So I waste lots of time on ESPN.com these days, but I blame it on the lack of sports availability. In my daily reading today, I noticed that Allen Iverson missed practice and is expected to receive a "hefty" fine. Really? For missing practice? I mean, it wasn't a game. Of course, we all remember his infamous press conference, where he know he 'sposed to lead by example and ain't shovin' it aside like it don't mean anything. I'm glad to see that he hasn't changed his ways 9 years later...I mean, why should he? Ain't the game, man? Ain't no thang, man.
Also, what in the world has happened to Chad Ocho Cinco this year? He changes his name in what appears to be a publicity stunt after trying to get traded from a sorry franchise that won't let him leave, all the while proclaiming that he's not going to be a distraction this year. Well, he lived up to that promise....but this is no fun for anybody. Without the desire to be a distraction, it seems like he's lost the desire to be good. Maybe he should change his name back to Johnson? Or maybe this mediocrity is actually a really clever ploy on his part to be expendable to the team. Regardless, I just want more stupid antics from him, as he never delivered on what could have been the singlest greatest sports celebration ever:
"You know there are a lot of deer in the area. Don't laugh. There are a lot of deer in the area of Cincinnati, so if you see a deer come out there, don t say I didn't tell you. I'm serious. I hit him. He's bandaged up, but he's going to come out. Don't laugh. Y'all think I'm playing. Trust me, I've got Rudolph. His nose is red. ...
No, on the highway I hit a deer. I kept him. He's at home in the garage. I'm going to use him for the celebration this weekend. He's a prop. They might suspend me for the last game, but I think this one is worth it.
He's limping, but he's alive. He's all right. This is going to be the greatest celebration of all-time, man. I actually use an animal. I'll probably get in trouble with the Humane Society, everybody. It wasn't my fault: He ran in the road."
Please, Chad, return to these glory days. I'm not laughing.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
A fistful of ideals
I've returned from my weekend in Barcelona, during which I had a great time. I enjoyed the city much more this time around, as my friend Jenna proved to be a good tour guide (although our visit may have caused some strained relations with her host mother).
I must say that Barcelona might be one of the coolest cities I've ever visited, but, after 2 visits, there are just some things that I can't get past. The first is the number of people involved in "unofficial" businesses of sorts. Perhaps it's not prevalent throughout the entire city, but, in various areas, the number of pickpockets is incredible...so much so that the locals will tap you on the shoulder if you're simply wearing a backpack to tell you to be careful. Marta and I had a few brief encounters with said persons, but no real problems occurred.
Posing less serious risks are other shady people such as prostitutes and the infamous beer sellers. The prostitutes of Barcelona dress more like normal people than ladies of the night (or putes, if you will), but they give away their intentions when they grab the bosoms of poor, unsuspecting American boys. However, I think mine was a separate incident and that this particular female was, in a rather symbolic gesture, actually reaching for my heart, as she was experiencing a dearth of true human love in her life and occupation. Or at least that's what I'm taking from it. In the midst of my disgust and overwhelming desire to shower with a scrubbing rock and a bar of well-aged horse fat, I couldn't help but express my incredulousness to Marta and Jenna that a female had actually hit on me.
Existing for the dual purpose of providing humor and quenching thirst in the city are everyone's favorite sellers of the cheapest local beer available. Entrance to the city comes with the guarantee of experiencing an onslaught on any given night of men whose vocabularies consist of the words "cerveza" and "beer," although, for maximum efficacy in reaching their international clientele, these words have been combined into the phrase "Cerveza-beer." Hmm, no, thank you. Well, actually, since you're still standing there, looking at me like it's only a matter of time before I change my mind, I've changed my mind. "One Cerveza-beer, por favor." There are some, however, who demonstrate greater word-combination abilities, sometimes adding "marijuana-coca?" onto the end of the phrase. I can only assume that these are the ones who have been voted "Most Likely to Succeed" at the Cerveza-Beer Escuela de Cerveza-Beer. Escuela.
The final grievance to be aired is the language situation. The people in Barcelona and the surrounding areas speak Catalan, which is a strange mixture of Spanish and French (not that a native speaker of either could really comprehend it). Spanish is moreso the second language, but this occasionally presents problems. Marta, who comes from the Basque region in the north of Spain (and speaks Basque and Spanish) pointed out that the people continually responded to her in Catalan, ignoring the fact that she was speaking Spanish. Apparently in the Basque region the people understand that most people don't speak their language, and they will speak Spanish unless someone responds to them in Basque. I think the way the people of Catalunya take pride in their language is great for the preservation of the culture, but I think they take it a bit far in their often stubborn refusal to more fully embrace Spanish. Thus, in spite of my amazement at the history and beauty of the city, I feel that I would not want to live there for an extended period of time. However, I would recommend anyone to visit it at least one time, because it is definitely worth seeing.
Leaving Barcelona was very sad because it was the last time Marta, Jenna, and I will be together for some time. Jenna will be returning to the States just before Christmas, and although I am sure I will see her again there, it may be
more
difficult for Marta, who studies in Madrid. Hopefully a reunion with at least the 3 of us will happen, though, as I've become close friends with the two of them since our summer internship in Paris. They're guaranteed to provide hilarity, funny stories and experiences, and caring friendship every time we're together, and I really enjoy spending time with them.
In other news, I've already not had 4 classes this week. Two were canceled because the students were on special internship programs, one canceled because the students needed to catch up after missing class during last week's teacher's strike, and one I arrived late to because of a metro problem, only to find no students. Thus, it's a rigorous 8 hour work week for me. However, it is Thanksgiving week, and, all things considered, I probably deserve time off to celebrate my culture's holidays.
Lately I've been enjoying coconut far too much, using it to cook and pouring it unnecessarily on pudding, bread with nutella, and pretty much whatever else I can feasibly use it with. I'm waiting to hear soon that too much of this delightful fruit causes some sort of cancer. People seem to think that everything somehow causes cancer, ignoring the possibility that, as life expectancies grow, everyone still has to die of something, and maybe cancer just comes more frequently in old age. Cure cancer and something else is going to kill us anyway. In the meantime, I'm going to continue eating coconut and perhaps begin lobbying for a name change to "cancernut," that way the name will turn other people off, cause decreased demand, and thus lower prices throughout the world, all for my convenience.
Today I bought cancernut ice cream, but I don't expect that it will last for too long. I arrived in Europe with some sort of cancernut-scented body wash, and I'm hoping that this idea can be extended so that I can brush my teeth with cancernut toothpaste and coat my underarms with cancernut deodorant. Perhaps they could even develop cancernut-scented toilet paper. Maybe this product already exists in the dog world, and we just don't know about it, thus explaining their tendency to shove their noses into each other's rears. Please, dogs of the world, share your secret! For you humans out there, I apologize if I've turned you away from ever eating coconut again. Not.
I must say that Barcelona might be one of the coolest cities I've ever visited, but, after 2 visits, there are just some things that I can't get past. The first is the number of people involved in "unofficial" businesses of sorts. Perhaps it's not prevalent throughout the entire city, but, in various areas, the number of pickpockets is incredible...so much so that the locals will tap you on the shoulder if you're simply wearing a backpack to tell you to be careful. Marta and I had a few brief encounters with said persons, but no real problems occurred.
Posing less serious risks are other shady people such as prostitutes and the infamous beer sellers. The prostitutes of Barcelona dress more like normal people than ladies of the night (or putes, if you will), but they give away their intentions when they grab the bosoms of poor, unsuspecting American boys. However, I think mine was a separate incident and that this particular female was, in a rather symbolic gesture, actually reaching for my heart, as she was experiencing a dearth of true human love in her life and occupation. Or at least that's what I'm taking from it. In the midst of my disgust and overwhelming desire to shower with a scrubbing rock and a bar of well-aged horse fat, I couldn't help but express my incredulousness to Marta and Jenna that a female had actually hit on me.
Existing for the dual purpose of providing humor and quenching thirst in the city are everyone's favorite sellers of the cheapest local beer available. Entrance to the city comes with the guarantee of experiencing an onslaught on any given night of men whose vocabularies consist of the words "cerveza" and "beer," although, for maximum efficacy in reaching their international clientele, these words have been combined into the phrase "Cerveza-beer." Hmm, no, thank you. Well, actually, since you're still standing there, looking at me like it's only a matter of time before I change my mind, I've changed my mind. "One Cerveza-beer, por favor." There are some, however, who demonstrate greater word-combination abilities, sometimes adding "marijuana-coca?" onto the end of the phrase. I can only assume that these are the ones who have been voted "Most Likely to Succeed" at the Cerveza-Beer Escuela de Cerveza-Beer. Escuela.
The final grievance to be aired is the language situation. The people in Barcelona and the surrounding areas speak Catalan, which is a strange mixture of Spanish and French (not that a native speaker of either could really comprehend it). Spanish is moreso the second language, but this occasionally presents problems. Marta, who comes from the Basque region in the north of Spain (and speaks Basque and Spanish) pointed out that the people continually responded to her in Catalan, ignoring the fact that she was speaking Spanish. Apparently in the Basque region the people understand that most people don't speak their language, and they will speak Spanish unless someone responds to them in Basque. I think the way the people of Catalunya take pride in their language is great for the preservation of the culture, but I think they take it a bit far in their often stubborn refusal to more fully embrace Spanish. Thus, in spite of my amazement at the history and beauty of the city, I feel that I would not want to live there for an extended period of time. However, I would recommend anyone to visit it at least one time, because it is definitely worth seeing.
Leaving Barcelona was very sad because it was the last time Marta, Jenna, and I will be together for some time. Jenna will be returning to the States just before Christmas, and although I am sure I will see her again there, it may be
more difficult for Marta, who studies in Madrid. Hopefully a reunion with at least the 3 of us will happen, though, as I've become close friends with the two of them since our summer internship in Paris. They're guaranteed to provide hilarity, funny stories and experiences, and caring friendship every time we're together, and I really enjoy spending time with them.
In other news, I've already not had 4 classes this week. Two were canceled because the students were on special internship programs, one canceled because the students needed to catch up after missing class during last week's teacher's strike, and one I arrived late to because of a metro problem, only to find no students. Thus, it's a rigorous 8 hour work week for me. However, it is Thanksgiving week, and, all things considered, I probably deserve time off to celebrate my culture's holidays.
Lately I've been enjoying coconut far too much, using it to cook and pouring it unnecessarily on pudding, bread with nutella, and pretty much whatever else I can feasibly use it with. I'm waiting to hear soon that too much of this delightful fruit causes some sort of cancer. People seem to think that everything somehow causes cancer, ignoring the possibility that, as life expectancies grow, everyone still has to die of something, and maybe cancer just comes more frequently in old age. Cure cancer and something else is going to kill us anyway. In the meantime, I'm going to continue eating coconut and perhaps begin lobbying for a name change to "cancernut," that way the name will turn other people off, cause decreased demand, and thus lower prices throughout the world, all for my convenience.
Today I bought cancernut ice cream, but I don't expect that it will last for too long. I arrived in Europe with some sort of cancernut-scented body wash, and I'm hoping that this idea can be extended so that I can brush my teeth with cancernut toothpaste and coat my underarms with cancernut deodorant. Perhaps they could even develop cancernut-scented toilet paper. Maybe this product already exists in the dog world, and we just don't know about it, thus explaining their tendency to shove their noses into each other's rears. Please, dogs of the world, share your secret! For you humans out there, I apologize if I've turned you away from ever eating coconut again. Not.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
What do terse mean?
Trying new terse writing style- your pleasure, my convenience.
Housing found- host family, downtown, sweet apartment, pictures soon. Relieved.
Carte de sejour- en route.
Lost weight while eating excessively. Eat-aholic? How I get so good?
France, things I love:
1.5L water: $0.20
Spices: $0.45
14 croissants: $2.50 -ate 5 in under 1.5 hours. Eat-aholic.
1.1 lbs cookies: ~$0.90
1L pineapple juice: $0.67
Things I don't love:
-People who talk too much, bicker amongst themselves. Don't respect rules- ex: Debates are for ******* politicians, but they respect rules. French? no.
Marta and I visit Jenna, Barcelona, this weekend. Excited. Hope bus ride is sketchy/chelou. Sleep: Beach > bed. Teachers strike-Thurs. Didn't know before. Could go on strike, go to Barcelona earlier. Too late.
Spent Nov. 8 weekend with teachers, high school- Roquefort des Corbieres, near Mediterranean. Was only young person. Fun, pictures soon.
Marquis Daniels more playing time, more points. Skillz 'n Grillz.
Billy Pilgrim, still unstuck in time. Ciao.
Housing found- host family, downtown, sweet apartment, pictures soon. Relieved.
Carte de sejour- en route.
Lost weight while eating excessively. Eat-aholic? How I get so good?
France, things I love:
1.5L water: $0.20
Spices: $0.45
14 croissants: $2.50 -ate 5 in under 1.5 hours. Eat-aholic.
1.1 lbs cookies: ~$0.90
1L pineapple juice: $0.67
Things I don't love:
-People who talk too much, bicker amongst themselves. Don't respect rules- ex: Debates are for ******* politicians, but they respect rules. French? no.
Marta and I visit Jenna, Barcelona, this weekend. Excited. Hope bus ride is sketchy/chelou. Sleep: Beach > bed. Teachers strike-Thurs. Didn't know before. Could go on strike, go to Barcelona earlier. Too late.
Spent Nov. 8 weekend with teachers, high school- Roquefort des Corbieres, near Mediterranean. Was only young person. Fun, pictures soon.
Marquis Daniels more playing time, more points. Skillz 'n Grillz.
Billy Pilgrim, still unstuck in time. Ciao.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
We talkin' bout practice!
What it is, and what it ain't, kids? Well, I can tell you right now that things in this country ain't like the US.
So I haven't worked in two weeks, save today. Oh, and I won't be working for the next 5 days- a schouette combo of my schedule, the weekend, and the Nov. 11 armistice. I like you, France.
Regarding the last 2 weeks, I took a petit voyage to the east/NE of la belle France. I think I mentioned it before, but I visited my friend in Firminy/Lyon, and she and her family were incredibly welcoming and generous. Unfortunately, the weather wasn't so welcoming, with cold and rain and cold rain...but it wasn't a big problem. Other than the weather, I really liked Lyon, although there appear to be more strange people there than in most cities. Example? Okay:
One mysterious man was attempting to sell newspapers right in front of an ATM that I was in line for, but a shake of the head wasn't enough to deter him. He waited for a verbal response, which I gave in the form of "Das tut mir Leid, Ich spriche kein Franzosisch." Unfortunately, the confusion that resulted from this was more uncomfortable than the anger that might have ensued had I thrown down my preferred "Merci bien d'aller vous faire foutre" (don't translate that). He continued to look at me for a minute before leaning in real close to me. Awkward, I tell you. I know the French like to do the bisous, but please, not with strangers in front of the ATM.
Well, as it turned out, he wasn't trying to kiss my cheek, but rather he was leaning in so that he could begin tugging on my ear and saying loudly "FRANCAIS! FRANCAIS!" Oh, okay. Well that makes more sense. When someone doesn't appear able to speak your language (whether they're lying or not), the natural response is to try to separate their ear from their head so that you can loudly let them know what language you speak. Duly noted for future purposes, my friend. Needless to say, I found another ATM.
When I got to Strasbourg, I was warmly welcomed by my friend's friend and her friends. A bit confusing, yes. Regardless, total strangers took me into their homes and treated me far too well. I made a few new friends out of the experience, which was quite nice...I hung out the first night with a cool dude named Steven (coincidentally, a fellow engineer). He and his family were extremely friendly, and his German father and French mother had a beer in my hand no more than 3 minutes after entering. Awesome. I got to hang out later that evening with some of his friends, which was quite entertaining.
The second night I stayed with my friend's friend's cousin and her boyfriend. Kim and Pierre were also really nice, and they took me to a restaurant with an Alsace (the region of France) specialty: Tarte Flambée. Yumm. It's like a really thin crusted pizza, and it was all you can eat- a mistake with Americans present.
Bref, the trip was awesome, and I hope to visit my friend once more before she leaves in January. Added bonus: her little half-brother lets me swing him around in a game we call "Balancoir" (swingset), and his French is somewhat on par with mine. A few photos from the cities:
Lyon: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2555635&l=02894&id=7900792
Strasbourg: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2556201&l=257ea&id=7900792
So now I'm back in Toulouse, whistling with my Madagascan friends and speaking a bizarre mixture of languages. I've been searching more for apartments with my Chilean friend, but I received a call tonight about living with a family who already houses 1 american. I'm going to meet them tomorrow night, and I guess they'll see if they can tolerate me enough to house me for 6 months. Wish me luck.
In other news, I'm looking at going to Barcelona in 2 weeks to reunite with FakeSpain and fake Fakespain (Marta and Jenna), and I'm going this weekend with some teachers from the high school to one of their properties near the Mediterranean. After all, no one needs a vacation more than the person who just had one.
The French have been ecstatic about Barack Obama winning the election (although jokes about "the Black House" are not lacking this side of the sea). Fortunately, it becomes la mode again to like Americans for the next 4 years. I think he'll be a decent change of pace for the country, and I'm quite happy we showed some open mindedness by electing a minority. As for the great change he promises? I still think it's the usual crap that politicians spew to get elected, but we'll give him a chance, as I think he genuinely has high hopes.
Finally, UT lost to Texas Tech. As has been pointed out by several people, this means that Kevin and Scott's Christmas-time visit will be a week of red-and-black propaganda to convince me that theirs is the greatest college football program that has never been more than, simply, good. Different from usual? No. Doesn't bother me anyway...I've given up on the Cowboys, Mavericks, UT, and sports in general. My new love? An oldie: Food.
So I haven't worked in two weeks, save today. Oh, and I won't be working for the next 5 days- a schouette combo of my schedule, the weekend, and the Nov. 11 armistice. I like you, France.
Regarding the last 2 weeks, I took a petit voyage to the east/NE of la belle France. I think I mentioned it before, but I visited my friend in Firminy/Lyon, and she and her family were incredibly welcoming and generous. Unfortunately, the weather wasn't so welcoming, with cold and rain and cold rain...but it wasn't a big problem. Other than the weather, I really liked Lyon, although there appear to be more strange people there than in most cities. Example? Okay:
One mysterious man was attempting to sell newspapers right in front of an ATM that I was in line for, but a shake of the head wasn't enough to deter him. He waited for a verbal response, which I gave in the form of "Das tut mir Leid, Ich spriche kein Franzosisch." Unfortunately, the confusion that resulted from this was more uncomfortable than the anger that might have ensued had I thrown down my preferred "Merci bien d'aller vous faire foutre" (don't translate that). He continued to look at me for a minute before leaning in real close to me. Awkward, I tell you. I know the French like to do the bisous, but please, not with strangers in front of the ATM.
Well, as it turned out, he wasn't trying to kiss my cheek, but rather he was leaning in so that he could begin tugging on my ear and saying loudly "FRANCAIS! FRANCAIS!" Oh, okay. Well that makes more sense. When someone doesn't appear able to speak your language (whether they're lying or not), the natural response is to try to separate their ear from their head so that you can loudly let them know what language you speak. Duly noted for future purposes, my friend. Needless to say, I found another ATM.
When I got to Strasbourg, I was warmly welcomed by my friend's friend and her friends. A bit confusing, yes. Regardless, total strangers took me into their homes and treated me far too well. I made a few new friends out of the experience, which was quite nice...I hung out the first night with a cool dude named Steven (coincidentally, a fellow engineer). He and his family were extremely friendly, and his German father and French mother had a beer in my hand no more than 3 minutes after entering. Awesome. I got to hang out later that evening with some of his friends, which was quite entertaining.
The second night I stayed with my friend's friend's cousin and her boyfriend. Kim and Pierre were also really nice, and they took me to a restaurant with an Alsace (the region of France) specialty: Tarte Flambée. Yumm. It's like a really thin crusted pizza, and it was all you can eat- a mistake with Americans present.
Bref, the trip was awesome, and I hope to visit my friend once more before she leaves in January. Added bonus: her little half-brother lets me swing him around in a game we call "Balancoir" (swingset), and his French is somewhat on par with mine. A few photos from the cities:
Lyon: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2555635&l=02894&id=7900792
Strasbourg: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2556201&l=257ea&id=7900792
So now I'm back in Toulouse, whistling with my Madagascan friends and speaking a bizarre mixture of languages. I've been searching more for apartments with my Chilean friend, but I received a call tonight about living with a family who already houses 1 american. I'm going to meet them tomorrow night, and I guess they'll see if they can tolerate me enough to house me for 6 months. Wish me luck.
In other news, I'm looking at going to Barcelona in 2 weeks to reunite with FakeSpain and fake Fakespain (Marta and Jenna), and I'm going this weekend with some teachers from the high school to one of their properties near the Mediterranean. After all, no one needs a vacation more than the person who just had one.
The French have been ecstatic about Barack Obama winning the election (although jokes about "the Black House" are not lacking this side of the sea). Fortunately, it becomes la mode again to like Americans for the next 4 years. I think he'll be a decent change of pace for the country, and I'm quite happy we showed some open mindedness by electing a minority. As for the great change he promises? I still think it's the usual crap that politicians spew to get elected, but we'll give him a chance, as I think he genuinely has high hopes.
Finally, UT lost to Texas Tech. As has been pointed out by several people, this means that Kevin and Scott's Christmas-time visit will be a week of red-and-black propaganda to convince me that theirs is the greatest college football program that has never been more than, simply, good. Different from usual? No. Doesn't bother me anyway...I've given up on the Cowboys, Mavericks, UT, and sports in general. My new love? An oldie: Food.
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