Lady Gaga and Gaga Parents

So much to share.

Went to a parent informational conference tonight at a catholic school (all girls) on the "world of the young." Was treated with a truly fascinating take on Lady GaGa's music videos (one sees practically none of the latent christian and satanic imagery pulsing through every scene).

Overall, I was very impressed by the priest's presentation of the subject. The same problems of sexualization, macabre cults, demonization of religion and disillusioned youth crop up in France as well as the U.S.

Funny note also... The parents (at least the parents I know) are exactly the same here in France as back in the 'Sota. Two questions I giggled at (silently, don't worry, I've learned an iota of social tact).

1) What would be a complete list of songs or artists that you think are inappropriate or damaging for our children? (My answer: Just stick to music without words.)

2) Do you think about the advent of the media in the context of parents, that is to say do you think parents will ever come to have the same understanding and usage of facebook, twitter, blogs and various other things on the internet, such that we can keep up with our children? (He said this in one breath.)

I have no idea how to combat this over-concern (I was a goody two shoes, no idea how to deal with badasses) nor how to completely ameliorate the brainwashing of the next generation (yeee pod people). I realized at the age of 15 that I would be an adult who judged teenagers, though nowadays there awakens a halfhearted effort to empathize. But seriously, why are you leaving the house wearing that?

So it goes. (R.I.P. Kurt Vonnegut).

Odd repetitive encounter: So I get hungry right around 9:30, about an hour after dinner and 1-9 hours before bedtime (to understate... beddibyes varies). And EVERY SINGLE TIME I go for a snack, my host brother gets back from rugby or some other activity. I swear it looks like all I do is eat. There's some weird magnetic thing going that whenever I'm eating someone comes to judge me. In a nice way.

How To Crash A Protest

Pardon the absence. A panoply of activities, adventures and the lack of internet kept me away from the blog, though I assure you it was difficult.

So what have I been up to?

I've been doodling like mad, and have gone through four pens in the last week. Can I have nice pens for Christmas?

Today I crashed a manifestation/demonstration. It's been my goal to join in on one, and finally an opportunity presented itself. On my way to buy a newspaper, I stumbled across a Communist/Ecologist manifestation. It was large enough that I could hop in unnoticed, and so I marched with them for a couple blocks.

Protesting is a really jovial experience, with people bringing their children along (you can tell it's a culturally engrained thing) and everyone singing and shouting songs. I made the mistake (silly me) of not wearing red, and I was enjoying myself so much that I had a really tough time looking angry and indignant.

My favorite part of the experience would have to be when an old lady walked up to the people leading the march and started screaming things at them. What I caught seemed to be along the lines of...

"MY GRANDFATHER WORKED FOR THIS COUNTRY, AND YOU'RE BREAKING THE STREETS OUR FOREFATHERS BLED TO BUILD, YOU OUGHT TO BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELVES, YOU'RE AS BAD AS THOSE AMERICANS."

I'm assuming that was a reference to Occupy Wall Street.

When I was later buying my newspaper I got budged by a granny and her snotty nosed grandson. As I don't know how to say "back of the line budger" I just fumed and made faces at the grandson. Who obligingly returned my maturity.

As the time to leave draws closer, I get more and more panicky. How am I going to deal with the absence of daily lectures about the evils of savory food for breakfast? Where else will I find the same degree of Harry Potter and Lion King jokes? Who else will tell me my American accent is adorable?

Made brownies with my host brother, as part of the process of me preparing him for his visit next year to the U.S. He passed the test, licking the bowl and announcing it was "Cool dude."

I'm so proud of my protegé.

Some photos from my Thanksgiving dinner.

Feeling pretty pleased and surprised at how well cooking an entire thanksgiving dinner all by myself went. Miracle happen, and for that I am thankful.

Prepping!!!

Nom Nom Nom

I made the acquaintance of this fine Australian lady in Barcelona. We told her and her bestie (equally fine) about our irish fireman. So when they went to Ireland, they kindly took this WONDERFUL photo for our enjoyment.

So awesome. Gah.


Was sent this. Made my day.

The new Beaujolais (a type of wine) has arrived, and at lunch today we had a little tasting. Apparently it's a sort of marker of the seasons. When the Beaujolais has arrived, Autumn is nearly finished.

Speaking of nearly finished, I'm now 35% done with my gap year.

Not that I'm counting. Whilst there are somethings about Minnesota I miss (biking everywhere, random adventures and then Uptown Diner around 12, or hip hop concerts I understand) I try to find substitutes and live french culture to the fullest. 

A gesture I learned today that means delicious in french body language.

Nom nom nom.

Immortals and Crazy Things

Currently being treated to blaring techno music... it's like being in a conservative, catholic rave.

We are definitely not in Kansas.

Although, I've never been to Kansas. What is it like?

Some Nantes News you may find interesting (I laughed).

Nantes has been chosen as the newest international big fancy shmancy airport city. Great for when I want to come visit all my friends and host family, although there have been some protests. About 3,000 people rode bike (RODE BIKE) to Paris to protest. Endorphins from manifestations (protests) are enough, we need to get a 15 hour bike ride in there.

Their main concern? There will be tractors on the runway. Heads up, it's not that far out in the boonies.

You could conceivably make this argument for Minneapolis as well. I have been asked the following.
-Is it true you have the world's biggest mall full of red necks? (Welcome to Fleet Farm)
-Does everyone wear plaid there? (We started it! #Hipsternation)
-Why do you live there? (Why don't you?)

FOUR French Phrases I Adore

Utopiste: Someone who believes in "utopia," or a paradise on earth.

Apprendre en s'amusant: Learning whilst amusing oneself. Welcome to my gap year!

Autodidacte: Someone who learns for themself, without the help of a teacher.

Bof: B.O.F. (yes this is an acronym). Stands for Beurre Oeuf Fromage. Butter egg cheese. Means redneck.

Now an introduction to the peculiarities of French society...

In France, a mystical country, there exists a language, a Romance language in fact. It is called French. There are between 90-110 MILLION native speakers around the world. It still serves in many cases as the language of diplomacy, despite losing ground to english, as it is much better than english for technical situations. It is much harder to pin dictators, swindlers, and rule breakers down in vague english than in deadly specific french.

Unlike English, which as far as I know is fairly unregimented and roams as free as whatever word you want to create, French is very strict.

Very strict.

There is an Academy, "Académie Française", which decides which words every year are "French" and therefore are permissible for politicians, soccer players, public personas and postal workers to use. And for the rest of us.

Made up of the "immortals" (I kid you not), these ever living (but not) personages are charged with the important task of making up new words to combat other languages encroaching on their verbal territory.

For instance, computer. Ordinateur.

Or Ipad. Tablette tactile.

Anyways, creeping on their internet page, I can only spot two women in their forty seat-table. How disappointing.

Recent drama according to Google involves the Unofficial (I should probably Uncapitalize that) feminization of various professions, as the academy (pardon, The Academy) insists one must use the correct (masculine) noun. In English, we have less of this problem, because so much slang enters our language and gets spat back out. Hence, people not understanding me when I say that I hear there's a dishy thrash round the corner.

Grandparent slang. C'est un truc de fou.

You Need A Nose To Speak French

Host Brother: Can I borrow your ipod?
Me: Why?
Host Bro: Please? You're pretty.
Me: Whatever. Here you go.
Host Bro: It's a joke! You're not pretty.

How mean.


Today in phonetics class we were working on the "nasal" sound that the french are so effing good at. My nose is too small to do it properly. Anyways, I was sitting there, calmly flunking an exercise on telling the difference between


Sain- as in healthy
Sein- as in boob/breast
Son- as in his/hers


(Son sain sein-> badly worded/conjugated etc but means "her healthy breast")


When I had a profound thought.


Put yourself in the Harry Potter mindset for a moment.


Because of his weird transformation and new noseless state of existence, Lord Voldemort WOULD NOT BE ABLE TO DO THE NASAL SOUND.


Thus, he couldn't speak french. Mind=Ecrasé.


I wonder if the people who dubbed the movies into french and translated the books thought about this. You really really need a nose to speak french.


It's currently the season of getting sick, and I have caught a wicked head cold. Here is some french vocab/slang to go with the achoos and sniffles.


Etre Crevé- To be dead (slang)


Choper/attraper- to catch


J'ai chopé la crève- I've caught an evil cold.


Éterver- To sneeze


Tousser- To Cough


Renifler- To sniff


Se moucher- To blow one's nose.


Taught my host bro the call and return of-


See you later alligator...


In a while crocodile.






Peace out girl scout.

Yes Please!

In the course of one's life, it is wise to say yes to random propositions by one's friends to meet up at 7 the next morning to hop on a train to another city for a day of fun.

Especially when they offer this to you at midnight. Who needs sleep anyways?

It's true, my life has seemed a little bit like "Yes Man" the past few months.

Kebabs at 2 am?

Barcelona for reading week?

Red pants?

Foster The People concert?

Homemade colombian food?

Rock and Roll dancing lessons?

The question is never why, but why not?

Of course, one must keep a certain sense of how drastic to be in order to experience life in another country. Learning the how to fend off creepy men (see story below), get past pissy train ticket sellers, make friends and still get an average of 7 hours of sleep is difficult.

But I get my homework done, find time to "study" by watching youtube videos of french rap songs, and bake brownies for my house family. Taking a gap year has taught me (with my semi-anal perfectionist ways) that at the end of the day, it is about passing. You can't do it all perfectly.

Learning this, before going into a hyper competitive environment with grades, tests, boatloads of homework (Yuuuuuck) and freaking out peers, is excellent. I suggest everyone tries it.

Today I went (indeed at 7am) to Angers with my friendsies. We passed a lovely day of mixing up five languages (English, French, Spanish Italian and German), seeing a chateau and hanging out in random parks. Awkward, uncomfortable and rather amusing incident happened with a "draguer" (someone who creeps on you/hits on you) on the train. This man of a certain age boarded the train with a certain eye towards all the ladies in our group. He then proceeded to try and take photos of some of us (was told off very sternly). He still stared and made creepy faces at us.

Friend: I don't like it. I am a very territorial male, I protect members of my herd.

<3

As we got off the tram he gave his number to a friend and started smoking. We realized that a spectacular opportunity had been missed. She should've asked for a light and burnt the paper with it.

But alas, we can't do it all.

Note to my parents: Can you email me the recipes for the two lasagna's that we use to conquer the world?

Funny story I forgot to tell a while ago. So I was sortiring with a group of my english speaking friends and we were overheard by some less-than-sober french guys. They immediately asked us...

Bourré: Where do you come from?
Friend: Oregon.
Bourré: Where is that?
Friend: Above California. (huge explosion of joy at this statement)
Bourré: AH, California, avec les gros seins!

California, forever more known as the state of big boobs.

Adult-Like Experiences

Go back two oral exams today. One exam, which everyone flunked, was one more than what I once scored in bowling. 7. Out of 20. The other was considerably better but this is a good exercise in proving to myself how fun school for the sake of school is.

Super duper fun.

For instance, I learned today how to call someone a loser. In french.

Raté!

Raaaaaaté.

Looooooser.

Roasted.

Spent a healthy chunk of this afternoon reading Dorothy Parker stories and book reviews (how I long to have a tongue like that. One breath and where an offending person stood lies a mush of mangled flesh) and eating peanut butter with a knife. I think I do the latter mostly for the thrills. And working on my speed reading (750 words a minute, check me out).

Needless to say, it was a very adult-like experience.

This evening was an excellent exercise in forcing myself out of the house. Went for drinks with people from nine different countries, ended up singing American, Chinese, Russian, Italian, Tibetan and ambiguous origin birthday songs for a friend from China.

More fun stories that you can hear about if you ask me personally :)

French Vocab Word of the Day:

Une Ordure: Piece of trash, someone worthless and stinky. A real jerk. Quite the powerful insult, but not necessarily a swear word.

I've had a certain lyric stuck in my head, from the song "Battez-Vous" by Brigitte. I only know this one line, so I sing it over and over again.

"Mettez vous à genoux."

On your knees.

Sighted: Public make outs reach every age. Saw two old folks macking over their walkers.

Daily Nouvelles

One thing I absolutely adore about Nantes is all the free news. I bask in it.

You walk down the street and newspapers are practically thrown at you. Did you know Senegalese rappers were starting a revolution based in Port-au-Prince?

Now you do.

Did you know Canadian professors in Quebec are angry with French students for coming over for the cheap english classes, thus conning one of the best educational systems in the world?

It's big news.

Did you know Nicolas Sarkozy and Carla Bruni had a baby girl today?

Congratulations. Babies are wonderful things, and french ones are so well behaved. I've never seen such polite, quiet, adult-like gosses before.

Had an alarm for some sort of road work or construction site go off around me. First thought was

"Crap, gotta find a tornado shelter as fast as frickin' possible." Say it in a Minnesoootan accent and you've officially entered my thoughts.

The weird thing is, in France there are no tornados. Or really any extreme weather. When clouds build up a mild electric charge, all the power goes out in France, and then everyone strikes. Control nature, or else we faire greve!

Sighted recently: Lots of hideous norwegian sweaters and cape wearing women. Also the "Menotte Mardi" crew (Handcuff Tuesday) handcuffing themselves to random silly things yesterday.

One of my friends (NOT ME FOR ONCE) got called a "Pipelette." Politely, this means someone who never stops talking. They never shut UP.

Phrase of the day: "Il est bête et méchant."

He is stupid and mean. Say this in a petulant voice and it ends all arguments.

My Socks Too?

Sometimes (just sometimes) in a world where you don't understand the language, you make people laugh until they cry with the silly misunderstandings you make.

Context: I've written out my home address for my host brother's wife so she can write a letter to my parents.

Host Sister (points to the ground): You can leave the paper on the ground.
Me: What? Is there something wrong with my shoes? I'll go take them off. (I take off my shoes).
Host Sister: Non non non, leave it on the ground.
Me: My socks too?

I got the message after that.

I swear I'm getting better, I correct myself all the time and speeeaaaak sloooowly to diminish my whomping accent (I think it's getting worse).

Currently reading a Chair de Poule novel (GOOSEBUMPS! IT STILL EXISTS) in french. I have an easily awakened imagination, and have to be careful when I read and watch scary things. Being a somnambule (sleep walker) and vivid dreamer, I often reenact scenes. For the sanity of my host family, I only read it over breakfast.

Phrase of the day: Calme-toi.

Calm yourself.

Tardiness

One thing I wish I was is more confident.

One some levels I pride myself on being extraordinarily confident. In finding various programs and opportunities for my gap year, networking and asking around become like a second nature. I had at least twenty ideas of what I was going to do, slowly narrowing it down. Funnily enough I'm still working on the next piece anyways.

But an experience I had yesterday was a bit of a wake up call. I was waiting at a bar where one of my best friends here works, for another friend to meet up with me. She was late. (Side note: this friend is German... my sense of stereotypes was very befuddled, since she is ALWAYS late).

I chatted a little with one of the british bartenders, who was extraordinarily nice. We bonded over gun violence in our respective cities (Minneapolis, Birmingham) and drinking age laws. Other than that, I took a post by the door and said nothing. So I was a little nervous, speaking good enough french and understanding most things, but surrounded by people I don't know and succumbing a little to negative thoughts.

I think I should go home.

It's not worth it.

I'm so boooored.

Everyone is staring at me, do I have something on my nose? (This is a valid fear. I have had things on my face for HOURS without knowing it. Once I ordered train tickets from the station with chocolate smeared across my chin. Was told a full 40 minutes later by some buddies. Sad day.)

Everyone was staring at me, because I was a pretty funny sight. A young student age woman standing stiffly by the door in a packed and jovial bar, speaking to no one.

Was finally rescued by some Colombian guys, who invited me to sit with them while we waited for our respectively late friends. Our friends showed up two minutes later, together. Turns out my friend got lost and asked for directions from their friend.

The rest of the evening wasn't too eventful. I discovered I'm not much of a nightclub person mostly because I prefer dances with a partner. I'll stick with salsa, merengue, bachata, le rock and swing. Not random gyrating movements.

I had to leave the club early with said German friend so she could catch a bus and me so I could get walked home by a friend who was getting off work. I ended up staying at the bar where he worked and chatting with the owners and fellow bartenders.

Moral of the histoire: Be willing to go out on a limb and chat with people you don't know. Dont be the awkward blonde girl sitting on the corner without friends.

Scramble

So one of my favorite weekly sights is a sign in the university resto (not the one I typically go to, the one I go to on Wednesdays when everything is packed) is a handicap sign that says

"Scramble."

Wheelchair picture, then this bizarre word. I'll take a picture when I think of it. I dunno about in France, but in the Estados Unidos "scramble" means to go crazy and run around everywhere.

Why France, why?

Speaking of english, you gotta be careful how loudly you speak on the tram. Overheard two indiscreet British people talking about their weird fetishes with their significant others on the tram.

I didn't need to know that about your girlfriend's feet. Please speak indiscreetly in a less universal language, like Mermish.

Line of the day:

British friend: I can't decide which class to drop.
Friend: Defense against the dark arts.

The word for a blonde person in Colombie is "Mona." In Venezuala it is "Catira." Was chatting with two south american dudes who were very taken with my hair. I've been encouraged to grow my hair out to my waist. They said that I would get all the guys then.

I just may.

Props to a certain student of French for using slang in front of my host siblings. Four days later, they still talk about you. And how not to use semi-naughty words like that.

Je déconne= I'm kidding. Borderline offensive due to the fact that "conn" is naughty.

This is a PG-13 blog. Look it up on the internets if you need bad words.

Slang phrase of the day: Mate la zesgon. "Check out that chick." Slightly derogatory. Mater is slang for "to look" and zesgon is gonzesse but with the syllables versedin.

This weekend, Me and German aupair vs the clubs.

Narco et Ronchon

Was greeted this morning with FREE TEA. Unexpected and utterly refreshing green tea.

Felt a little off today, maybe because the weather has just gotten nice and chilly-ish all of a sudden. Time to whip out the sweaters!

My friend from Canadia very eloquently ranted about all the things in France that don't work. I giggled, and thought you might too. Check it out!

http://simply-cause.blogspot.com/2011/10/and-heres-rant-about-france-one-and.html



Today in phonetics class we were talking about narcoleptics and I mentioned one of my friends has narcolepsy (I think... anyways). There is this french film called "Narco." Ripped from wikipédia

"Narco is a 2004 French film about Gus (played by Guillaume Canet) a narcoleptic, whose life is made difficult by his inability to keep a job because of his narcolepsy."

It has murder, intrigue, comic books and narcoleptics. AND IT'S IN FRENCH. What more could you ask for?

French phrase of the day: Foudre en larme- to burst into tears. I haven't cried in months, it's bound to happen sometime soon.

French Argot/Slang of the day: Ronchon. It means grumpy, or "grumpy child."

What else did I do today? A gym tonique aerobics class which was supposed to be an "abs ripper." Abs tickler, sure, but I think I'll stick with jogging each week.

Nighty night.

Amen to that.

Bought my train tickets to go to Paris (THEN TO BARCELONA! la gente esta muy loca!) and my ticket to go see Foster the People... Realized too late that I'd rather go see my penultimate indie-singer-angel-girl-crush Laura Marling. Tickets are not exchangable. Damn you capitalism.

Saw a massie manifestation (manif=protest today) as a bunch of people were faire greve-ing about something or another. Trop bizarre. No idea what they were protesting, but it broke up around lunchtime because the only thing more sacred than the french right to protest is having two hours for lunch. Amen.

Enjoyed my cours de danse enormously, we finally learned some new moves for the rock n roll dance. Am friends with a frenchman who became my friend because due to my lack of proper pronunciation, thought I was from South Africa for the first few times we chatted. Funny I shouldn't have picked up on that sooner. Are you befok?

Some Slang/Argot for "Child"

Môme- If you haven't heard of Edith Piaf, I recommend a trip to youtubeland. Her unearthly voice and heartbreaking songs are embedded in french culture. She got her start (early adolescence) under the stage name "La Môme Piaf." Piaf is a small bird, and a Môme is a baby/child. So her stage name was "The Baby Bird."

Gamin- Child.
Gaminerie- Playfulness, childishness.

Gosse- Child, or young adolescent. A beau gosse is a hot dude.

Mioche- Baby/kid.

Chatted with two lovely AP classes from my ancien ecole. Glad to see all of you are thriving, hope you all take gap years and have crazy adventures. Best investment of a year, and its only been three months.

What Have I Learned In These Three Months?

1) Not smoking is easy. Just tell people (and yourself) you have asthma. They will respect that.

2) Ne me drague pas. All you ever need to know. Don't hit on me. Just say no to creepy offers, and if they don't back off, pull the "I don't speak the language" card. If that doesn't work, learn how to say in fluent whatever-language "back off in no uncertain terms."

3) Eat everything. It's all an experience, and you may never have it again. If it looks weird, take a small portion. I tried apricots, peaches, pea soup, purple carrots and hot chocolate in bowls for the first time here. And mussels, foie gras, weird things I don't know the names of and eel.

4) School for your own benefit is way more fun that school for a diploma or a grade. Successfully chatting with my dancing prof means more to mean than any of my grades here.

5) Slang is awesome. So many naughty words, so little time.

Vachement Perdu

Today I got vachement perdu (really really lost). As in, the 2 km I had to walk turned into upwards of 12, as I made wrong turn after wrong turn.

Short Adverb lesson:

Vachement: Comes from the word "vache" which means cow. French people love using vache in everyday convo... "Oh la vache" (sort of like our "holy cow"). Vachement means literally "cowly" but actually means "REALLY." Like, damn.

Carrement: Also means very. You'll hear "carrement d'ac" in certain age group conversation. Short for Carrement D'Accord, which means "really in agreement."

Vraiment: Translated literally and truly means "very."

I'm feeling rather tired, and while my host brother likes to tease me about going out all the time, I don't think it is completely that. Partially, bah ouais, but not entirely. Learning a language is vachement difficult, and even with proper sleep I find I'm "dans la lune" (on the moon, aka daydreaming) accidentally in class these days. This happened back home too, at about the one month mark. School is tiring. This doesn't change. Still wish I could go back to hippie school and bake me some cookies all day e'ryday.

Fun experience of the day: trying to explain what a baby daddy/momma was to my writing professor. Ah, the things that arrive in the international student's life.

Some vocabulary for you to enjoy! I got most of this from an article about how the second in command police officer in Paris was arrested/charged for drug trafficking and being generally naughty. I shake my finger at you. Anyways, this is regular CSI jargon.

Puant- stinky. Slangy-wise, it means pretentious, or vain. It was puant of him to think he wouldn't get caught.

Indicateur/Indic- Informant. Sort of like our version of "narcs" typically unsavory people who inform the police in exchange for favors or lessening of sentences. "indic" is the shortening of that.

Voyou- GANGSTER. Salut voyou (what's up, badass?)

tonton- What little kids/everybody call their uncles. Also means men of a certain (older) age, typically men you don't mess with. "les tontons flingueurs" is a cult film from 1963 about gangsters. If you speak fluent-enough french, let's watch it together.

Des Papas Poules- "Father hen." Papas who are very occupied with their children, extremely invested etc etc.

So I filched a magazine from the library today (50.5% sure it was free for the taking...). On the back was the advert for dinosaures... Including the Bambisaur.

The bambisaur is the new velociraptor, it's official.

Sad story of today.

Friend (grabs a chunk of my hair and inspects it): My goodness, your hair is a pretty color. How do you get it to be so blonde?
Ex-Friend: The trick is thinking like a blonde.

Shuddap.

Birthday Bashes and Bangs

My apologies for the radio silence, it was my first proper weekend in Nantes and so I spent it properly celebrating my birthday of last week with my fantabulositastic friends I've met here. Hard to believe that I've known these people for less than five weeks.

The wonderful thing about being international is that you are (in most places) a novelty and thus get reached out to far more often than usual.

Five countries represented in this lovely photo. We also had a bunch more people but they bailed earlier.

Yay for friends.

A couple excellent quotes from the evening.

"I don't actually like partying, I just do it because I'm good at it."

"When you watched Harry potter, does it sound different, because it's the same accent as yours?"
(This is a recurring theme. I have friends who are convinced that because my lovely british friend has an accent, she
a) must be a wizard
b) cannot watch Harry Potter because they have the same accent)

Yesterday I went to my host bro's rugby game. Pretty intense, although I understood very little. A lot of punching and ripping clothes. My host family makes fun of my tendency to say "why so much violence?"

Seriously, why all the violence?

After that, had a convo about french humor, aka irony.

"French humor is ironic, par example, you're beautiful."

That's not irony, that's being mean.

Went on a boat ride to the beautiful fishing village on the Island of Nantes. Graffiti, art, statues, whimsy everywhere. I wanna move now.

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?

Top Five

Here is the countdown of exciting things that happened to me today.

1) Dance class. Tango again. I don't like tango.

2) Booked my hostels for spain. SO EXCITED!

3) Bought red pants.

4) Watched the french movie "Un Heureux Evenement." In a moment of rare honesty, I shall confide in you that I went because the preview had a bunch of romantically two backed beast-i-ness (thank you shakepeare). Turned out to be a thoughtful meditation on parenthood. If only I'd understood everything. What I do understand is I don't want children in the next 8 years. Gah. It looks simply dreadful, from the perspective of this 19 year old.

5) Hoarded my peanut butter. I am a generous soul, save with my food. Particularly the only jar of skippy peanut butter in western france. Bug off, C'EST LE MIEN!

Warm and Fuzzy

I'm going to england tomorrow! This weekend is my birthday also, so for those of you thusly concerned, do a little dance on my behalf and maybe drop me a line saying how you're doing.

Even if you forget, I tend to celebrate my birthday the whole month of October. All days are valid. I got teased by a lot of people (namely my piano teacher) for being super enthusiastic about my birthday. So what if I have a countdown starting in April? It's a big deal. I'll be able to drink in Canada (eh?).

A philosophical musing: Learning a new language is for me as much an experience of new things as it is defining the language you already know. New distinct borders are formed in my brain. This is where English is. This is where French is. This is where they intermingle. I still mess up ever other sentence, but my comprehension is chugging along at a mighty pace. It helps that Nantes is filled with people who will correct you (in the politest, most helpful way). Thank you to random strangers for telling me to be careful with the verb baisser vs baiser. To turn down (as in lower the heat) vs. to sleep with someone (think the vulgar word). Or the phrases "Je Peux" vs. "je pu."
One means I am able, the other means I stink.

Je ne pu pas.

Had my dance class today, super duper fun. Had a dudely chat (I MISS YOU MY MANLY FRIENDS... AND MY LADY FRIENDS) with two of my gentleman friends. They were telling me about how one of the girls in class was so awesome "she made my pants explode." I think their intended message was a little less strong. #englishasasecondlanguage I mean, she was cute. But not dynamite.

Was treated to a group of guys playing at a bar. They did a song by Caravan Palace and their lady friend sang along. It gave me warm and fuzzy feelings.

Slingy Slang

Today I spoke French, English and Spanish at lunch. I learned how to say, "I have no money, my friend will pay," "why yes I love Shakira," and "rico suave." I'm all set.

The 1 tram line also wasn't working today so I had a 20 minute walk. I made it to class on time, because unlike the majority of dawdlers who walk around Nantes, I go with a purpose. Thank you Granny Peppa for the long legs. Less thank you for not giving me your natural grace. City of cobblestones, meet constant klutz.

I also stopped by the bibliotheque (library) to get some books. Picked up some poems by Maya Angelou, "The Sound and The Fury" by William Faulkner, Dom Juam/Juan By Moliere, The collected notebooks of Victor Hugo and a biographie of Victor Hugo. My weekend reading.

Learned a very important lesson in french yesterday. So I thought the phrase "tu me manques" meant "you miss me." Which is kind of a cocky thing to say. But actually it means "I miss you." "Je te manque" means you miss me. Kinda counterintuitive. ChuckandCindy, this is why all your "tu me manques" have elicted sassy responses. Tu me maques aussi, et desole.

Fun thing we learned today in writing class. So in France there was (some annees back) a big enthusiasm for les Chansons realistes. They were focused on how everyone does drugs, all women are whores, all men are bad guys, life is really hard, we turn to sex to live with it, and so forth. My prof pointed out that it's kind of similar to today's gangster rap. Edith Piaf is probably rolling in her grave. But everyone agreed that gangster rap has more "frimer" which means "to be cocky."

They have a verb for this. Tu frimes, je frime, Lil' Wayne frime, tout le monde frime.

La frime. Noun version. Cockiness.

Word.

Some more slang I've learned today.

German Slang-

Schnorrer- To be a mooch. Eat everyone else's food.

Asian Slang-

Tai-mei - Beau gosse/hottie in taiwanese/chinese

zheng-mei- "hey sexy lady" in taiwanese/chinese

British Slang-

Waagwan- What's going on?

Phrase of the day:

"Vachement pu mais carrement delicieux"

Vachement literally translates as "cowly" as in cow... But it means super duper, or really really really. Same with carrement, save the bit about the cow. Translated, this phrase means

"really really stinky, but super duper delicious."

I think we were talking about some type of sushi.