Eating Thumper

Kicked off this morning with a brunch/coffee date with a charming french lady. We traded english and french, corrected each other and generally had a great time. It's excellent to be able to exchange information, create an equal relationship of teacher and student by turns.

My favorite part of the conversation was the differences between french and american educational systems. Apparently in "Les Grands Ecoles" and most schools you can't ask questions (until after class, and then only privately). You learn everything the professor says by heart and with all of your extra curricular activities, there is very little room for formulating outside opinions. I cannot imagine thriving in a system which doesn't encourage debate and disagreement. I raise my hand and challenge my professors everyday, probably pissing some people off in the process. But if I don't understand something or don't like it, it's my job to say so in a respectful and inquisitive manner.

Back in the states, a friend and I had curriculum material changed because of arguments we made. A system that doesn't incorporate difference and differences of opinion is one that appears to my eyes inflexible.

Later on, we had perhaps the funniest lunch ever witnessed by the Université of Nantes cafeteria. Various quotes which are hopefully somewhat funny.

"why are you eating your applesauce like that? Only with lips?"
"lips are the fingers of the face"

We also discovered par hasard that the mystery meat we were eating was rabbit. My friend protested that it felt like "eating thumper" and that "I think the reason it is round is that it is the little rabbit tails." One thing british friends can always be relied upon is for sassy comebacks.

"Is that a joke or are you just stupid?"

This afternoon we had a test. Write a story in french, using schema narratif, proper grammar, etc. I wrote what turned out to be a horribly depressing story about an inflexible man who cut off ties with his son because he was a fireman (too dangerous) and later suffered a heart attack in a boulangerie. His death and apology was witnessed by said son.

If you've ever met me (one hopes that in reading this blog you have) you'll know that I'm not exactly dloom and goom. Or doom and gloom. Unclear where such angst comes from. I may be running low on the cuddle meter.

Slang word of the day- bofs: moyen, pas top. Not that great, mediocre, sort of with a low-class connotation. People who walk around in track suits and sweatpants are called this (sort of like Chavs). Luckily I was given advice by a wise friend on never to wear sweatpants in public while in France. I've yet to commit that particular faux pas.

If you're looking for a truly haunting song to drift you to sleep, I suggest you look at Laura Marling's "Night After Night."

Night after night, day after day... would you watch my body weaken, and my mind drift away?