Tonight, as promised for the past few nights, Livan made us "flaming bananas." Unlike the normal culinary wizardry that he normally pulls off, this was a simple concoction created by pouring rum on bananas and lighting them on fire. Surprisingly, it tasted like a banana lightly soaked with rum, and smelled like it had been set afire. Unfortunately, we all decided that it would have been better if we just ate the bananas, drank the rum, and played with the fire.
Two days ago I had a relatively abnormal experience. I was struggling in a dream to remove cigarette ashes from my mouth (how they got there is beyond me), and so my logical solution in the dream was to just spit until they were all gone. However, I woke up to find myself turned over, head hovering several inches above my bed, as I spat and drooled onto my sheets. I'm not sure why this happened, but my guess is either that the French smoking habit is finally affecting me or that I'm subconsciously compensating for the fact that I'm not riding a spitting camel in Morocco right now.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
A petit Kebab-entary
No, the title does not imply any kind of kebab-induced dysentery. Rather, I wanted to make a brief commentary on kebabs- which, I guess, could also be capable of causing gastrointestinal problems.
For those of you who don't know, kebabs are usually a pita sandwich filled with some sort of variant of a lamb-turkey meat mixture. "Salad" is usually included, which is really just a way of saying minuscule amounts lettuce and some tomato. An important decision for the customer when kebab-ing is to choose freedom fries or a sandwich free of fries, but I find it's usually best to choose the former. Unusually for Americans, the fries are included with the meat and salad on the folded pita. Finally, a sauce is either put on top of all the ingredients or is spread on the pita before loading it with all the other elements of deliciousness.
While kebabs are a savory idea that originates from either Turkey or North Africa or somewhere generally in the Mediterranean region and are prevalent throughout Europe, there is a gross dearth of them in the United States. Meanwhile over here, varieties abound. Of these, I've stumbled upon both good and bad, but today we are here to discuss only the most excellent variants.
One of my favorite kebabs is available in Toulouse. What makes this specific sandwich unique is the fact that they cut the pita bread and fill it with cheese. Thus, when biting in to the normally delicious, meaty, saucy sandwich, you are greeted with the warm, gooey cheese that has melted inside. According to Toulousain kebab owners that Robert talked to, this is not available in Paris. Score one for provence.
In Krakow we stumbled upon a kebab place that stuffed the sandwich with the usual ingredients (no cheese) but with the added touch of cabbage and pickles. A ton of sauce was then slathered upon the kebab to provide a mess of utter deliciousness. I must say that pickles were an unexpected yet excellent addition, and I feel this is a local development that caters to Polish tastes (with which I find my own tastes to be in great harmony).
In Greece, the motherland of gyros, the plates/sandwiches are also excellent, simply because of the apparent freshness and overall tastiness of the product. There, the tzaziki sauce is clearly king, putting the tzaziki's available on other kebabs to shame.
As I sat upon a park bench near a local fountain this eve and watched the dog of a homeless person approach me, I began thinking, "What if we could somehow combine the deliciousness of all these kebab varieties?" Indeed, we would have a pita sandwich with cheese, cabbage, pickles, lettuce, and tomatoes packed around fresh lamb/turkey meat, served with French fries, and smothered with tzaziki so fresh that it makes Jay Z realize he's not been checkin' his fresh so much as checkin' his stale all this time. And that's saying something.
To diverge from my kebab-entary, I wanted to point out that my father continues to use the word "matriculation" to refer to admission or acceptance at an educational institution. While this is an acceptable usage, I feel it is grossly outdated, and I was curious to know if anyone else uses this word, or if my 19th-century father is riding this wave alone? I sort of hope no one else uses it, but it does seem like a fun word to use for the sole purpose of speaking in an unusual manner...even if it came from ol' Steve.
Finally, on to something that strikes closer to home for us all. I must point out, however, that by "strikes closer to home," I meant "reverts back to another obsession." And by "us all," I meant me.
Anywho, while somewhere between Zurich, Switzerland, and Paris, France, Jason Bourne once said "[...] at this altitude, I can run flat out for a half mile before my hands start shaking."
Now, normally, I don't put a lot of value in movie dialogue, but this being Jason Bourne, I'm intrigued. Does anyone know at what point they reach this state, or have any curiosity? Recently, I've been running and including some sprinting for the sake of wanting to be more like Jason Bourne/Darren Sproles (of the San Diego Chargers), but I find it's extremely tiring. I am no where near the assumed high altitude that Bourne was at, and I am disappointed to find that I am incredibly winded after about 200-300 yards (~1/7 of a mile). Furthermore, I think I'm slower than Forrest Gump's speech. I mean, maybe it just requires some time and practice, but maybe, God forbid, it's the kebabs?!
For those of you who don't know, kebabs are usually a pita sandwich filled with some sort of variant of a lamb-turkey meat mixture. "Salad" is usually included, which is really just a way of saying minuscule amounts lettuce and some tomato. An important decision for the customer when kebab-ing is to choose freedom fries or a sandwich free of fries, but I find it's usually best to choose the former. Unusually for Americans, the fries are included with the meat and salad on the folded pita. Finally, a sauce is either put on top of all the ingredients or is spread on the pita before loading it with all the other elements of deliciousness.
While kebabs are a savory idea that originates from either Turkey or North Africa or somewhere generally in the Mediterranean region and are prevalent throughout Europe, there is a gross dearth of them in the United States. Meanwhile over here, varieties abound. Of these, I've stumbled upon both good and bad, but today we are here to discuss only the most excellent variants.
One of my favorite kebabs is available in Toulouse. What makes this specific sandwich unique is the fact that they cut the pita bread and fill it with cheese. Thus, when biting in to the normally delicious, meaty, saucy sandwich, you are greeted with the warm, gooey cheese that has melted inside. According to Toulousain kebab owners that Robert talked to, this is not available in Paris. Score one for provence.
In Krakow we stumbled upon a kebab place that stuffed the sandwich with the usual ingredients (no cheese) but with the added touch of cabbage and pickles. A ton of sauce was then slathered upon the kebab to provide a mess of utter deliciousness. I must say that pickles were an unexpected yet excellent addition, and I feel this is a local development that caters to Polish tastes (with which I find my own tastes to be in great harmony).
In Greece, the motherland of gyros, the plates/sandwiches are also excellent, simply because of the apparent freshness and overall tastiness of the product. There, the tzaziki sauce is clearly king, putting the tzaziki's available on other kebabs to shame.
As I sat upon a park bench near a local fountain this eve and watched the dog of a homeless person approach me, I began thinking, "What if we could somehow combine the deliciousness of all these kebab varieties?" Indeed, we would have a pita sandwich with cheese, cabbage, pickles, lettuce, and tomatoes packed around fresh lamb/turkey meat, served with French fries, and smothered with tzaziki so fresh that it makes Jay Z realize he's not been checkin' his fresh so much as checkin' his stale all this time. And that's saying something.
To diverge from my kebab-entary, I wanted to point out that my father continues to use the word "matriculation" to refer to admission or acceptance at an educational institution. While this is an acceptable usage, I feel it is grossly outdated, and I was curious to know if anyone else uses this word, or if my 19th-century father is riding this wave alone? I sort of hope no one else uses it, but it does seem like a fun word to use for the sole purpose of speaking in an unusual manner...even if it came from ol' Steve.
Finally, on to something that strikes closer to home for us all. I must point out, however, that by "strikes closer to home," I meant "reverts back to another obsession." And by "us all," I meant me.
Anywho, while somewhere between Zurich, Switzerland, and Paris, France, Jason Bourne once said "[...] at this altitude, I can run flat out for a half mile before my hands start shaking."
Now, normally, I don't put a lot of value in movie dialogue, but this being Jason Bourne, I'm intrigued. Does anyone know at what point they reach this state, or have any curiosity? Recently, I've been running and including some sprinting for the sake of wanting to be more like Jason Bourne/Darren Sproles (of the San Diego Chargers), but I find it's extremely tiring. I am no where near the assumed high altitude that Bourne was at, and I am disappointed to find that I am incredibly winded after about 200-300 yards (~1/7 of a mile). Furthermore, I think I'm slower than Forrest Gump's speech. I mean, maybe it just requires some time and practice, but maybe, God forbid, it's the kebabs?!
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Listening to Bon Jovi and cheering for Tiger Woods
So we meet again, Mr. Blog. It's been a while since I've seen you, and as far as I can tell, it's been a while since you've seen me. We both know we don't like each other, but hey, we've seen how K-Fed and Britney..wait, no, Bobby Brown and Whitney Houston..oh, bad example. Maybe Kurt and Courtney? No, more like Sonny and Cher...well, shucks, Mr. Blog, I can't find a good example of people who clearly shouldn't be together making a relationship work. But I think ours will be different, so let's give this a try.
As for life in the past 3 weeks, things have been trudging along slowly but surely. I had an exciting trip to Krakow with Dan, Chris, Robert, and Melinda. It was like a strange St. Pius X/Bishop Lynch reunion of kids who all know each other through different channels and who have, for the most part, changed greatly since first meeting one another. I think we all had an excellent time just from each others company. However, the city of Krakow was rather nice, and we really enjoyed the favorable exchange rate (~4.5 zloty or cazzos, whatever they're called, to 1 euro). Eating occurred in large, sometimes grandiose sessions. Although it was time consuming, this was definitely a trip where the food was worth spending time on. The pierogis, meats, salads, and whatever the heck else we could find were incredibly delicious. Of the 3 pastries I purchased, 1 could be classified as delicious, 1 as decent but not-as-tasty-as-it-appears, and 1 as unidentifiable. In spite of this minor culinary setback, it fails to take away from my overall taste-bud satisfaction with my (1/4) motherland of Poland.
On the Sunday of our long weekend, the group went to the 2 concentration camps collectively referred to as Auschwitz. I found this to be an extremely moving place, with the barrenness of the camps perhaps adding to the overall effect. While I expected the camp to be depressing, I was surprised at the magnitude of the feeling while visiting. The barracks were as bare as imaginable, with boards of wood serving as the bedding for prisoners. Most of the extermination chambers were destroyed as the NAZI's realized defeat was imminent, but one remained at the original camp. In the one remaining building that was used for this purpose, there were several rooms that served as gas chambers and also what appeared to be 2 furnaces. Incredibly enough, the structure was used for other purposes later in the war in an attempt to cover up the atrocities that occurred there. Furthermore, the destroyed remains of the extermination chambers at Auschwitz-Birkenau were left in tact, and the haste with which the NAZI's destroyed and left the buildings was somewhat shocking. If ever any of you get the chance to go to Krakow, I would highly recommend visiting the camp. I think you will find it to be a worthwhile trip where the gravity of the historical events that took place finally come to life and help you realize the seriousness of what happened less than 70 years ago there.
On a more airy note, I've been hanging out in Toulouse during this first week of my 2 week Easter vacation. I also just paused to think about the spelling of the adjective "airy" for what I thought to be the feminine noun "note," but then I realized my mother tongue does not have masculine and feminine nouns like French does. And thusly the corruption of my language becomes evident. While I have not arrived at the point of speaking excellent French, my level has reached a point of being near-acceptable. Unfortunately, this has resulted in the occasional struggle to find English words, or I sometimes find myself saying things that are almost direct translations of what the normal French phrase would be. Some friends and I were noting the other day that, as we switch languages depending on what group of people we are with, we can remember information exchanged during the course of a conversation but we cannot recall whether it occurred in English or French. I think this is probably a good thing. However, it can sometimes be a strange feeling to think that you have friendships that rely on you using a different language from your mother tongue. I know many people who speak more languages than I (and more fluently), but sometimes I wonder what subtleties of personality are lost across language barriers. It's sometimes amusing to consider who you were when you were about 10 years old and ask if you ever imagined that you would be where you are at the present moment, or if your 10 year old self would even recognize the current version of your person.
During the last week before vacation, I was leaving the high school when I spotted a couple of my middle school students. We exchanged the normal personable greetings, and they told me they were off to play tug of war for the middle school's sports day. I asked if I could watch, and they were rather excited that I wanted to cheer them on. Before you know it, however, watching becomes playing. Less than 10 minutes after our encounter, I found myself anchoring an 8-person team of mostly 12 or 13 year olds. Other teachers and school workers were also taking place in the festivities, but my presence at the event was rather unexpected. While several classes asked me to help them, I had pledged my loyalty to my team of what I guess is the 7th grade equivalent here. In our 3 matches together, we owned other teams. I felt this was a very proud moment for me in demonstrating 23 year-old American power over 13 year old Frenchies. We'll cut the frivolous details and niceties and be honest here...the most appropriate word to describe my performance in Tug of War (le tire à la corde) was dominant.
Finally, I've got one week of vacation left before I finish up with 1.5 weeks of work. I'm pretty low on funds, so I've not been traveling. However, fond memories have led me to search for tickets to go either to Geneva or Bordeaux. The problem is that the weather in the entire region is pretty gloomy and is forecasted to continue that way for the next few days. I guess until something changes, I'll keep kicking it in Toulouse. However, I want to wish you all a Happy Easter, and I know that I will see many of you in a month. Until then, my "What Rosebud meant..." and I will continue our tumultuous relationship of domestic blogging and online arguing until the neighbor blogs call the internet police.
As for life in the past 3 weeks, things have been trudging along slowly but surely. I had an exciting trip to Krakow with Dan, Chris, Robert, and Melinda. It was like a strange St. Pius X/Bishop Lynch reunion of kids who all know each other through different channels and who have, for the most part, changed greatly since first meeting one another. I think we all had an excellent time just from each others company. However, the city of Krakow was rather nice, and we really enjoyed the favorable exchange rate (~4.5 zloty or cazzos, whatever they're called, to 1 euro). Eating occurred in large, sometimes grandiose sessions. Although it was time consuming, this was definitely a trip where the food was worth spending time on. The pierogis, meats, salads, and whatever the heck else we could find were incredibly delicious. Of the 3 pastries I purchased, 1 could be classified as delicious, 1 as decent but not-as-tasty-as-it-appears, and 1 as unidentifiable. In spite of this minor culinary setback, it fails to take away from my overall taste-bud satisfaction with my (1/4) motherland of Poland.
On the Sunday of our long weekend, the group went to the 2 concentration camps collectively referred to as Auschwitz. I found this to be an extremely moving place, with the barrenness of the camps perhaps adding to the overall effect. While I expected the camp to be depressing, I was surprised at the magnitude of the feeling while visiting. The barracks were as bare as imaginable, with boards of wood serving as the bedding for prisoners. Most of the extermination chambers were destroyed as the NAZI's realized defeat was imminent, but one remained at the original camp. In the one remaining building that was used for this purpose, there were several rooms that served as gas chambers and also what appeared to be 2 furnaces. Incredibly enough, the structure was used for other purposes later in the war in an attempt to cover up the atrocities that occurred there. Furthermore, the destroyed remains of the extermination chambers at Auschwitz-Birkenau were left in tact, and the haste with which the NAZI's destroyed and left the buildings was somewhat shocking. If ever any of you get the chance to go to Krakow, I would highly recommend visiting the camp. I think you will find it to be a worthwhile trip where the gravity of the historical events that took place finally come to life and help you realize the seriousness of what happened less than 70 years ago there.
On a more airy note, I've been hanging out in Toulouse during this first week of my 2 week Easter vacation. I also just paused to think about the spelling of the adjective "airy" for what I thought to be the feminine noun "note," but then I realized my mother tongue does not have masculine and feminine nouns like French does. And thusly the corruption of my language becomes evident. While I have not arrived at the point of speaking excellent French, my level has reached a point of being near-acceptable. Unfortunately, this has resulted in the occasional struggle to find English words, or I sometimes find myself saying things that are almost direct translations of what the normal French phrase would be. Some friends and I were noting the other day that, as we switch languages depending on what group of people we are with, we can remember information exchanged during the course of a conversation but we cannot recall whether it occurred in English or French. I think this is probably a good thing. However, it can sometimes be a strange feeling to think that you have friendships that rely on you using a different language from your mother tongue. I know many people who speak more languages than I (and more fluently), but sometimes I wonder what subtleties of personality are lost across language barriers. It's sometimes amusing to consider who you were when you were about 10 years old and ask if you ever imagined that you would be where you are at the present moment, or if your 10 year old self would even recognize the current version of your person.
During the last week before vacation, I was leaving the high school when I spotted a couple of my middle school students. We exchanged the normal personable greetings, and they told me they were off to play tug of war for the middle school's sports day. I asked if I could watch, and they were rather excited that I wanted to cheer them on. Before you know it, however, watching becomes playing. Less than 10 minutes after our encounter, I found myself anchoring an 8-person team of mostly 12 or 13 year olds. Other teachers and school workers were also taking place in the festivities, but my presence at the event was rather unexpected. While several classes asked me to help them, I had pledged my loyalty to my team of what I guess is the 7th grade equivalent here. In our 3 matches together, we owned other teams. I felt this was a very proud moment for me in demonstrating 23 year-old American power over 13 year old Frenchies. We'll cut the frivolous details and niceties and be honest here...the most appropriate word to describe my performance in Tug of War (le tire à la corde) was dominant.
Finally, I've got one week of vacation left before I finish up with 1.5 weeks of work. I'm pretty low on funds, so I've not been traveling. However, fond memories have led me to search for tickets to go either to Geneva or Bordeaux. The problem is that the weather in the entire region is pretty gloomy and is forecasted to continue that way for the next few days. I guess until something changes, I'll keep kicking it in Toulouse. However, I want to wish you all a Happy Easter, and I know that I will see many of you in a month. Until then, my "What Rosebud meant..." and I will continue our tumultuous relationship of domestic blogging and online arguing until the neighbor blogs call the internet police.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Someone who's taking pleasure in breaking down
So I have been mocked by Jenna and Marta for apparently not knowing a lot of places in Toulouse, and at first feeble attempts at denial were hastily put into action. However, I have recently embraced the fact that, no matter how much I try to explore, I will never know all of Toulouse. It is not that big of a city, but nevertheless, I continue to learn things about it and discover new little nooks and crannies. For example, the other day I found this big indoor market right in the middle of downtown, mostly for meat and fish. It was weird, as there were several bars inside as well, with open facades like the meat sellers have. I walked around for a bit eating a pastry, and as I left the market, I saw the dog of a homeless man patiently sitting beside him, wearing sunglasses. Hmm.
My friend Robert visited from Paris last week, and he described Toulouse as the "most random" city he'd ever visited. He was amused by strange displays of street entertainment and various other things that seemed out of place. I brushed up on my history and provided him with more details of the city, but he still said that, as a city, it was very strange. He has asked that when our friends from Texas come later this month, our friend Dan provide him with a "coherent" tour of the city. I'm beginning to feel that, no matter what I do, that cannot happen. I'm thinking now that this isn't so much a product of me as it is of the city.
Recently, I have become somewhat of a regular at this Arab pastry shop right near the main square in Toulouse. In October, I took Jenna and Marta there, and we were all either disgusted or disappointed in the pastries. Well, as we've all been told since our infancy, "Every pastry shop deserves a second and maybe a fifth chance," I figured I would follow these words of wisdom. Since, I have found several items that I like, but each time I enter the store, the clerk sort of eyes me wearily, knowing that I, unlike most of his bulk-buying customers, am going to come in with strongly accented French and order one thing with my exact change before leaving. I like to view this sort of interaction as brief and efficient, short and to the point, no wasted energy, no harm, no foul, don't ask, don't tell. Well, maybe not the latter. At any rate, I think I will continue doing this until the store owner either cracks and expresses his anger in a slew of quick Arab and French cursing, thus signaling that I should probably not return more than one or two times thereafter, or he decides that he likes my style, gives in and one day offers me a second pastry for free. After all, I am bringing in business 1 euro 30 cents at a time, and sometimes more. I took Robert there when he visited and, like Jenna and Marta, he was disappointed with what he bought. You're welcome, Ro-Bear.
This past week, I moved out of my hellhole living situation and I am now living happily with my friends Livan and Remy and a third guy named Adriane. We've all become better friends rather quickly, and it's already been a brilliant experience. This Friday we are hosting our housewarming party, and I've got a clown outfit ready. This should be a most excellent experience.
In leaving my old apartment, things didn't go as well as I'd hoped, as I apparently didn't follow my contract because I misunderstood a small phrase. I went to return my key to my former landlady only to find a raving pot of lunacy. After her husband had been extremely nice about letting me move and saying he understood how I wasn't happy there, he left the matter in his wife's hands, as she was the one who signed the contract. Well, she returned to Toulouse 2 days after I moved out and began blaming me for the fact that she had to return and couldn't be with her sick mother at the hospital. I'm sorry, ma'am, but it's not my fault. I apologized in advance to her husband, but he refused to close out the situation, so she was obliged to come back and felt the need to do it asap. She began demanding my 300 euros for the month's rent and I said no, that I would organize a meeting with the director of the program.
Well, we had our meeting. The prop. again demonstrated hard-headedness, rudeness, and generally unlikeable qualities. The director argued my case and was clearly frustrated, so things finished with the "connasse" landlady saying she would be going to the bank to cash my 150 euro deposit check. Everything else will be dropped, and I guess that, all things considered, things turned out relatively well for me. It could have been worse. My primary regret was not switching to the informal form of "you" at the end of the meeting and demonstrating my extensive vocabulary of French swear words. I was a bit irritated as the prop gave the falsest smile and handshake while saying "good luck" as we left. As TI tells us,
"Haters smile like they like it when they really don't," and this was certainly a good demonstration of the wisdom of everyone's favorite rapper. Unfortunately, I couldn't do anything in front of the director, who was extremely nice and helpful to me during the ordeal.
Livan and I have really enjoyed a game recently in which we play foreigners (that is to say, different kinds of foreigners than we already are) and go around talking to random people or asking for cigarettes (I don't smoke, but it's fun to obtain cigarettes for friends who do). He often pretends to be a native English speaker (Canadian or American), and I usually come from a small town near Helsinki, Finland. Depending on the situation, we speak with some sort of unnatural accent and pretend to struggle with either French or English. It's a fun game that I would recommend if ever you find yourself in public amongst people you don't know or at a party amongst strangers. Robert clearly enjoyed playing a young Japanese during his Toulousain sejour.
Finally, I apologize for the delay since my last post (the date on this post is not correct...it's really the 18th of March). I've been having more fun lately and haven't had much desire to sit in front of the computer. Tomorrow I won't be working because of a large strike in France, so the fun shall continue. Also, my friends Dan and Chris will be coming to Toulouse on Sunday (March 22), so betises and goofy fun could reach a pinnacle very soon :) I will be telling you soon how that goes.
My friend Robert visited from Paris last week, and he described Toulouse as the "most random" city he'd ever visited. He was amused by strange displays of street entertainment and various other things that seemed out of place. I brushed up on my history and provided him with more details of the city, but he still said that, as a city, it was very strange. He has asked that when our friends from Texas come later this month, our friend Dan provide him with a "coherent" tour of the city. I'm beginning to feel that, no matter what I do, that cannot happen. I'm thinking now that this isn't so much a product of me as it is of the city.
Recently, I have become somewhat of a regular at this Arab pastry shop right near the main square in Toulouse. In October, I took Jenna and Marta there, and we were all either disgusted or disappointed in the pastries. Well, as we've all been told since our infancy, "Every pastry shop deserves a second and maybe a fifth chance," I figured I would follow these words of wisdom. Since, I have found several items that I like, but each time I enter the store, the clerk sort of eyes me wearily, knowing that I, unlike most of his bulk-buying customers, am going to come in with strongly accented French and order one thing with my exact change before leaving. I like to view this sort of interaction as brief and efficient, short and to the point, no wasted energy, no harm, no foul, don't ask, don't tell. Well, maybe not the latter. At any rate, I think I will continue doing this until the store owner either cracks and expresses his anger in a slew of quick Arab and French cursing, thus signaling that I should probably not return more than one or two times thereafter, or he decides that he likes my style, gives in and one day offers me a second pastry for free. After all, I am bringing in business 1 euro 30 cents at a time, and sometimes more. I took Robert there when he visited and, like Jenna and Marta, he was disappointed with what he bought. You're welcome, Ro-Bear.
This past week, I moved out of my hellhole living situation and I am now living happily with my friends Livan and Remy and a third guy named Adriane. We've all become better friends rather quickly, and it's already been a brilliant experience. This Friday we are hosting our housewarming party, and I've got a clown outfit ready. This should be a most excellent experience.
In leaving my old apartment, things didn't go as well as I'd hoped, as I apparently didn't follow my contract because I misunderstood a small phrase. I went to return my key to my former landlady only to find a raving pot of lunacy. After her husband had been extremely nice about letting me move and saying he understood how I wasn't happy there, he left the matter in his wife's hands, as she was the one who signed the contract. Well, she returned to Toulouse 2 days after I moved out and began blaming me for the fact that she had to return and couldn't be with her sick mother at the hospital. I'm sorry, ma'am, but it's not my fault. I apologized in advance to her husband, but he refused to close out the situation, so she was obliged to come back and felt the need to do it asap. She began demanding my 300 euros for the month's rent and I said no, that I would organize a meeting with the director of the program.
Well, we had our meeting. The prop. again demonstrated hard-headedness, rudeness, and generally unlikeable qualities. The director argued my case and was clearly frustrated, so things finished with the "connasse" landlady saying she would be going to the bank to cash my 150 euro deposit check. Everything else will be dropped, and I guess that, all things considered, things turned out relatively well for me. It could have been worse. My primary regret was not switching to the informal form of "you" at the end of the meeting and demonstrating my extensive vocabulary of French swear words. I was a bit irritated as the prop gave the falsest smile and handshake while saying "good luck" as we left. As TI tells us,
"Haters smile like they like it when they really don't," and this was certainly a good demonstration of the wisdom of everyone's favorite rapper. Unfortunately, I couldn't do anything in front of the director, who was extremely nice and helpful to me during the ordeal.
Livan and I have really enjoyed a game recently in which we play foreigners (that is to say, different kinds of foreigners than we already are) and go around talking to random people or asking for cigarettes (I don't smoke, but it's fun to obtain cigarettes for friends who do). He often pretends to be a native English speaker (Canadian or American), and I usually come from a small town near Helsinki, Finland. Depending on the situation, we speak with some sort of unnatural accent and pretend to struggle with either French or English. It's a fun game that I would recommend if ever you find yourself in public amongst people you don't know or at a party amongst strangers. Robert clearly enjoyed playing a young Japanese during his Toulousain sejour.
Finally, I apologize for the delay since my last post (the date on this post is not correct...it's really the 18th of March). I've been having more fun lately and haven't had much desire to sit in front of the computer. Tomorrow I won't be working because of a large strike in France, so the fun shall continue. Also, my friends Dan and Chris will be coming to Toulouse on Sunday (March 22), so betises and goofy fun could reach a pinnacle very soon :) I will be telling you soon how that goes.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Read this post
Word up, kids. I recently got back from what has been entitled "Winter Vacation," which is a sorrily disguised excuse for a ski vacation for people who had family to visit over Christmas. Sorrily disguised, greatly appreciated.
I spent a week in Paris chez Robert (read: "shay Ro-bear"), which turned out to be an extremely good time. Not that I ever expected otherwise.
It turned out to be an excellent opportunity to hang out and act immature with Ro-bear as well as to see crazy international friends from summer. Fortunately, the groups were able to meet and become friends themselves, which is always a good thing. Also, we got to (briefly) see Meadow, which guarantees fun and amusing conversation. Tourism was sort of an afterthought, but I did manage to go to Fountainebleau, which is a rather interesting castle about 40 minutes outside of Paris. On my final night, we had a party together at my friend Daniele's and Sophia's apartment (sorry, I think I forgot the grammar rules for possessives in the case of multiple persons. Me teach English? That's unpossible!). It was quite the good time, and I had to sprint off to catch my night train to Biarritz/Hendaye.
Early Friday morning, I arrived in Hendaye, France, just at the border with Spain. I slept in the train station and consumed a stupid quantity of bananas before catching a little train to San Sebastian, where Marta and father Javier picked me up. I stayed with them for the weekend and was blown away by the views available in and around San Sebastian. Marta had always talked about how cool the city was, but of course I never took the word of a Fake Spaniard. It turned out she didn't lie, and we had a really good time. It was, as always, awesome to see Marta-quita again. It doesn't matter where we meet up, it's always a joy to hang out with her. I dare say we could have fun in...College Station, Texas. HAHAHA. Me laugh hard.
Also, Marta's mother, as promised, is an awesome cook. Two things I will briefly note: 1)once for dessert we had strawberries floating in this white chocolate pudding type of thing, and 2) we had squid filled with veggies as well as rice covered in a sauce consisting of the ink of the squid. Probably like most Americans, I had no idea you could consume the ink. It's black and rather strange looking, but it tastes delicious! I think I once described cow dung in the same way.
I've been back for a few days since the "vacances" and the "propriétaire" has been turbo nice to me ever since I mentioned that I considered moving. We'll see what happens, and I'll keep you updated on the situation.
Ro-bear is currently on a night train from Paris and is tracking his location with his damn GPS phone as he approaches Toulouse. He'll be here in the morning and will stay here until Tuesday. As is the case when we get together, we will likely have fun doing anything and everything, including (but not limited to) speaking stupid French, watching movies that apparently only we like, and possibly a ghetto camping trip in the Midi-Pyrenees region. If there's no update to this blog in about 10 days, you can either assume that the latter did not end well, or you can consider that winter doesn't truly end until March 20. The French and I may just be on vacation until then.
I spent a week in Paris chez Robert (read: "shay Ro-bear"), which turned out to be an extremely good time. Not that I ever expected otherwise.
It turned out to be an excellent opportunity to hang out and act immature with Ro-bear as well as to see crazy international friends from summer. Fortunately, the groups were able to meet and become friends themselves, which is always a good thing. Also, we got to (briefly) see Meadow, which guarantees fun and amusing conversation. Tourism was sort of an afterthought, but I did manage to go to Fountainebleau, which is a rather interesting castle about 40 minutes outside of Paris. On my final night, we had a party together at my friend Daniele's and Sophia's apartment (sorry, I think I forgot the grammar rules for possessives in the case of multiple persons. Me teach English? That's unpossible!). It was quite the good time, and I had to sprint off to catch my night train to Biarritz/Hendaye.
Early Friday morning, I arrived in Hendaye, France, just at the border with Spain. I slept in the train station and consumed a stupid quantity of bananas before catching a little train to San Sebastian, where Marta and father Javier picked me up. I stayed with them for the weekend and was blown away by the views available in and around San Sebastian. Marta had always talked about how cool the city was, but of course I never took the word of a Fake Spaniard. It turned out she didn't lie, and we had a really good time. It was, as always, awesome to see Marta-quita again. It doesn't matter where we meet up, it's always a joy to hang out with her. I dare say we could have fun in...College Station, Texas. HAHAHA. Me laugh hard.
Also, Marta's mother, as promised, is an awesome cook. Two things I will briefly note: 1)once for dessert we had strawberries floating in this white chocolate pudding type of thing, and 2) we had squid filled with veggies as well as rice covered in a sauce consisting of the ink of the squid. Probably like most Americans, I had no idea you could consume the ink. It's black and rather strange looking, but it tastes delicious! I think I once described cow dung in the same way.
I've been back for a few days since the "vacances" and the "propriétaire" has been turbo nice to me ever since I mentioned that I considered moving. We'll see what happens, and I'll keep you updated on the situation.
Ro-bear is currently on a night train from Paris and is tracking his location with his damn GPS phone as he approaches Toulouse. He'll be here in the morning and will stay here until Tuesday. As is the case when we get together, we will likely have fun doing anything and everything, including (but not limited to) speaking stupid French, watching movies that apparently only we like, and possibly a ghetto camping trip in the Midi-Pyrenees region. If there's no update to this blog in about 10 days, you can either assume that the latter did not end well, or you can consider that winter doesn't truly end until March 20. The French and I may just be on vacation until then.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
But not this one
To begin with, lately I've been listening to a Smashing Pumpkins song called "Muzzle" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GA8th9vUA48 - also, note how disenchanted with life James Iha looks while playing guitar) that I feel echoes my current sentiments regarding my situation and life in general:
"I fear that I'm ordinary, just like everyone [...]
My life has been extraordinary,
Blessed and cursed and won."
For someone who always considered himself to be somewhat intelligent, I feel like the college and post-university experiences are continually proving the contrary. As a child, it seemed I had a formidable memory, able to recall all sorts of statistics from my collection of baseball and football cards as well as my time spent watching sports. I could picture famous sports plays in my head with an almost photographic-like memory. Furthermore, I was a pretty good speller, capable of reading a word once in a book and later talk about the meaning and provide the spelling. At some point, however, it appears this began to go downhill to the point that I feel I am below average, and I feel it was almost certainly in the post-high school era.
In engineering, we were taught that memorization was (almost) never important. All of the information we would ever need was available in books, and it was simply enough to understand the procedure necessary to solve a problem. As a result, I think I quit caring about memorizing anything, and I sometimes would go into tests feeling like I knew nothing and would rely on the ability to solve a problem correctly when I came across it. Apparently, this worked well, but to the detriment (I feel) of memorization skills. Unfortunately, the latter is rather important in learning a language, in learning history, etc. Thus, I often come across new words in French while reading and have to look them up multiple times in the dictionary, even when I write them down. Being a visual learner, it's often worse when speaking to people. They begin to think I'm stupid with the number of times I need a word repeated, unless of course a particularly memorable context eliminates this need. This has been quite frustrating, but perhaps it would have been just the opposite had I studied something else, and I would still find myself complaining.
On the other hand, however, all things considered, my life to this point has been somewhat extraordinary. I've been blessed to have some awesome people around me, and also to experience some incredible things. With my family, friends, and the amount of traveling and things I've seen, I certainly cannot complain. It's been a sweet ride, and hopefully the excitement continues on down the line, although I do fear that getting old and boring is at some point inevitable.
"I fear that I'm ordinary, just like everyone [...]
My life has been extraordinary,
Blessed and cursed and won."
For someone who always considered himself to be somewhat intelligent, I feel like the college and post-university experiences are continually proving the contrary. As a child, it seemed I had a formidable memory, able to recall all sorts of statistics from my collection of baseball and football cards as well as my time spent watching sports. I could picture famous sports plays in my head with an almost photographic-like memory. Furthermore, I was a pretty good speller, capable of reading a word once in a book and later talk about the meaning and provide the spelling. At some point, however, it appears this began to go downhill to the point that I feel I am below average, and I feel it was almost certainly in the post-high school era.
In engineering, we were taught that memorization was (almost) never important. All of the information we would ever need was available in books, and it was simply enough to understand the procedure necessary to solve a problem. As a result, I think I quit caring about memorizing anything, and I sometimes would go into tests feeling like I knew nothing and would rely on the ability to solve a problem correctly when I came across it. Apparently, this worked well, but to the detriment (I feel) of memorization skills. Unfortunately, the latter is rather important in learning a language, in learning history, etc. Thus, I often come across new words in French while reading and have to look them up multiple times in the dictionary, even when I write them down. Being a visual learner, it's often worse when speaking to people. They begin to think I'm stupid with the number of times I need a word repeated, unless of course a particularly memorable context eliminates this need. This has been quite frustrating, but perhaps it would have been just the opposite had I studied something else, and I would still find myself complaining.
On the other hand, however, all things considered, my life to this point has been somewhat extraordinary. I've been blessed to have some awesome people around me, and also to experience some incredible things. With my family, friends, and the amount of traveling and things I've seen, I certainly cannot complain. It's been a sweet ride, and hopefully the excitement continues on down the line, although I do fear that getting old and boring is at some point inevitable.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Yes, I wore these underpants yesterday
All this time to make amends. What do you do when all your enemies are....French?
This week, you will be generously provided with a direct translation, courtesy of Babelfish, of my French blog entry. The purpose is to give you an idea of the type of English I hear on a regular basis while also providing a demonstration of the deterioration of my own speaking abilities as I begin to speak more and more in direct translations. I have made some minor changes to render the text legible, as we know online translations are not of the highest quality (and neither is my French). In doing this, we all get an experience of a different type of English, and I keep up the normal blog. Thus, we all benefit magnificently from this experiment, with the only downside being that reading the blog becomes an irritating, borderline painful experience for you, the reader. Good idea, right? Original text available at http://espritailleurs.blogspot.com/
Even if I did not work but 7 hours this week, I stays occupied. My courses had passed rather well, and I made a small observation: I cannot to prevent myself from laughing each time a pupil uses the words " Big Boss" to describe someone very able to do an activity. Where did they learn that? Apparently the Big Boss of humour learned them how in order to make me laugh.
Soon I will have 3 hours of course private per week. Being given the lack of work as assistant to the high school and middle school, I think that this one is a good opportunity. Moreover, I prefer to work with small groups.
I am on holiday now, and Wednesday evening (feb 11) I leave to Paris for one week at Robert's. For Maria, the assistant of Spanish, that will be her first time. For me, it is rather a week to spend time with Robert and other pals at Paris. Then, I will go to Marta's in San Sebastian. Sweet. I impatiently wait to be able to see them.
There are 5 or 6 days ago, I entered the kitchen towards 18:00 to nibble a little bit. There, I find my owner, who has an astonished air to see me. Good evening, Madam. I live here since 3 months, and I call myself Greg. Yes, it goes well, and no, the weather is not too cold for me.
In any event, she asks to me whether I eat already. " No," I say, and in a funny manner I add, "I just to buy gouda (cheese), and now I often want to taste it!"
Oy… She says to me that is not a problem, and I can take my snack, but the gouda is not the best cheese. Hmm, of agreement, but I did not ask you for your opinion, Madam. I try to defuse the situation with a joke and one is in a cheese debate. How this is French! Nevertheless, I think that she do not like my gouda because of the fact that this comes from the Netherlands, and not La Belle France (called LBF hereafter). Pff, I have nothing of that to make.
Since this meeting, I finished my gouda....and there is a reason that this cheese is called gouda. It is more " good" than all others! In short, I was at Lidl (a grocery store) there are 3 days, and I decided to test a new cheese which calls itself "Edam." As you can guess well, it is a cheese of the Netherlands. To make a small revolt against my owner and LBF, I have a half kilo (about a pound) of Dutch cheese in the refrigerator...and each evening, I eat very small little, so that can remain there for a long time.
Today, I stays washing my clothing by hand in the bathroom when I heard a sound in the room just next to my bathroom. Considering that I had used much water, I lowered the volume of my music (Foo Fighters, of course), and moved back towards my room in order to pretend to not have been doing anything. However, there, I heard the voice of my owner in the room right beside mine. Similar to the battle of Dunkirk, I was there, encircled there by the forces of the enemy. I could not what make. Rather than to leap by the window, I remained quiet. After a few moments (in which the heart beat quickly), the attack was inexplicably stopped. Fortunately, I had dodged a confrontation.
I recently wrote an email to the director of this program of housing, and it seems that I will move at the end of February. However, I am supposed to write a letter to the family almost a month in advance by saying that I will not any more live here. I do not know if I must describe my reasons, but they know well that I remain in France until May. Perhaps I can say that my dog died, and it is necessary me to attend the burial, even if this last takes place one month after the event? Fortunately, I am on holiday now, and I will be soon in Paris at Mr. Robert's. On the other hand, it nonetheless means that I must spend one week in this apartment after the holidays. That could be a delicate stay, not? Nevertheless, I do not worry. When I am of return, I will ask cordially "Thank you well for addressing me as vous" (the more formal "you" in French), all the while filling the refrigerator with kilos and kilos of cheeses of Netherlands origins.
**I do not mean to slander my host family in any way. They are nice people, but the fact is that I do not enjoy the circumstances in which we have to coexist. When writing about this, I am merely expressing my discomfort with my living situation. Our relations are in no way hostile, just humorously uncomfortable.**
This week, you will be generously provided with a direct translation, courtesy of Babelfish, of my French blog entry. The purpose is to give you an idea of the type of English I hear on a regular basis while also providing a demonstration of the deterioration of my own speaking abilities as I begin to speak more and more in direct translations. I have made some minor changes to render the text legible, as we know online translations are not of the highest quality (and neither is my French). In doing this, we all get an experience of a different type of English, and I keep up the normal blog. Thus, we all benefit magnificently from this experiment, with the only downside being that reading the blog becomes an irritating, borderline painful experience for you, the reader. Good idea, right? Original text available at http://espritailleurs.blogspot.com/
Even if I did not work but 7 hours this week, I stays occupied. My courses had passed rather well, and I made a small observation: I cannot to prevent myself from laughing each time a pupil uses the words " Big Boss" to describe someone very able to do an activity. Where did they learn that? Apparently the Big Boss of humour learned them how in order to make me laugh.
Soon I will have 3 hours of course private per week. Being given the lack of work as assistant to the high school and middle school, I think that this one is a good opportunity. Moreover, I prefer to work with small groups.
I am on holiday now, and Wednesday evening (feb 11) I leave to Paris for one week at Robert's. For Maria, the assistant of Spanish, that will be her first time. For me, it is rather a week to spend time with Robert and other pals at Paris. Then, I will go to Marta's in San Sebastian. Sweet. I impatiently wait to be able to see them.
There are 5 or 6 days ago, I entered the kitchen towards 18:00 to nibble a little bit. There, I find my owner, who has an astonished air to see me. Good evening, Madam. I live here since 3 months, and I call myself Greg. Yes, it goes well, and no, the weather is not too cold for me.
In any event, she asks to me whether I eat already. " No," I say, and in a funny manner I add, "I just to buy gouda (cheese), and now I often want to taste it!"
Oy… She says to me that is not a problem, and I can take my snack, but the gouda is not the best cheese. Hmm, of agreement, but I did not ask you for your opinion, Madam. I try to defuse the situation with a joke and one is in a cheese debate. How this is French! Nevertheless, I think that she do not like my gouda because of the fact that this comes from the Netherlands, and not La Belle France (called LBF hereafter). Pff, I have nothing of that to make.
Since this meeting, I finished my gouda....and there is a reason that this cheese is called gouda. It is more " good" than all others! In short, I was at Lidl (a grocery store) there are 3 days, and I decided to test a new cheese which calls itself "Edam." As you can guess well, it is a cheese of the Netherlands. To make a small revolt against my owner and LBF, I have a half kilo (about a pound) of Dutch cheese in the refrigerator...and each evening, I eat very small little, so that can remain there for a long time.
Today, I stays washing my clothing by hand in the bathroom when I heard a sound in the room just next to my bathroom. Considering that I had used much water, I lowered the volume of my music (Foo Fighters, of course), and moved back towards my room in order to pretend to not have been doing anything. However, there, I heard the voice of my owner in the room right beside mine. Similar to the battle of Dunkirk, I was there, encircled there by the forces of the enemy. I could not what make. Rather than to leap by the window, I remained quiet. After a few moments (in which the heart beat quickly), the attack was inexplicably stopped. Fortunately, I had dodged a confrontation.
I recently wrote an email to the director of this program of housing, and it seems that I will move at the end of February. However, I am supposed to write a letter to the family almost a month in advance by saying that I will not any more live here. I do not know if I must describe my reasons, but they know well that I remain in France until May. Perhaps I can say that my dog died, and it is necessary me to attend the burial, even if this last takes place one month after the event? Fortunately, I am on holiday now, and I will be soon in Paris at Mr. Robert's. On the other hand, it nonetheless means that I must spend one week in this apartment after the holidays. That could be a delicate stay, not? Nevertheless, I do not worry. When I am of return, I will ask cordially "Thank you well for addressing me as vous" (the more formal "you" in French), all the while filling the refrigerator with kilos and kilos of cheeses of Netherlands origins.
**I do not mean to slander my host family in any way. They are nice people, but the fact is that I do not enjoy the circumstances in which we have to coexist. When writing about this, I am merely expressing my discomfort with my living situation. Our relations are in no way hostile, just humorously uncomfortable.**
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