"[People] cheat. People fail. This is an immutable fact of life. I think we think we’re defined by our successes like weddings, and promotions, and crazy vacations. But I think it’s our disappointments that make us who we are. The way we emotionally adapt to a world that won’t give us what we want is the secret to human uniqueness. Some of us negotiate this chaos and behave exactly as expected—we claw, we hoard, we deceive. Some of us surrender to our lot and find that love is forgiving someone for the embarrassment of being human. Those people are special, and no one writes opinion columns about them."
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Sunday, June 5, 2011
ça m'a fait lol, deux.
Another collection of quotes, most of which are from my hilarious students.
[standing outside a restaurant with a few people when a group of guys who I think were out for a bachelor party approaches us... ]
Drunk French fool (in French): Is there someone here who speaks English?!
Me: ...Um, well, yes...
Fool: Do you speak English really? Because me, "Aye cahm frahm Lawse Angellees!" You see?
Me: Seriously? That was the worst American accent I've ever heard.
Drunk fool: Why you don't believe me !?
[discussing internet related vocabulary]
Student: I use the internet to google search monkey forests.
[searching something on the computer]
Student: You will be your big hands.
Me: Pardon?
Student: You don't know the French expression? Tu tapes avec tes gros droigts!
Me: I type with my fat fingers?
Student: Yes... They're quite big.
[speaking of hobbies/interests]
Student A: I like wildlife photography.
Student B: -looking around incredulously-
Me: What? Is that strange?
Student B: Wildwife photography???? You admit to our teacher that you like wildwife photography????
Student: I never tried drugs when I was young.
Me: That's probably smart.
Student: Smart... ? Like the car?
Me: No, like intelligent.
Student: Smart is the same that intelligent!? I thought it's the name of the car! Incredible!!
[talking about air travel]
Student: I have a very racist joke on this subject.
Me: Let's hear it, then.
[My boss walks through the room and smiles at us both, closing the door behind her]
Student: (whispering) ok, she's left so I can tell it now.
Drunk French fool (in French): Is there someone here who speaks English?!
Me: ...Um, well, yes...
Fool: Do you speak English really? Because me, "Aye cahm frahm Lawse Angellees!" You see?
Me: Seriously? That was the worst American accent I've ever heard.
Drunk fool: Why you don't believe me !?
[discussing internet related vocabulary]
Student: I use the internet to google search monkey forests.
[searching something on the computer]
Student: You will be your big hands.
Me: Pardon?
Student: You don't know the French expression? Tu tapes avec tes gros droigts!
Me: I type with my fat fingers?
Student: Yes... They're quite big.
[speaking of hobbies/interests]
Student A: I like wildlife photography.
Student B: -looking around incredulously-
Me: What? Is that strange?
Student B: Wildwife photography???? You admit to our teacher that you like wildwife photography????
Student: I never tried drugs when I was young.
Me: That's probably smart.
Student: Smart... ? Like the car?
Me: No, like intelligent.
Student: Smart is the same that intelligent!? I thought it's the name of the car! Incredible!!
[talking about air travel]
Student: I have a very racist joke on this subject.
Me: Let's hear it, then.
[My boss walks through the room and smiles at us both, closing the door behind her]
Student: (whispering) ok, she's left so I can tell it now.
Monday, May 9, 2011
la vie française, c'est parfois abrutissante.
Somedays are good. Other days, you get your spirit crushed by a French person.
Good days are what? Finding $10 on the ground, being told that you're doing a great job at work, having a moment of self-discovery, a smile from a cute dood on the metro even. Yeah, I'd say all of those would fall within the limits of what a lot of people would consider a happy boost in their day. For me, what would really make an average day great is being given a compliment in my French level. Don't get me wrong, I'd love to be told I helped someone at work, or maybe to have more hours, or hm, perhaps even a work contract?! But in the meantime, I'll settle for a "your French isn't bad, you know."
Recently, I went to the movie theatre to see a film with friends and when it was my turn to approach the woman behind the counter, I asked (in French) for "one ticket to Source Code, please. And I'm less than 26 [so I get a discount]." The woman glances up at me and in taking my money, asks me whether I know that it's in original version, which is English, and only the subtitles are in French. My friends and I start laughing together, as one of them exclaims, "She's American! Of course it's not a problem!" And the woman gives me a smirk as I smugly take my change and ticket from her, feeling elated that I somehow managed to pull off a decent enough French accent to fool someone into thinking that I was French. Granted, I'm sure there was a lot of noise and maybe she couldn't hear me that well, but I couldn't help feeling smooth anyway. Instant day-maker.
But bad days? Mildly bad days can involve maybe slipping on the subway grate, or going into a bakery to get a delicious brioche only to realize you don't have enough money, or realizing your umbrella is broken as you step out the front door to pouring rain. Well, if there's one thing that French people seem to be really great at, it's piercing your spirit with a soul-crushing yet plainly stated piece of brutal honesty and that can ruin more than just your day.
For example, after exchanging emails with a friend of a friend (in French), I admitted to him over coffee that I tend to have mental roadblocks which keep me from speaking French at a level I would like. Instead, in order for me to really be able to carry on a long and, indeed, quite interesting conversation would be to find that limit between 3-6 drinks where I'm uninhibited enough to try out those new words I saw on Plus Belle, La Vie but not drunk enough where I forget how to say basic things like "I'm gonna set my alarm clock now" or "your friend just vomited under the table." In explaining this mental problem to him, he casually told me between sips of his drink "yeah, I notice you make particularly a lot of mistakes when it comes to tenses. And you often use a lot of expressions incorrectly. And it's true, when you're drunk you really can't speak French at all. It's actually hilarious." And I'm thinking... Wait. You're not supposed to whole-heartedly agree with me! I then found it even more difficult to speak with him -- it seemed that suddenly, he was speaking two times faster and my blood alcohol content had increased ten-fold, but without the fun side-effects. As if he had taken my ability to speak at all and crushed it under his thumb, the way you would a stray crumb on the table: absent-mindedly.
I experienced one other particularly soul-crushing situation, which left me feeling entirely helpless. After a long day at work, I was walking towards the metro when I was thinking about a few things I needed to pick up -- a light bulb to replace the one that broke, a new dishcloth, maybe some hooks to hang stuff. As I was pondering to myself, I noticed two people standing outside one of the many designer shops along this particular street. One was an older woman dressed sleekly in crisp off-white pants and matching slick blazer with light-brown high heels and bouncy blonde hair and she was standing next to a man who I can only assume was gay, dressed exactly as you would expect a French gay man to dress (that is, impeccably). As I walked towards them, I noticed they both give me the once-over -- admittedly, I was dressed quite plainly for such a chic street: a pencil skirt, flats, a cardigan: your basic plain-Jane getup. But as I passed them, I noticed their reflection in a window straight in front of me. I saw the man saying something to the woman, his eyes still on me, and after she turned to watch me walk away, they both put their heads back in loud ego-bruising laughter. Simultaneously my jaw and stomach hit the floor as I hurried behind the corner. Now feeling too self-conscious to get that new dishtowel, I rushed home to be sure that I didn't leave toilet paper treading out of my skirt or had traces of hangover on my face from the night before. Once home, I saw that there was nothing worthy of that mortifying laughter to be found and I still have no idea what made them laugh like that... But the fact that I lost the courage to even finish errands for the day is just pathetic... Isn't it?
A French stranger somehow harnesses the power to insult and injure my ego like no other random American has been able to do to me thus far in my life. And you know, sometimes I chicken out of doing even basic things, like going into a hair salon to ask about the prices or going into a pharmacy to get ibuprofen, simply because I get a nasty look from someone behind the register. Why must they make it so difficult?!
I think this is why, when I return to the US, I'm only too happy to talk to everyone and generally feel more at ease at home.
[Obligatory French-people-suck-sometimes-but-I'm-still-here-so-that-clearly-makes-me-some-sort-of-masochist comment]
xx
Good days are what? Finding $10 on the ground, being told that you're doing a great job at work, having a moment of self-discovery, a smile from a cute dood on the metro even. Yeah, I'd say all of those would fall within the limits of what a lot of people would consider a happy boost in their day. For me, what would really make an average day great is being given a compliment in my French level. Don't get me wrong, I'd love to be told I helped someone at work, or maybe to have more hours, or hm, perhaps even a work contract?! But in the meantime, I'll settle for a "your French isn't bad, you know."
Recently, I went to the movie theatre to see a film with friends and when it was my turn to approach the woman behind the counter, I asked (in French) for "one ticket to Source Code, please. And I'm less than 26 [so I get a discount]." The woman glances up at me and in taking my money, asks me whether I know that it's in original version, which is English, and only the subtitles are in French. My friends and I start laughing together, as one of them exclaims, "She's American! Of course it's not a problem!" And the woman gives me a smirk as I smugly take my change and ticket from her, feeling elated that I somehow managed to pull off a decent enough French accent to fool someone into thinking that I was French. Granted, I'm sure there was a lot of noise and maybe she couldn't hear me that well, but I couldn't help feeling smooth anyway. Instant day-maker.
But bad days? Mildly bad days can involve maybe slipping on the subway grate, or going into a bakery to get a delicious brioche only to realize you don't have enough money, or realizing your umbrella is broken as you step out the front door to pouring rain. Well, if there's one thing that French people seem to be really great at, it's piercing your spirit with a soul-crushing yet plainly stated piece of brutal honesty and that can ruin more than just your day.
For example, after exchanging emails with a friend of a friend (in French), I admitted to him over coffee that I tend to have mental roadblocks which keep me from speaking French at a level I would like. Instead, in order for me to really be able to carry on a long and, indeed, quite interesting conversation would be to find that limit between 3-6 drinks where I'm uninhibited enough to try out those new words I saw on Plus Belle, La Vie but not drunk enough where I forget how to say basic things like "I'm gonna set my alarm clock now" or "your friend just vomited under the table." In explaining this mental problem to him, he casually told me between sips of his drink "yeah, I notice you make particularly a lot of mistakes when it comes to tenses. And you often use a lot of expressions incorrectly. And it's true, when you're drunk you really can't speak French at all. It's actually hilarious." And I'm thinking... Wait. You're not supposed to whole-heartedly agree with me! I then found it even more difficult to speak with him -- it seemed that suddenly, he was speaking two times faster and my blood alcohol content had increased ten-fold, but without the fun side-effects. As if he had taken my ability to speak at all and crushed it under his thumb, the way you would a stray crumb on the table: absent-mindedly.
I experienced one other particularly soul-crushing situation, which left me feeling entirely helpless. After a long day at work, I was walking towards the metro when I was thinking about a few things I needed to pick up -- a light bulb to replace the one that broke, a new dishcloth, maybe some hooks to hang stuff. As I was pondering to myself, I noticed two people standing outside one of the many designer shops along this particular street. One was an older woman dressed sleekly in crisp off-white pants and matching slick blazer with light-brown high heels and bouncy blonde hair and she was standing next to a man who I can only assume was gay, dressed exactly as you would expect a French gay man to dress (that is, impeccably). As I walked towards them, I noticed they both give me the once-over -- admittedly, I was dressed quite plainly for such a chic street: a pencil skirt, flats, a cardigan: your basic plain-Jane getup. But as I passed them, I noticed their reflection in a window straight in front of me. I saw the man saying something to the woman, his eyes still on me, and after she turned to watch me walk away, they both put their heads back in loud ego-bruising laughter. Simultaneously my jaw and stomach hit the floor as I hurried behind the corner. Now feeling too self-conscious to get that new dishtowel, I rushed home to be sure that I didn't leave toilet paper treading out of my skirt or had traces of hangover on my face from the night before. Once home, I saw that there was nothing worthy of that mortifying laughter to be found and I still have no idea what made them laugh like that... But the fact that I lost the courage to even finish errands for the day is just pathetic... Isn't it?
A French stranger somehow harnesses the power to insult and injure my ego like no other random American has been able to do to me thus far in my life. And you know, sometimes I chicken out of doing even basic things, like going into a hair salon to ask about the prices or going into a pharmacy to get ibuprofen, simply because I get a nasty look from someone behind the register. Why must they make it so difficult?!
I think this is why, when I return to the US, I'm only too happy to talk to everyone and generally feel more at ease at home.
[Obligatory French-people-suck-sometimes-but-I'm-still-here-so-that-clearly-makes-me-some-sort-of-masochist comment]
xx
Sunday, April 10, 2011
mais ça, c'est vraiment trop bizarre.
I already discussed the French things that I'm cool with... What about the things I'm not sure I'll ever get used to? Well, ask and you shall receive.
1. Showers. Anyone who has been to Europe has inevitably encountered some weird stuff in bathrooms -- one of them being how they separate the toilet and the shower. That's nice, I guess, if you have to go when someone is taking a shower. But one of the bizarre things is this whole tub/shower, but lack of shower head attachment. Basically, you're supposed to hold the shower head and wash yourself at the same time. But, am I supposed to sit down? Stand up? Squat? Maybe this set up saves more water (maaaaybe) but it's such an uncomfortable experience. This is why in my bathroom, I've shimmied a make-shift shower head installation using two suction cup hooks to solve this problem.
2. Dog shit in the street. As the eloquent Demetri Martin said:
3. My personal bubble. Being that everything is bigger in the US, I have a personal space bubble that I consider to be much larger than most Europeans. I just don't like strangers all up in my biz. As a result, when someone in the métro stands next to me when there is clearly a huge amount of space to be had elsewhere, I become insufferably uncomfortable. Rather than moving away from my little corner (which would naturally be letting the other person win), I send mental vibrations to the person, saying something along the lines of "BWAAA, MY BLOOD PRESSURE, MOOOOVE" which inevitably leads to maximum force bitchface and then I just come off looking mentally incapable. But really, if you just stood two feet to the left, we wouldn't have this problem.
4. Air Conditioning. I know I'm being a total turd about this, but having grown up in Arizona, I rely heavily on the comforts of air conditioning. They should get on this -- especially in the public transport. The Toulousain métro in August leaves something... to be desired.
5. The Charm. Let's forget about the fact that I've been here more than a year and a half now. One of the things I thought I would be immune to at this point is the accent -- youuuuu know, when a foreign person opens their mouth and speaks in English, you can't help but think "oooo..." I'm still such a sucker for the accent -- but I'm not talking about my students, no no no. I mean, when I hear the right things said from the right person, I turn into a big pile of goo. I actually have to stop the person, and say "No, stop, that's it. You're no longer allowed to speak English." But it's not even that much better in French -- c'mon, being told t'es trop belle, ah-mehr-ee-can gehrl would make you melt like butter too.
6. Government offices. In the good ole USA, we have lots of offices we have to go to in order to take care of administrative stuff -- mostly though, we tend to avoid them like the plague. Applying for a new social security card? Noooo, thank you. Sitting for three hours in the DMV? Haha, fuck that shit! I'd rather watch my hair get pulled out strand by strand than voluntarily deal with unhappy government workers during my free time. And that's exactly the way I feel about doing such things in France, maximized by ten. I have the impression that anytime anyone has a question about anything government related, they go to the Mairie (town hall) or the Prefecture, so maybe they're just more used to waiting... But you would have no idea, based on the number of times old ladies try to jump me in the supermarket check-out -- I know you're old, but I was here first, goddammit! Fine, go ahead. ::bitch face::
Even just sitting here, I'm thinking of more and more things to add to the list... But I do love France. And I love the US. But unfortunately, there's no utopia.
1. Showers. Anyone who has been to Europe has inevitably encountered some weird stuff in bathrooms -- one of them being how they separate the toilet and the shower. That's nice, I guess, if you have to go when someone is taking a shower. But one of the bizarre things is this whole tub/shower, but lack of shower head attachment. Basically, you're supposed to hold the shower head and wash yourself at the same time. But, am I supposed to sit down? Stand up? Squat? Maybe this set up saves more water (maaaaybe) but it's such an uncomfortable experience. This is why in my bathroom, I've shimmied a make-shift shower head installation using two suction cup hooks to solve this problem.
i'm just so handy.
2. Dog shit in the street. As the eloquent Demetri Martin said:
Owning a dog in the city is like saying, 'my need for companionship outweighs my distaste for picking up shit. I don't like shit but I am lonely. I'm gonna get a German Shepard and a shovel.'Why, god, WHY don't the French understand this?
4. Air Conditioning. I know I'm being a total turd about this, but having grown up in Arizona, I rely heavily on the comforts of air conditioning. They should get on this -- especially in the public transport. The Toulousain métro in August leaves something... to be desired.
5. The Charm. Let's forget about the fact that I've been here more than a year and a half now. One of the things I thought I would be immune to at this point is the accent -- youuuuu know, when a foreign person opens their mouth and speaks in English, you can't help but think "oooo..." I'm still such a sucker for the accent -- but I'm not talking about my students, no no no. I mean, when I hear the right things said from the right person, I turn into a big pile of goo. I actually have to stop the person, and say "No, stop, that's it. You're no longer allowed to speak English." But it's not even that much better in French -- c'mon, being told t'es trop belle, ah-mehr-ee-can gehrl would make you melt like butter too.
Hôtel des Impôts, tu me fait chier.
Even just sitting here, I'm thinking of more and more things to add to the list... But I do love France. And I love the US. But unfortunately, there's no utopia.
Et ouais, c'est tout.
gros bisous, friends.
gros bisous, friends.
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