Okay, who have I not sent a letter or postcard to who wants one? I currently have none in transit and none in draft, so... anyone?
9.26.2008
January 20th, 2009
Besides being jet-lagged, smelling bad and not the least bit tired from lugging my half-ton of luggage back to the Americas, I don't know what will happen on this day in history. Being six hours behind the earliest of the US timezones, I find myself reading yesterdays news - almost exclusively about the US Presidential election, though South Africa has recently interested me as well - every morning with a sense of anxiety. Who's up in the polls? What was said the day before? Increasingly, what wasn't said? Which candidate is leading in which states? Is their lead important? Should I really be investing so much into something that I have 1/150,000,000 of a chance of affecting (although in reality, much lower)? All the polls (those mischievous tempests in teapots) seem to be leaning towards my main man Obama, but why aren't they floored for him? I think the West Wing, for all of the hopefulness and humor about US politics it delivered during a particularly dreadful period in our history, really jaded me to how much the executive can do.
As much as I dislike George Bush and his neo-con handlers, the poor man really looks pathetic these days, scrambling for a legacy, hoping not to be remembered as the worst president in history. It's been a long time since I felt adolescent hatred for the man I've never met but who has affected my life so much. For years now, it's just been pity. Now, in a lot of ways, John McCain is getting my pity as well. I used to think of John McCain as one of the few Republicans who were "good guys" (not to say that all Democrats are good, or all Republicans are bad - that would be naive to the point of delusion). He was a man that had character and dignity and respect for others. He reminded me a lot of my grandfather (both of them, really - and not surprisingly they both do and would support him). When he won the Republican nomination, I was really, honestly pleased. Mitt Romney is a crook and Mike Huckabee is a... well, I don't really like anything in which he believes.
Now though... Christ on a whale! I've lived through George Lucas washing out, I've lived through... well, okay, just that one. But now I'm living through John McCain washing out too. And it's sad. It'd be like my grandfather... okay, I'm just not gonna make that analogy 'cuz it'd never happen, whatever it might be. There are just some times when your self-respect should be above your desire. It's why we don't eat whole cakes, or kick pigeons, or rear-end the cars of people who cut us off - unless we're Cathy Bates. John McCain, are you Cathy Bates? No. It's understandable that the guy is probably hurt from having the Presidency robbed from him by the current idiot, but is that hurt really enough to drive him to whatever ends it takes to achieve that office? Granted, once you're in the door, history has a way of overlooking the bloody hands that opened it, but this is more than that. Sarah Palin? She's the Jar-Jar Binks of politics - lovable at first, to some, but to others and eventually all, irritating and disastrously incompetent. The "Let's Come Together In Washington" stunt? That's the whole of The Attack of the Clones - special effects attempting to replace meaningful plot and dialogue and leaving everyone angry at the fact that good actors sucked that bad. I don't know what the political equivalent of the "Only my new powers can save you Padmé" line will be. Maybe McCain will pull the old "Electing the other guy will ensure another terrorist attack" routine in an attempt to scare the electorate into doubt.
I think on January 20th, when the motorcade has rolled through Washington amidst cheering crowds with the stars and stripes flapping in the midwinter breeze, I will be sitting in front of a television set (although I'll probably still be on the plane) watching John Roberts asking Barack Hussein Obama, Jr. to swear to the oath of office. If not though, I think the whole nation will repeat the now-famous performance of Darth Vader discovering his life turned upside down.
*For reference, I have attached a video link.
Hail to the Chief
And the King of all the Surgeons,
He needs a Queen,
To satisfy his urgin's
As much as I dislike George Bush and his neo-con handlers, the poor man really looks pathetic these days, scrambling for a legacy, hoping not to be remembered as the worst president in history. It's been a long time since I felt adolescent hatred for the man I've never met but who has affected my life so much. For years now, it's just been pity. Now, in a lot of ways, John McCain is getting my pity as well. I used to think of John McCain as one of the few Republicans who were "good guys" (not to say that all Democrats are good, or all Republicans are bad - that would be naive to the point of delusion). He was a man that had character and dignity and respect for others. He reminded me a lot of my grandfather (both of them, really - and not surprisingly they both do and would support him). When he won the Republican nomination, I was really, honestly pleased. Mitt Romney is a crook and Mike Huckabee is a... well, I don't really like anything in which he believes.
Now though... Christ on a whale! I've lived through George Lucas washing out, I've lived through... well, okay, just that one. But now I'm living through John McCain washing out too. And it's sad. It'd be like my grandfather... okay, I'm just not gonna make that analogy 'cuz it'd never happen, whatever it might be. There are just some times when your self-respect should be above your desire. It's why we don't eat whole cakes, or kick pigeons, or rear-end the cars of people who cut us off - unless we're Cathy Bates. John McCain, are you Cathy Bates? No. It's understandable that the guy is probably hurt from having the Presidency robbed from him by the current idiot, but is that hurt really enough to drive him to whatever ends it takes to achieve that office? Granted, once you're in the door, history has a way of overlooking the bloody hands that opened it, but this is more than that. Sarah Palin? She's the Jar-Jar Binks of politics - lovable at first, to some, but to others and eventually all, irritating and disastrously incompetent. The "Let's Come Together In Washington" stunt? That's the whole of The Attack of the Clones - special effects attempting to replace meaningful plot and dialogue and leaving everyone angry at the fact that good actors sucked that bad. I don't know what the political equivalent of the "Only my new powers can save you Padmé" line will be. Maybe McCain will pull the old "Electing the other guy will ensure another terrorist attack" routine in an attempt to scare the electorate into doubt.
I think on January 20th, when the motorcade has rolled through Washington amidst cheering crowds with the stars and stripes flapping in the midwinter breeze, I will be sitting in front of a television set (although I'll probably still be on the plane) watching John Roberts asking Barack Hussein Obama, Jr. to swear to the oath of office. If not though, I think the whole nation will repeat the now-famous performance of Darth Vader discovering his life turned upside down.
*For reference, I have attached a video link.
Hail to the Chief
And the King of all the Surgeons,
He needs a Queen,
To satisfy his urgin's
9.25.2008
133.08 Euros...
Is my phone bill for the month, according to Dad. So... I'm going to be getting a French cellphone, or else I'll just have to learn to shout louder. Oopsie boopsie.
9.21.2008
Was That Our Train?
It's 7:07 in the morning. I for five of the last seven hours, I've been asleep on a floor. For one of the last seven hours, I've been walking around various French cities. For half an hour of the last seven hours, I've been on the connection of the overnight train from Nîmes to Montpellier. The remaining half hour in the equation has been spent standing on the train platform wondering to myself how I got here. Oh yes. The Féria.
Twice a year, the city of Nîmes hosts a large festival called the Féria, once during Pentecost and the other during the autumn equinox. The one during Pentecost is much more touristy and crowded than during the equinox. The centerpiece of the Féria is the corrida, which is... well, the ritual killing of bulls by a matador. I won't go into specifics, but I watched everything and, as Martha told me once, the bulls are raised in an almost lavish manner. I won't go so far as to say that their deaths are quick or painless - rather the opposite, in fact - but... well, yeah, it sucks. Still, there's a certain elegance about it, and it was a cultural experience more than something in which to revel. I think I'll stick with taureau-piscine (trying to push a bull into a pool without falling in yourself) or course camarguaise (snatching a rosette from the horns of the bull), both of which leave the bull unscathed. Humans still run the risk of being gored or trampled to death, but...
I went to see the 5 o'clock corrida, which lasted until just about 8. I was with a group of French and Americans, about eight of us total, and afterwards we went for dinner at the little shops set up outside the arena (which was built by the Romans around 100 A.D., btw). This bit isn't really important. The important bit is where we wound up playing Kings (a drinking game - although in my defense I was drinking water) and losing complete track of time, or simply not caring. I'm not totally sure myself. The game involves each of the 13 cards per suit being designated to a specific role - for example, two means you, where the person who drew the card points at someone who then has to drink, or five, guys (all the guys have to drink). The best ones, in my opinion, are 9, 10 and the King. Nine signifies that the person has to think of a words and everyone else in the circle has to come up with a word that rhymes with that. The nuance last night being that half the group started in French and half the group started in English, so it was a bit of a challenge. 10 signifies the person who drew the card creates a rule that must be obeyed for the duration of the game. The first rule was that every phrase must be ended with 'in my pants'. For example, "Who's turn is it... in my pants?". The second rule was that whenever our friend Jesse started talking in excess, in French, after drinking a conspicuous amount, and we had to tell him to stop, our other friend Jade had to drink because of him. She didn't like this rule, but we all felt it was fair and democratic. Kings signifies categories, which means if someone says 'cars' everyone else in their turn must think of a kind of car. The best one for this was 'Stores around Montpellier'. Who remembers that sort of stuff at a moment like that? ... in my pants. I'm sure the description of the game is fascinating to all of you, but since I'm the one writing, I have tyrannical power over you, my audience. Just like Lord Vetenari, one man, one vote, and I am that man.
So we finish at about 11:05. It takes us 5 minutes to get out of the door because... well, everyone except me was in various states of inebriation (a word whose spelling I did not know before I typed it just now). We walked and stumbled leisurely to the train station, and about five minutes from the station - and the moment our train was due to depart - we realize that we are five minutes from the station, at which moment the train will depart. I start to run. The other seven start to run, which... wasn't totally successful. I arrive at the platform with just enough time to see the red rear-engine lights of our departing train about 100 meters down the track. My friend Mike comes up behind me.
"Was that our train?"
"Yes."
"How can you be sure?"
"You see the sign on the monitor that says X train to Montpellier?"
"Yeah?"
"See how the sign just disappeared?"
"Oh."
We go back down to the lobby to find everyone giggling that we've missed our train. Granted, I'm not particularly pissed, since I know everything will be more or less all right. It's not like I missed a flight back to the States or that this was the last train out of town before a monumental flood swept it and its inhabitants away. Even more luckily, our French friend Alexandra is a medical student at the University of Nîmes and has a small pad there (where we'd been playing Kings). So, after figuring out the next train will be at 6AM, we return there and spread out on what little floor space there is and get a few hours sleep. My only disappointment is I was suffering from a bit of a head cold, and had really looked forward to getting into a real bed. Still, a cold cement floor in someone's apartment is better than a cold cement floor at a train station.
We awoke before dawn, and despite the lack of light I was wearing my sunglasses. This is my universal symbol for "I have just gotten much too little sleep, and if anyone makes more noise than is necessary to not fall into a crevasse and die, I'll push you into one all the same." I am not a morning person, and do not understand morning people. In my opinion, if the sun mysteriously popped up full in sky around ten AM, I'd be perfectly content. We arrive at the train station, luckily on time, and head off to Montpellier. I manage to get back to my house just as it's getting light out, and as I'm rummaging through my backpack I realize I can't find my keys. The prospect of losing my only means of getting out of the quite chilly night and into my nice warm bed where I can sleep of fatigue, hunger and cold do not thrill me.
Luckily, I found my keys, and here you find me now. Or rather, it's now 15 hours later, since I slept for five more hours and spent the rest of the day wandering about the city. It is the weekend of Patrimoine, or French Heritage, and so all the national, regional, and civic sites around France are mandated to be open to the public. One of the coolest things I could've seen but wasn't able to was the Faculty of Medicine which dates back to the 13th century. As consolation though, I've been told the Room of Specimens - rumored to contain every possible bit of anatomy you could think of including fetuses and possibly even a whole human being - is never open to the public, even during Patrimoine. Perhaps a break-in is in order...
But I did get some lovely shots of the city, which I will post for you below. Thus, I conclude what must be my longest entry to date. I have pictures of the corrida and a video of one of the bulls being killed, but I will only show them to interested parties with the caveat that it is not a sight for the faint of heart. Here's Montpellier!
(L to R, line by line) - The Entrance of the Picadors and Torreadors; the Matador; the Place de la Comédie before dawn; the Gare Saint Roch; the Arc de Triomphe de Montpellier; the Centreville and the Antigone to the east; the Place de la Cathédrale Saint Pierre (with its iconic foyer towers); the large and beautiful apartment complex near my house - formerly a hospital; typical Hausmannian architecture; the Opéra)
Twice a year, the city of Nîmes hosts a large festival called the Féria, once during Pentecost and the other during the autumn equinox. The one during Pentecost is much more touristy and crowded than during the equinox. The centerpiece of the Féria is the corrida, which is... well, the ritual killing of bulls by a matador. I won't go into specifics, but I watched everything and, as Martha told me once, the bulls are raised in an almost lavish manner. I won't go so far as to say that their deaths are quick or painless - rather the opposite, in fact - but... well, yeah, it sucks. Still, there's a certain elegance about it, and it was a cultural experience more than something in which to revel. I think I'll stick with taureau-piscine (trying to push a bull into a pool without falling in yourself) or course camarguaise (snatching a rosette from the horns of the bull), both of which leave the bull unscathed. Humans still run the risk of being gored or trampled to death, but...
I went to see the 5 o'clock corrida, which lasted until just about 8. I was with a group of French and Americans, about eight of us total, and afterwards we went for dinner at the little shops set up outside the arena (which was built by the Romans around 100 A.D., btw). This bit isn't really important. The important bit is where we wound up playing Kings (a drinking game - although in my defense I was drinking water) and losing complete track of time, or simply not caring. I'm not totally sure myself. The game involves each of the 13 cards per suit being designated to a specific role - for example, two means you, where the person who drew the card points at someone who then has to drink, or five, guys (all the guys have to drink). The best ones, in my opinion, are 9, 10 and the King. Nine signifies that the person has to think of a words and everyone else in the circle has to come up with a word that rhymes with that. The nuance last night being that half the group started in French and half the group started in English, so it was a bit of a challenge. 10 signifies the person who drew the card creates a rule that must be obeyed for the duration of the game. The first rule was that every phrase must be ended with 'in my pants'. For example, "Who's turn is it... in my pants?". The second rule was that whenever our friend Jesse started talking in excess, in French, after drinking a conspicuous amount, and we had to tell him to stop, our other friend Jade had to drink because of him. She didn't like this rule, but we all felt it was fair and democratic. Kings signifies categories, which means if someone says 'cars' everyone else in their turn must think of a kind of car. The best one for this was 'Stores around Montpellier'. Who remembers that sort of stuff at a moment like that? ... in my pants. I'm sure the description of the game is fascinating to all of you, but since I'm the one writing, I have tyrannical power over you, my audience. Just like Lord Vetenari, one man, one vote, and I am that man.
So we finish at about 11:05. It takes us 5 minutes to get out of the door because... well, everyone except me was in various states of inebriation (a word whose spelling I did not know before I typed it just now). We walked and stumbled leisurely to the train station, and about five minutes from the station - and the moment our train was due to depart - we realize that we are five minutes from the station, at which moment the train will depart. I start to run. The other seven start to run, which... wasn't totally successful. I arrive at the platform with just enough time to see the red rear-engine lights of our departing train about 100 meters down the track. My friend Mike comes up behind me.
"Was that our train?"
"Yes."
"How can you be sure?"
"You see the sign on the monitor that says X train to Montpellier?"
"Yeah?"
"See how the sign just disappeared?"
"Oh."
We go back down to the lobby to find everyone giggling that we've missed our train. Granted, I'm not particularly pissed, since I know everything will be more or less all right. It's not like I missed a flight back to the States or that this was the last train out of town before a monumental flood swept it and its inhabitants away. Even more luckily, our French friend Alexandra is a medical student at the University of Nîmes and has a small pad there (where we'd been playing Kings). So, after figuring out the next train will be at 6AM, we return there and spread out on what little floor space there is and get a few hours sleep. My only disappointment is I was suffering from a bit of a head cold, and had really looked forward to getting into a real bed. Still, a cold cement floor in someone's apartment is better than a cold cement floor at a train station.
We awoke before dawn, and despite the lack of light I was wearing my sunglasses. This is my universal symbol for "I have just gotten much too little sleep, and if anyone makes more noise than is necessary to not fall into a crevasse and die, I'll push you into one all the same." I am not a morning person, and do not understand morning people. In my opinion, if the sun mysteriously popped up full in sky around ten AM, I'd be perfectly content. We arrive at the train station, luckily on time, and head off to Montpellier. I manage to get back to my house just as it's getting light out, and as I'm rummaging through my backpack I realize I can't find my keys. The prospect of losing my only means of getting out of the quite chilly night and into my nice warm bed where I can sleep of fatigue, hunger and cold do not thrill me.
Luckily, I found my keys, and here you find me now. Or rather, it's now 15 hours later, since I slept for five more hours and spent the rest of the day wandering about the city. It is the weekend of Patrimoine, or French Heritage, and so all the national, regional, and civic sites around France are mandated to be open to the public. One of the coolest things I could've seen but wasn't able to was the Faculty of Medicine which dates back to the 13th century. As consolation though, I've been told the Room of Specimens - rumored to contain every possible bit of anatomy you could think of including fetuses and possibly even a whole human being - is never open to the public, even during Patrimoine. Perhaps a break-in is in order...
But I did get some lovely shots of the city, which I will post for you below. Thus, I conclude what must be my longest entry to date. I have pictures of the corrida and a video of one of the bulls being killed, but I will only show them to interested parties with the caveat that it is not a sight for the faint of heart. Here's Montpellier!
(L to R, line by line) - The Entrance of the Picadors and Torreadors; the Matador; the Place de la Comédie before dawn; the Gare Saint Roch; the Arc de Triomphe de Montpellier; the Centreville and the Antigone to the east; the Place de la Cathédrale Saint Pierre (with its iconic foyer towers); the large and beautiful apartment complex near my house - formerly a hospital; typical Hausmannian architecture; the Opéra)
9.19.2008
Call My Adventure Journal Boring, Eh?
Okay, so here are interesting things.
On Thursday, I started my first real class with French students and a French professor not gently selected by the University to care and nurture us poor Americans. This first class that I had was... geomorphology. Yes, it was hard. Yes, it frightened me. I don't know if I will continue with the class (but probably I will, because I only need the equivalent of a C+ to get an A). I have a week to learn what a 'geological cut' is, and be able to draw one for part of Montpellier (I think I know what it is, but...). The words for rocks are completely different in French than in English. For example, limestone is calcaire. Luckily, there is a LOT of calcaire in the region, so I don't need to figure out what granite or shale or basalt or sandstone are. Yet. On the plus side, taking an upper division geography/geology course can only burnish my résumé. And, I might learn a thing or two.
After geomorphology, I had the much easier French phonetics course taught by Madame Barféty (the one who reminds me of Mrs. Hamline from 4th grade). I am now learning the International Phonetic Alphabet! Yay! We learned about aspirated and muted H's on Thursday, which Mme. Barféty told us was more or less useless in French since they don't know how to pronounce the H sound anyways. Silly French.
My host family has been yelling at one another with more and more frequency lately, and so that has given me great impetus to leave the house. This weekend, I am going to Nîmes to watch the Féria, which is the annual bullfighting competition and associated fête. Should be fun. I also bought by 12-25 train card, which gives me at least 25% off all train voyages in France, and if I buy things far enough in advance, up to 60% off. So, also Yay! In unrelated news, I discovered that my friend Ping knows what 4chan is. I hope to God none of you do, except for Brian, Emilio, Dave and all other gamenight friends. I was greatly amused. Also, there was a beggar sitting on the side of one of the main pedestrian streets today holding up a sign that said "Money to be used only for drugs and alcohol" in French and on the other side English. I tried to take a picture, but my batteries were dead. When I told him such, he said, "Oh, no worries. Mine are dead too!" and pointed to his head with a toothless smile. I also saw the Virgin Mary appear before me in a shroud and point to the summit of the hill nearby, and I knew in that moment that I must build a great cathedral to Our Lady. Alas, my camera still being out of juice, she vanished into the ether and I remembered I'm not Catholic.
Please do not worry about the financial crisis, as anything any of you do pertaining removing assets from the market will only make the dollar devalue more and make it harder for me to buy the things I need, like wine and chocolate.
On Thursday, I started my first real class with French students and a French professor not gently selected by the University to care and nurture us poor Americans. This first class that I had was... geomorphology. Yes, it was hard. Yes, it frightened me. I don't know if I will continue with the class (but probably I will, because I only need the equivalent of a C+ to get an A). I have a week to learn what a 'geological cut' is, and be able to draw one for part of Montpellier (I think I know what it is, but...). The words for rocks are completely different in French than in English. For example, limestone is calcaire. Luckily, there is a LOT of calcaire in the region, so I don't need to figure out what granite or shale or basalt or sandstone are. Yet. On the plus side, taking an upper division geography/geology course can only burnish my résumé. And, I might learn a thing or two.
After geomorphology, I had the much easier French phonetics course taught by Madame Barféty (the one who reminds me of Mrs. Hamline from 4th grade). I am now learning the International Phonetic Alphabet! Yay! We learned about aspirated and muted H's on Thursday, which Mme. Barféty told us was more or less useless in French since they don't know how to pronounce the H sound anyways. Silly French.
My host family has been yelling at one another with more and more frequency lately, and so that has given me great impetus to leave the house. This weekend, I am going to Nîmes to watch the Féria, which is the annual bullfighting competition and associated fête. Should be fun. I also bought by 12-25 train card, which gives me at least 25% off all train voyages in France, and if I buy things far enough in advance, up to 60% off. So, also Yay! In unrelated news, I discovered that my friend Ping knows what 4chan is. I hope to God none of you do, except for Brian, Emilio, Dave and all other gamenight friends. I was greatly amused. Also, there was a beggar sitting on the side of one of the main pedestrian streets today holding up a sign that said "Money to be used only for drugs and alcohol" in French and on the other side English. I tried to take a picture, but my batteries were dead. When I told him such, he said, "Oh, no worries. Mine are dead too!" and pointed to his head with a toothless smile. I also saw the Virgin Mary appear before me in a shroud and point to the summit of the hill nearby, and I knew in that moment that I must build a great cathedral to Our Lady. Alas, my camera still being out of juice, she vanished into the ether and I remembered I'm not Catholic.
Please do not worry about the financial crisis, as anything any of you do pertaining removing assets from the market will only make the dollar devalue more and make it harder for me to buy the things I need, like wine and chocolate.
9.17.2008
Blah Blah France Blah Blah
News from France:
I went to the Marché Puce, the flea market on Sunday mornings at the edge of town where everything that has been stolen during the week gets resold. I got a pair of jeans and two sweaters for 11E total. This was, by comparison, a rip-off, since if I'd really tried to haggle I could've gotten everything for like two or three euros. It's like that one time I went to the annual rummage sale at Mac and got like twelve things for five dollars. In retrospect, I could've paid a single dollar for everything. And then I walk away and think to myself, "Had I bought even the jeans in a store, that would've cost me 18E, and that's only if I had saved the life of the cashier and saved the store from a hurricane." So really, I made off like a bandit.
Other than that, not much has happened here. I thought of something funny today, but now I've forgotten it.
I had a delicious beignet aux framboises (raspberry filled donut) that had real fruit filling instead of a high-fructose-corn-syrup jelly that is more dye than fruit. Aaaaaaaaand beyond that. Nothing. Started my internship with the architect, M. Ducros. Mostly I watched him as he went around to two houses he's building to check up on how the work was going. The French use concrete in everything they build, and insulate with styrofoam, which I thought was interesting. More Friday. Official class starts tomorrow with geomorphology, which I hope will go well. All the other Americans seem to be taking literature courses either in English or in French, so I guess I'm being ambitious?
Vote Obama, vote often.
I went to the Marché Puce, the flea market on Sunday mornings at the edge of town where everything that has been stolen during the week gets resold. I got a pair of jeans and two sweaters for 11E total. This was, by comparison, a rip-off, since if I'd really tried to haggle I could've gotten everything for like two or three euros. It's like that one time I went to the annual rummage sale at Mac and got like twelve things for five dollars. In retrospect, I could've paid a single dollar for everything. And then I walk away and think to myself, "Had I bought even the jeans in a store, that would've cost me 18E, and that's only if I had saved the life of the cashier and saved the store from a hurricane." So really, I made off like a bandit.
Other than that, not much has happened here. I thought of something funny today, but now I've forgotten it.
I had a delicious beignet aux framboises (raspberry filled donut) that had real fruit filling instead of a high-fructose-corn-syrup jelly that is more dye than fruit. Aaaaaaaaand beyond that. Nothing. Started my internship with the architect, M. Ducros. Mostly I watched him as he went around to two houses he's building to check up on how the work was going. The French use concrete in everything they build, and insulate with styrofoam, which I thought was interesting. More Friday. Official class starts tomorrow with geomorphology, which I hope will go well. All the other Americans seem to be taking literature courses either in English or in French, so I guess I'm being ambitious?
Vote Obama, vote often.
9.11.2008
$1.38!!!
Great news! The euro keeps falling against the dollar. I, by virtue of my nationality and banking choices, am getting richer by the day. Today, the euro was at it's lowest price in over a year. It is my hope, impossible though it might be to realize, that the euro reaches parity with the dollar. At such a time as that, I am liquidating all my assets and transferring the funds here to buy, buy, buy!!
Okay, really, I wouldn't do that because it would be tremendously stupid.
So, I discovered today that the geography department here at Paul Valery has finally gotten everything straightened out. What has happened is that every four years, the curriculum changes completely. Every class is replaced by a new one. That switch occurred last Friday. Thus, the French students and myself, as well as the program office and no doubt one or two of the professors themselves were completely surprised. This means that classes start a week later than most of the others, and that I get a few more days with relatively nothing to do.
Relatively, because I have started some classes. I have started the mandatory grammar and phonetics courses that the students on my program take in order to improve their French. I like them well enough. The phonetics course is taught by the same professor that did the oral expression portion of the orientation, and she is funny and reminds me of my 4th grade teacher Mrs. Hamline (only French). The course also makes me miss Joe, who is a linguist, and would probably understand everything we're learning, the theory behind it, and much more, all without batting an eye. My grammar class is twice a week at 4:15 in the afternoon, but that gives me the morning free and I can sleep blissfully late. Even if I slept as late as Martha has been known to sleep, I would still be able to get to class with plenty of time to spare. The grammar teacher is known as the 'dragon lady' by a lot of the other students, who have heard horror stories about her from past students, but I like her. I also tend to like professors more than most other people, unless they have poor organization, which irks me like no other. You can totally suck at life, but if you're well organized, you're a mark up in my book.
Next week, I start my courses in geography: géomorphologie and le géographie des pays dévelopées. (I don't think I have to translate those). They are the two courses that interested me the most and fit most conveniently with my times. Also, I still have no classes on Friday!! However... this might change because I found out I have an internship.
Most of the other Americans have internships with schools or non-profit organizations, and generally deal with very generic things like teaching English or what have you. Do I have one of these? No, no! Peter is a stubborn bastard, and is tricky and hard to please. Peter doesn't want what's on the menu, he wants what the chef has been hiding in the vegetable hamper under the lettuce so no one will find it. Peter wants the blue balloon, not the white one or the red one. In truth, all of this was done with the greatest politesse and I didn't expect the results I got, but apparently one of the program directors is good friends with an architect, and they have consented to let me intern with them for the semester. I'm not an architect, granted, but the guy (or woman, I'm not sure yet) is working on designing an entire neighborhood right now, which fits right up the alley of... ***URBAN GEOGRAPHY***. So, yay for me. I will be crossing my fingers from here on out that everything is good to go and that I haven't just told you all a wishful thought. Enough for now.
I have sent out the first volley of letters to the US. I hope they get there in due course. Peace out.
Okay, really, I wouldn't do that because it would be tremendously stupid.
So, I discovered today that the geography department here at Paul Valery has finally gotten everything straightened out. What has happened is that every four years, the curriculum changes completely. Every class is replaced by a new one. That switch occurred last Friday. Thus, the French students and myself, as well as the program office and no doubt one or two of the professors themselves were completely surprised. This means that classes start a week later than most of the others, and that I get a few more days with relatively nothing to do.
Relatively, because I have started some classes. I have started the mandatory grammar and phonetics courses that the students on my program take in order to improve their French. I like them well enough. The phonetics course is taught by the same professor that did the oral expression portion of the orientation, and she is funny and reminds me of my 4th grade teacher Mrs. Hamline (only French). The course also makes me miss Joe, who is a linguist, and would probably understand everything we're learning, the theory behind it, and much more, all without batting an eye. My grammar class is twice a week at 4:15 in the afternoon, but that gives me the morning free and I can sleep blissfully late. Even if I slept as late as Martha has been known to sleep, I would still be able to get to class with plenty of time to spare. The grammar teacher is known as the 'dragon lady' by a lot of the other students, who have heard horror stories about her from past students, but I like her. I also tend to like professors more than most other people, unless they have poor organization, which irks me like no other. You can totally suck at life, but if you're well organized, you're a mark up in my book.
Next week, I start my courses in geography: géomorphologie and le géographie des pays dévelopées. (I don't think I have to translate those). They are the two courses that interested me the most and fit most conveniently with my times. Also, I still have no classes on Friday!! However... this might change because I found out I have an internship.
Most of the other Americans have internships with schools or non-profit organizations, and generally deal with very generic things like teaching English or what have you. Do I have one of these? No, no! Peter is a stubborn bastard, and is tricky and hard to please. Peter doesn't want what's on the menu, he wants what the chef has been hiding in the vegetable hamper under the lettuce so no one will find it. Peter wants the blue balloon, not the white one or the red one. In truth, all of this was done with the greatest politesse and I didn't expect the results I got, but apparently one of the program directors is good friends with an architect, and they have consented to let me intern with them for the semester. I'm not an architect, granted, but the guy (or woman, I'm not sure yet) is working on designing an entire neighborhood right now, which fits right up the alley of... ***URBAN GEOGRAPHY***. So, yay for me. I will be crossing my fingers from here on out that everything is good to go and that I haven't just told you all a wishful thought. Enough for now.
I have sent out the first volley of letters to the US. I hope they get there in due course. Peace out.
9.07.2008
The First Month
HOLY CRAP I'VE ALREADY BEEN HERE A MONTH!!!
So... what do I think about the place? It's a lot like California - it's about 75F on average, save a few days when it's been humid. It's been cloudy only three days. The vegetation outside the city looks a lot like chaparral, and inside the city there are lots of plane trees and pines and occasionally there are cacti. It is surprisingly green. You'll be walking down a street with houses squeezed together all along the streetfront, and behind them and wherever they can, trees will be poking out from behind. It's quite nice.
The University was obviously built in the 1960s and has not had much maintenance since then. I'll have to include pictures sometime, because it looks very rustic in the sense that once it must've looked good (or possibly not - I don't know what people thought of architecture in the 60s) but now it has acquired the air of a hobo a ways past their prime. Also, the central government in Paris decided not to approve the course schedule for the University until June, right before the secretaries went on their summer holiday. Having just returned this past Monday, they had been gingerly working away at publishing everything for the students. The Geography Department, along with History, Psychology, Performance Art and a couple otherse, decided they were a bit too rushed by the Parisian bureaucrats, and so classes in those departments will start next week. For the time being, I have an internship class (related to an internship I don't have yet), a grammar class (Tuesday and Wednesday for two hours each - yay!), and a phonetics class on Thursday. The two geography classes I am interested in taking are as diverse as they come. The first is a three-subject upper division course on hydrology, ecology and geomorphology, and the other is on the geography of Latin America, health and sanitary development, economic service geography, and littoral geography. I have no idea whether or not I'm biting off too much to chew, but hopefully all will go well. The program directors have said American students always do better than the students anticipate.
My host family is nice, although the twice now the daughter, Yseult, who is 22 and lives elsewhere, has been coming over to engage in shouting matches with her mother about money. As far as I can tell, Yseult is unemployed but thinks nothing of it, and wants her parents to maintain a lifestyle for her as though she were employed. Her mother disagrees, and tells her this in more than that many words. Next time this happens, I think I'll just go for a walk. Besides that, everything has been fine. It is certainly interesting living with another family, especially one I've never really gotten to know except for right now. I suppose these situations are hit or miss, but I feel like its more hit than miss. I certainly am not the subject of any unpleasantries, and everything said and heard is nothing I haven't seen worse of in the United States. Well, not within my own family, certainly. We're perfect.
I went to Avignon today to see the Palace of the Popes. It was very austere, especially since it was, for a long time, a fortress. From what people have said who've visited the other, more famous papal residence, the latter exceeds the former in just about every count. Speaking of the papal residence, my friend Erin, who is studying in Rome talked to me today and said she'd like to come visit and invited me to do the same. I would certainly like to go to Rome, or at least Italy, but we'll see what logistics and money allow. In money news, sorry, I meant more news, has moneybody seen my wallet? I money'd have left it at the bank. Money next time I should be money careful. Money. Oh, and I'm going to Brussels in early November, or maybe London, as we have six days of vacation for the All Saint's weekend.
I'll put up pictures after dinner. Thank you to all my underwriters, philanthropic supporters, bankrollers, contributors, leasers, loan sharks, bail bondsmen, and leprechauns. I really am grateful for all the help you've given me, mentally, emotionally, financially and physically (heavy luggage - not a good idea).
So... what do I think about the place? It's a lot like California - it's about 75F on average, save a few days when it's been humid. It's been cloudy only three days. The vegetation outside the city looks a lot like chaparral, and inside the city there are lots of plane trees and pines and occasionally there are cacti. It is surprisingly green. You'll be walking down a street with houses squeezed together all along the streetfront, and behind them and wherever they can, trees will be poking out from behind. It's quite nice.
The University was obviously built in the 1960s and has not had much maintenance since then. I'll have to include pictures sometime, because it looks very rustic in the sense that once it must've looked good (or possibly not - I don't know what people thought of architecture in the 60s) but now it has acquired the air of a hobo a ways past their prime. Also, the central government in Paris decided not to approve the course schedule for the University until June, right before the secretaries went on their summer holiday. Having just returned this past Monday, they had been gingerly working away at publishing everything for the students. The Geography Department, along with History, Psychology, Performance Art and a couple otherse, decided they were a bit too rushed by the Parisian bureaucrats, and so classes in those departments will start next week. For the time being, I have an internship class (related to an internship I don't have yet), a grammar class (Tuesday and Wednesday for two hours each - yay!), and a phonetics class on Thursday. The two geography classes I am interested in taking are as diverse as they come. The first is a three-subject upper division course on hydrology, ecology and geomorphology, and the other is on the geography of Latin America, health and sanitary development, economic service geography, and littoral geography. I have no idea whether or not I'm biting off too much to chew, but hopefully all will go well. The program directors have said American students always do better than the students anticipate.
My host family is nice, although the twice now the daughter, Yseult, who is 22 and lives elsewhere, has been coming over to engage in shouting matches with her mother about money. As far as I can tell, Yseult is unemployed but thinks nothing of it, and wants her parents to maintain a lifestyle for her as though she were employed. Her mother disagrees, and tells her this in more than that many words. Next time this happens, I think I'll just go for a walk. Besides that, everything has been fine. It is certainly interesting living with another family, especially one I've never really gotten to know except for right now. I suppose these situations are hit or miss, but I feel like its more hit than miss. I certainly am not the subject of any unpleasantries, and everything said and heard is nothing I haven't seen worse of in the United States. Well, not within my own family, certainly. We're perfect.
I went to Avignon today to see the Palace of the Popes. It was very austere, especially since it was, for a long time, a fortress. From what people have said who've visited the other, more famous papal residence, the latter exceeds the former in just about every count. Speaking of the papal residence, my friend Erin, who is studying in Rome talked to me today and said she'd like to come visit and invited me to do the same. I would certainly like to go to Rome, or at least Italy, but we'll see what logistics and money allow. In money news, sorry, I meant more news, has moneybody seen my wallet? I money'd have left it at the bank. Money next time I should be money careful. Money. Oh, and I'm going to Brussels in early November, or maybe London, as we have six days of vacation for the All Saint's weekend.
I'll put up pictures after dinner. Thank you to all my underwriters, philanthropic supporters, bankrollers, contributors, leasers, loan sharks, bail bondsmen, and leprechauns. I really am grateful for all the help you've given me, mentally, emotionally, financially and physically (heavy luggage - not a good idea).
9.01.2008
Fact Stranger Than Fiction
Whoever remarked that Sarah Palin could be John McCain's granddaughter was onto something. So what would that say about McCain to be a great-great-grandfather? I'm pretty sure my great-great-grandfather was born in the mid-19th century...
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