef, finish my book, and write a review of a photography exhibit en français. All while laying on my couch drinking delicious 2 Euro red wine.

Will get up long before class tomorrow to complete said review of the Henri Cartier Bresson exhibit at le Musée d'Art Moderne that ended this past weekend over coffee and some bread with French applesauce. Delicious. And it's not due until Friday!

Photos of the Week-end

From the top: Abby and I got happy hour drinks, mine was something frou-frou and hers was a mojito. Delish! THEN: my risotto (w/ tomatoes, artichoke hearts, Edam cheese, French bacon, onions, ridiculous amounts of garlic and pepper, and green peppers), served EXTREMELY hot. Photo could never do it justice. THEN: me and Abby at the Arc de Triomph after trying and failing to do a project for our conversation class (it's OK we did it today). THEN: Abby under le tour eiffel. Looks much less like a metal asparagus at night.

The Unbearable Unreliableness of the Paris Metro

A few funny things have occurred since we last spoke.

#1. Abby and I "went out," which consisted of us taking the metro random places in the city with open bottles of wine slash whiskey. Sat in the sex district of Pigalle being amused by people until a creepy guy came up to us and started talking. I mainly though he was just some dumb guy so I told him various fables about our lives etc, but Abby felt weird (probably because of his lazy eye, which made him look much creepier) so we got back onto the metro and went to Notre Dame to, yes, sit outside and drink. After a bit, we decided it was time to catch the metro home, which is where funny thing #2 comes in.

#2. They say that the metro gets to its final stop on weekends at about 2:15am. Thusly, one assumes that the last train will leave central Paris around 1:00-1:15. One thinks this is a just assumption, but realizes when one goes to catch one's train at 1:00am that "the last train est termine." So, one (and by one, you can now assume I mean me) sprints to the next metro stop to take her in the general direction of her house, only to be told that this train is also "ferme" (which, incidentally, not only means closed, but also locked). So, after about 10 minutes of freaking out, crying, etc., one resigns herself to do as any poor female student who misses the last metro must do: walk home.

SO, not that I expect you to have knowledge of Parisian geography, but let me just briefly explain that the distance from Chatelet-Les Halles (1eme) to my house in Montreuil (East Paris suburb) is less than half of the way across the city. However, do not let this fact lead you to believe that it took me any less than an hour and a half (two miles of city jogging-without-actually-jogging) to find my way back to Rue de Sergent Godefroy. Also, my "Paris-Par-Arrondisement" does not extend past Paris, so after I got out east of the 20eme, I basically had to follow where I thought the RER A line must run. That's basically what I had done the whole time though: through the huge traffic circles at Bastille and Nation and then on through Vincennes (various portes and chateaus of) and then past my only recognizable landmark, the Centre Georges Pompidou parking deck three blocks from my house.

Now, you might think that I was walking the whole way scared and pissed. Not true. Very funny people around at night and not a neighborhood that I went through was the least bit unlively with drunk French people (even more amusing than regular French people). Plus I had a bunch of cheap French whiskey and my new winter coat to keep me warm and occupied.

Upon arriving home after 3am my time, I was almost immediately Skyped by Cole, Ashley, Katie, and ANNIE!!!!! who has gotten so big! We chatted for about an hour, and seeing the three ladies for the first time since I left was unbelievably wonderful. I cried seeing Annie, like I usually do. They were drinking PBR, which I miss BADLY. I know, I'm even shocking myself.

#3. Passed out after reading more of "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" which is PHENOMENALLY GOOD. Slept until 1, got up to make risotto finally, of which I will post photos. I was not expecting him to stand with me in the kitchen smoking cigarettes while I stirred my risotto for an hour and telling me stories. Turns out that the reason why this house is one big room downstairs and looks hand-done is because the entire house was molded and generally fucked up when they bought it, and my host dad redid the entire house by himself. He showed me a bunch of photos of the shitty house and him in some crazy wool coats, smoking cigarettes and doing some bricoler (the most useless French verb one could know, meaning "to do handiwork"). Anyway, it's pretty impressive. And he taught me various kitchen vocabulary, of which I remember none.

The risotto was delicious and Abby and I went out to do a project for class, got lost, had wine and cocktails at a happy hour cafe near the Arc de Triomph where everyone was speaking English. Happy hour is from 4-10ish at most places and means very very cheap drinks. Have 2, then after that, switch to 2 euro wine, take the metro home BEFORE 1am.

Luckily, I'm so exhausted from running through Paris is the cold that all I wanted to do was buy the cheapest things possible at the Monoprix for dinner and come home and curl up under my duck-feather comforter and watch 'Ratatouille,' which never fails to warm my heart and exhilarate my stomach.

Speaking of, being poor and running around all of the time is making it hard for me to keep my pants up. I've probably lost five pounds since being here. Not that I have any basis for comparison since #1 I don't know how much I weigh since it's stupid and #2 pounds doesn't mean shit since everything is in metric.

A bientot!

The Sty Chronicles: Part Un

I have a sty on my bottom eyelid. It's gross and painful. I'm putting hot compresses on it regularly.

HOWEVER today is Friday and my family is making crepes for dinner. They asked if I like crepes. I asked them what kind of question that was because EVERYONE like crepes. Except I really hope that they're savory and not sweet. My experiences with sweet things here in France has been that they probably wouldn't dislike the sweet tea of the South. Sugar is precious to these people, along with cream. But never in their coffee, god forbid!

My French mother is going to teach me how to use her washing machine this evening. Finally my clothes will fit again! I've already exploited my purchases at H&M the other day and am ready to wear something that smells like soap and not like the metro.

A bientot!

Le Champs De Mars

...Is where me and my dear roommate Abby went tonight to drink cheap white wine (although at this point, one may easily omit the cheap in favor of less cluttered posts. You must be used to the concept of me drinking cheap wine.) and meet adorable Italian M.B.A. students in town for one more night. Luckily, tomorrow is Friday and I am ready to go out to the discotheques for my friend Caroline's 21st birthday! Despite that it doesn't mean much here in France, the highly American symbolism still resounds.

Decided to laugh my way through French class today instead of getting depressed. Discovered that every pack of cigarettes sold in France says "smoking kills" on the outside. Drank three bottles of wine for dinner instead of eating anything sustainable. People told me wine was cheaper than water, but no one said it was also cheaper than food. That 0.90 centime baguette was good though. But that's all I had time to eat today. I prefer my own kitchen, so I still haven't cooked any food at my house. They're weird about who uses the olive oil. Oy vey.

Listening to my friend Jack S.'s great acoustic covers of Beyonce, Bob Dylan, and MGMT songs. My fingernails are filthy, just like Joni says. Good thing I don't have class in the AM OH WAIT MY PROFESSOR RESCHEDULED OUR CLASS FOR 9AM TOMORROW BECAUSE OF THINGS THAT ARE BEYOND OUR CONTROL AWESOME. It's fine. The discos await.

A bientot!

With regards to the previous post...

I like French and I like to read it/speak it/listen to my brothers talk to me in it. I hate the way people think you have to learn it. And I hate that there are so many self-satisfied idiots (i.e. my teacher) in every part of the world.

And I just miss having my own kitchen, I guess. Though I am losing weight as a result of being poor and not cooking for myself and eating other people's food which is, frankly, not nearly as delicious as my own.

"Il fait beau"

"Il fait beau" is what one says when the weather is nice. The weather is, however, far from what a native North Carolinian would call nice. 55 and cloudy, raining off and on. My host mother made sure to tell me that when it is nice outside that I should leave my windows open. I didn't know how to explain that it was fucking cold and gross, so I just nodded. I did have a kind-of conversation with my host dad about my French class, in which I am so UNBELIEVABLY bored but still have no idea what the hell all of the words on the page in front of me say.

My teacher is, as I suspected, completely insane. Our class consists of her talking out of her ass and saying things that contradict one another enormously, followed by an hour looking at a worksheet about sci-fi that is trying desperately to be funny when it's actually just useless. It's also beyond me why we're learning sentence structures and how to form questions when we haven't talked about any vocabulary or anything vaguely resembling trying to understand the words in the sentence. So, just like in almost every class, I am boredboredbored and completely irritated.

I wish that I could just not be, and that I could just deal with it like the other girls seem to do. Accept my fate as a student, i.e. to jump through hoop after hoop of idiocy. However, I cannot turn off my natural instinct to #1 be convinced that my teacher is a fool and see evidence of it left and right and #2 resent my presence in a class where I'm just filling a seat with dollar signs (or in this case Euro signs). Can't imagine what it will be like back at UNC.

I know it's only the third day, but all I want to do is go cook food and read other books and not this inane shit I am assigned. My family keeps insisting that I eat with them, too, so I haven;t even gotten a chance to make my artichoke, edam, bacon, and tomato risotto. For fuck's sake, it's all I want! But again, my vocabulary does not extend that far. It does, however, extend as far as to say MERDE!!!!

I leave you with this, which is what I read today in class rather than stare blankly at my idiot teacher.

"Being in a foreign country means walking a tight rope high above the ground without the net afforded a person by the country where he has his family, colleagues, and friends, and where he can easily say what he has to say in a language he has known since childhood."

-The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera

Going to go read more articles for Cinema. At least it's in my god damn language.

French TV

Watched '24' ('Vingt-Quatre') in French with my brothers. They surprised me as I was coming out of the bathroom. The toilet room, I mean. The bathroom (shower/bath) is down the hall. But they were waiting in my darkened room to leap out at me and tell me to come hang out downstairs before going to sleep. Very nice, considering I'd holed myself up in my loft for the past few hours Skyping and watching 'Mad Men' and looking over French verbs. Not so much the last one, hah!

Class today was OK. Cinema will be wonderful and I get to write papers in English! which we all know is my forte. In between classes I sort of wandered in and out of the metro with my headphones on, thinking of something to write a poem about. French class is two hours every day with my dyslexic and senile teacher. She might be nice, but I'm fairly sure that she's insane. Luckily I have someone to make faces at in class (4 other girls in my program). The rest of the students are international and one is named Hedwig! Still only one boy. No boys in my cinema class.

Thank god for my host brothers. They play video games and everything. Just like boys.

Went shopping at H&M for winter things. Got a coat on sale. It's cute. Assez French. I wish this damn country would pick a temperature though. All day long I sweat and shed my various layers of cardigans and then in the evening when I want to wear my cardigans, they are covered in sweat! ZUT! Mais, c'est pas grave. My host brothers keep telling me that my French will get better. I'm starting to believe them. Despite my classes. HAH as always, that phrase appears.

A bientot!

Ma Nouvelle Famille

Bonjour!

As I write this, I am sitting in my new room in my new house above an adorable courtyard where Olivia (?...je ne comprende pas wtf my family calls her) the adorable and super-smart German Shepard lives. My floor-to-ceiling window over looks the courtyard and my bed is accessed by way of a ladder up to a little nook where there is a small bureau and my soft little French bed! There is a desk, a bookshelf, a metal rack upon which to hang my clothes, and a little set of shelves for my other things.

My brothers Victor, Julien, and Mathieu, along with Mathieu's girlfriend Anise and Mme. Stefani and I all took Olivia on a walk through the neighborhood park after an amazing lunch of mustard-roasted beef, spicy tomato salad, pommes frites, and broccoli with some wonderful Bordeaux biologique (organic) wine. During lunch, everyone talked a lot and quickly to one another and Joel, my host father, would translate the funny parts for me. They're very good about making sure I can understand them when they're talking to me. After lunch, Joel, Julien, Mary-Ellizabeth and I sat and smoked together over some coffee and a glass of cidre, which is exactly what it sounds like.

My host brothers are all gorgeous and very different-looking. Mathieu speaks English pretty well and is very dedicated to speaking French to me. Once the parents had gone inside, he pulled down the front of his pants to reveal a cool tattoo and asked me a question about it. I started laughing my ass off and said "Oui, quelquefois" and he and Julien joined me laughing and said that I've come to the right family!

ALORS, on our walk through the park we met up with a bunch of young Parisians and sat around in a little circle chatting and sharing. People here don't care at all and everyone smokes in the park just walking around with their dogs and friends. Everyone I met kissed me on both cheeks in a way which we Americans would call tres French. Mathieu's girlfriend likes to practice her English translating things to me and asking about slang words.

In sum: they're hilarious, patient, friendly, and Mr. Stefani is an excellent cook! My little brother is now outside playing basketball. I'll take some photos and post them soon.

A bientot!

Le Centre Pompidou

Moi@ Centre Pompidou
L'exterior from the metro station
"Portrait d'e Femme" by Pablo Picasso
For you, Mom! "Le nez" by Giacometti
Also for you, Mom, and you also Dad. Magritte.
Marc Chagall
MATISSE! The best day ever was at MoMA when the entire 6th floor was a Matisse exhibit. This room was like a mini version of that.
The beginning of the elles@Pompidou exhibit of modern female artists. Love it.

My French Assignments

This morning at 10h20 (4:20am on the East Coast), I had an interview with my French professor in order to receive my personalized French language assignments for the next 6 weeks. The questions went as follows: "What do you study?" "What do you like to do?" "What do you hope to get out of your time in Paris this semester?" In between my many "uhhhhh"s and enormous pauses, Mr. Bondurant was able to decipher a few things.

#1. I study Afro-American studies and poetry, which I like. Especially rap music.

#2. I like to cook.

#3. I like to eat.

#4. I like to shop for groceries.

#5. I don't speak French pretty much at all.

Alors, my assignments are as follows:

#1. Buy the French cooking magazine Saveurs for September and October and make two recipes from each magazine at my house. Then talk about what was difficult, what was easy, what I learned. Learn about what fruits and vegetables are seasonal and how they are prepared. Talk about my experiences in markets.

#2. Go online and research 3 French hip-hop artists. Learn things about them, listen to their music, and be able to discuss their lyrical messages in three songs by each artist.

#3. Buy a poetry book by the first President of Senegal, Leopold Senghor, choose 2 poems and discuss their meanings.

C'est bon!

Went to Montmartre yesterday and walked around solo after our hilarious walking tour. Got a coffee, some bottles of wine and some ONE EURO EARRINGS. My ultimate goal in life. Looking at my friend Kas's blog about her study abroad experience in Ghana right now, I'm seeing more and more how unbelievably expensive it is here. Can't wait to move in with my family and start cooking and saving myself some coin. Montmartre was cheaper than most of the city though, and it was truly wonderful to see all of the places from the movie Amelie, including Cafe de 2 Moulins, where she worked as a waitress.

Got sangria with my friend from Lyceum Boyce who is here doing a homestay program as well, but in the south of France. Hadn't seen him since winter of freshman year and he's grown up a lot! He doesn't speak much French either, so I didn't feel like an idiot when the couple next to us leaned over to say something to me and I stared at them blankly then apologized awkwardly and kept drinking my sangria. It's delicious sangria, for the record.

Wish it weren't so cold. I need to buy another jacket. A wool one. Ugh.

A bientot!

Host Family News & More French Behaviors

Received the information on my host family.

Les Stefani

6, rue du Sergent Godefroy

93100 Montreuil (about 30 minutes from my classes - c'est bon!)

I'll be pretty near my current roommate Abby (YES!) and right outside of the 20eme arrondisement in Eastern Paris.

I have three brothers, Mathieu (21), Julien (18), and Victor (12) and they have a dog! And a piano! I bought my Zones 1-3 Metro pass this evening after a successful visit to Centre Georges Pompidou, which I will post photos of tomorrow.

Now for the good stuff:

#1 French people shut their doors all of the time. This is not to keep people out, necessarily, but rather to demonstrate the idea of privacy. Not that they don't want you to knock, but it seems strange to Americans since an "open-door policy" is pretty much standard for us. So, if you're wondering why your dorm's foreign exchange student seemed so antisocial, keeping his door shut tight all of the time, know that all you had to do was knock.

#2 It is considered rude to not say hello AND goodbye to everyone in most places that are somewhat intimate, e.g. not the metro (super awkward), and not the street (people just look at you like you're insane). For instance, going into a shop you should say "bonjour madame" when you come in and something like "merci, au revoir!" when you leave. If you don't, the French will totally call you out on it by making a dramatic point of saying "BONJOUR MADEMOISELLE." My favorite scenario: in the elevator, you are to greet people when they get on and when they get off you are to bid them good-day. Hilarious.

#3 French people do NOT sit on the floor NOR put their feet up whilst sitting. It is, as Dr. Costello would say, just not French. Amusant, to be sure.

Jeudi...So Far

Well just hustled back from our French placement test in Montparnasse (14eme) to the Foyer in the pouring rain with no map and no assistance! It's ironic how much the program babys us with "safety regulations" and then takes us to the middle of the city and leaves us there, floundering with our bad French.

The placement test was dreadful so I just started making things up, like I always do in French class. I couldn't understand what the redaction (essay) question was asking so I talked about going to the beach and cooking with mes amis every summer. Whatever. Choose verbs you already know, people. That's how I've passed every French so far. There were also a bunch of "fill-in-the-blank" type of questions that I just made up answers to as well. Oh well. Looks like I'll be in elementary French. Quel surprise !

The interview section was crazy too, and my interviewer asked me some questions I didn't understand so I just stared at her and started talking about AFAM and food and coming to Paris with my mom a few years ago. Zut!

Going to read The Unbearable Lightness of Being and surf Paris food blogs until my next meeting at 15h (3pm) to find out my host family!

Le Premier Jour Mavais dans Paris!

Cheers to my first bad day in Paris. Not all bad, but I realize more and more that I understand the least French out of all of my fellow NC Consortium participants. Went on a walking tour in Marais (4eme), led by Dr. Costello en francais. Did not understand a word, so instead took some photos and generally lingered around, catching "septieme siecle" and "Louis XIV" and that was about all over 2 hours of tour.

Then the four ENORMOUS pages of homework assigned by dear Monsiour Bondurant made no sense to me either. Despite my claim that I can read some French. I can't really. Our placement test is tomorrow. At least I'll be in the easiest of all of the classes. It rained again, my head ached, I got a bit depressed about home, mainly trying to stay in touch with some people I miss a lot who I know are very busy and important but whom I would very much like to hear back from.

After the walking tour, though, some of the girls and I went out to eat at this not-very-good cafe on Blvd St-Germain but sat outside and generally had a great time just chatting. After that, I watched Top Chef and started the homework...for about 3 hours...and right as I was about to take a shower so I could cry a bit out of desperation in private, my dear poetry class friend Caroline texted my shitty French phone to go get wine in my neighborhood!

SO decided to give up on the p.c. vs. imparfait debate since none of it made any sense whatsoever and am going to walk a few blocks to meet her at Chez Georges off of Rue St-Sulpice for some cheap wine and to meet new friends.

I've only been washing my hair with soap (since shampoo is mad expensive) and it makes it look totally insane, but there's not much else I can do about that.

Will have more weird French habit news tomorrow. I've been collecting some good ones.

A bientot!

More Bizarre French Things

Le Tour Eiffel lit up a 22h; moi avec le Tour Eiffel (it's very tall!); le 5eme arrondisement (le Quartier Latin, where the Foyer is); some crevettes (shrimp) sauteed in delicious Asian sauce with serrano peppers and some weird styrofoam-textured bread substitutes

Some more French things:

#1 French people wear "slippers" indoors. Slippers are just shoes that one has for the home and does not wear outside. The French do not go barefoot. Assez tacky or something.

#2 The toilet paper is all pink.

Going to catch the last hour of "happy hour" at the bars, which happens after dinner (around 20h or 8 o'clock). Ate baguette and a tomato on the terrace while reading The Unbearable Lightness of Being. It's quite wonderful and accessible, which I appreciate in a book of such a title. Tomorrow we have more French class and are supposed to talk about what we want to ask our host families about come Sunday.

For housing interviews, I told the sweet but hilariously long-winded Dr. Costello that I want someone who cooks copiously and maybe has pets. He said he would place me with someone lively since I seem quite so myself. Haha. Maybe he's right. I hope I'm lively.

Anyway, Abby's finishing her weird Desperado beer that tastes like fruit braised in Corona and off we go!

A bientot!