I've been struggling this week to decide what to write about. It's getting harder and harder to whittle down this experience into a "weekly update," but on top of a full class load, writing a screen play, and experiencing the joie de vivre, I'm having a little trouble with my old foe time management.
Tonight at dinner, we had an interesting conversation about blogs. What makes them interesting, our favorites, etc. I realized that the more responses or acknowledgment I get from writing in this weird, new-age medium, the more hesitant I become in my expression. Basically, I felt a little guilty for railing against the American education system (I do not, indeed, think it is hopelessly flawed), and I wanted to make it perfectly clear how much I love my motherland that I'm a bit homesick for ce soir.
For instance, at the table I found myself starting a sentence with, "As an American..." with a comical amount of pride to rival Lee Greenwood. We were talking about the law in France banning "conspicuous" religious items (i.e. the crucifix, the yarmulka, or the hijab-the Muslim headscarf) in public arenas like school or in court. I was arguing against the law, even though I am far from supporting fundamentalists, because I think it's an important freedom to have to be able to express your beliefs in any way you'd like (when it comes to personal appearance, obviously).
It's also important to note that I've been experiencing this beautiful city to an entirely American sound track. I even heard a friend of mine on the radio the other morning. Not so crazy considering I worked in a music hall in NYC for a year and change before I got here, but still. From jazz to folk to bluegrass to pop to rock and roll, Americans are definitely ahead of the game when it comes to music. Sure, the Brits have been fair contributers, but the French are quick to say, "American muzeek eez zee best." And yes, they say it just like that. And with authority. And I believe them.
I've also been tossing around this idea of becoming a writer which makes even the task of writing this silly blog seem daunting. There's this fine line that I feel I'm walking as an "aspiring writer" between a completely inflated sense of self (listen up kids, I'm gonna tell ya a little somethin' 'bout this thing we call life) and a desperate plea for validation (why would people want to hear what I have to say about anything?). Although now that I say it, this fine line is something I think maybe everyone struggles with, and to think it's unique to writing is pretty foolish. And like my teacher said the other day, "Alors, zere are plenty of people who love to read, so I zink you should just write." Also with authority. And I believe that, too.
When one man, for whatever reason, has an opportunity to lead an extraordinary life, he has no right to keep it to himself. --Jacques Cousteau
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Une grande fille
Last week, I had quite the time with Arianne. She became very upset as we got her ready to take a bath, and it took me 15 minutes of hearing her screaming and crying to figure out that it was the removal of her chaussures that incited the riot. It was, of course, because I slipped them off without a thought...and she is 3. Une grande fille. Discovering this, I put her shoes back on. She then stomped into the bathroom and demanded that I "fermer la porte!" I shut the door, proud of my comprehension skills. After a good 3 minutes or so of patting myself on the back, I was jolted back into the reality of an unsupervised 3-year-old in a bathroom with a bathtub full of water, and swung open the door to find her still sniffling but completely undressed and ready to go. It was a pretty comical situation, but made me realize this whole babysitting with the language barrier may be a little harder than I initially thought.
I know how she feels. My love of independence can only be exceeded by my desire for more. This week has been one of great revelations. (The thought that this is the first month, and I have nearly three full months left makes my heart skip beats.) I have learned so many new words, read and heard loads of historical facts, and seen massive amounts of work by incredible artists. Just in the past 5 days I saw an amazing exhibit by Richard Avedon at the Jeu de Paume, explored the small space that is the Musée de l'Orangerie, and went through nearly the entire Centre Pompidou.
Last night after a history class in Bastille, I began to think about France and its people with their countless revolutions. Their protests. Their quests for independence. After class, I was having a drink with one of my teachers, and he said he thought the director of our program was too hard on Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. This woman has had more patience than me with the pair, but there's definitely a cultural divide. She is shocked by there lack of independence. I see this in my language classes as well. The divide in the educational systems that I was talking about. French educators are not going to hold your hand and show you how to get to the answer. They give you the questions and provide you with facts, and the rest is up to you.
I was embarrassed at how passionately I shot down his remark, but I truly felt what I said to be true. Basically, I believe America is in the state it is now because there are millions of people who have never been taught how to think for themselves. How wasted is the independence we claim to value so dearly? They have their prescriptions and their religious doctrines that they don't dare question, and then they need Fox News or some other group of greedy, manipulative assholes to take them by the hand and tell them exactly what to think. Or do. Don't stop shopping!
One thing that has also been completely eye-opening is how sustainable the French seem to be. I recently watched The Story of Stuff, which I highly recommend everyone see and show their children (www.thestoryofstuff.com--the narrator can seem a bit cheesy, but she's bearable), and I've become a great fan of this: frenchtoastfrance.blogspot.com.
But the real question has come with the role of creativity in all of this. It came up first as a question Zoe posed (at around 4am, après beaucoup de boissons) about synthesizing compassion and selling your work as an artist. How is it possible to sell yourself (your goods, your arts, your services) when you want to fight consumerism and be a compassionate, independent being? The very next day after she asked this type of question, I was assigned an article about Manet that you can read here: http://www.jstor.org/pss/3046078.
I then read (on Facebook of all places) that a friend of mine's mother said, "Education is what remains when all the facts are forgotten." So, I'm not entirely sure what I'll do next in this life, but I'm starting to get a clearer idea. And just because I'm not sure how I'll independently crawl out of this hole of debt doesn't mean it wasn't worth every penny.
I know how she feels. My love of independence can only be exceeded by my desire for more. This week has been one of great revelations. (The thought that this is the first month, and I have nearly three full months left makes my heart skip beats.) I have learned so many new words, read and heard loads of historical facts, and seen massive amounts of work by incredible artists. Just in the past 5 days I saw an amazing exhibit by Richard Avedon at the Jeu de Paume, explored the small space that is the Musée de l'Orangerie, and went through nearly the entire Centre Pompidou.
Last night after a history class in Bastille, I began to think about France and its people with their countless revolutions. Their protests. Their quests for independence. After class, I was having a drink with one of my teachers, and he said he thought the director of our program was too hard on Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. This woman has had more patience than me with the pair, but there's definitely a cultural divide. She is shocked by there lack of independence. I see this in my language classes as well. The divide in the educational systems that I was talking about. French educators are not going to hold your hand and show you how to get to the answer. They give you the questions and provide you with facts, and the rest is up to you.
I was embarrassed at how passionately I shot down his remark, but I truly felt what I said to be true. Basically, I believe America is in the state it is now because there are millions of people who have never been taught how to think for themselves. How wasted is the independence we claim to value so dearly? They have their prescriptions and their religious doctrines that they don't dare question, and then they need Fox News or some other group of greedy, manipulative assholes to take them by the hand and tell them exactly what to think. Or do. Don't stop shopping!
One thing that has also been completely eye-opening is how sustainable the French seem to be. I recently watched The Story of Stuff, which I highly recommend everyone see and show their children (www.thestoryofstuff.com--the narrator can seem a bit cheesy, but she's bearable), and I've become a great fan of this: frenchtoastfrance.blogspot.com.
But the real question has come with the role of creativity in all of this. It came up first as a question Zoe posed (at around 4am, après beaucoup de boissons) about synthesizing compassion and selling your work as an artist. How is it possible to sell yourself (your goods, your arts, your services) when you want to fight consumerism and be a compassionate, independent being? The very next day after she asked this type of question, I was assigned an article about Manet that you can read here: http://www.jstor.org/pss/3046078.
I then read (on Facebook of all places) that a friend of mine's mother said, "Education is what remains when all the facts are forgotten." So, I'm not entirely sure what I'll do next in this life, but I'm starting to get a clearer idea. And just because I'm not sure how I'll independently crawl out of this hole of debt doesn't mean it wasn't worth every penny.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
My favorite teacher, le Pape, and the missing ice cream bars
Wednesday, my favorite teacher asked me if I could please stop singing. I wasn't actually in a class, but putting little Ms. Arianne to bed. She's the 3 year-old I'll be babysitting once or twice a week. She speaks French (obviously) and is also fluent in Hungarian, and although she understands most English, she really only knows a few words. So our communication is such that I speak in English (I'll often repeat whatever I'm saying in French as well if I know how), and she speaks in French. She's incredibly smart and generous and sweet. She's an absolute doll with blonde curly hair and brown eyes. I already feel extremely attached to this one even if she doesn't like my lullabies.
Speaking of lullabies, I'm pretty tired from another fun night about town with my new partner in crime, Zoe Nissman. Zoe hails from Topanga Canyon in LA and went to school in NYC with my girl, Ms. Lauren Kincheloe. They now live together in Lalaland, and Zoe will be here through the end of the month. We spent the day window shopping and moseying around Montmartre. I love that the French expression for window shopping is "faire du lèche-vitrines," which literally means licking the window. We drank a couple of bottles of wine with our hot new French friend Tristan (who looks like a male model, rides a motorbike, and speaks perfect English without an accent as he spent his first 10 years in Connecticut), and then met up with my friend Nicolas at a bar in Odéon for more drinking and French lessons. French lessons that I have completely forgotten. Seriously, this stuff needs to start sticking.
Note to self: USE the damn notebook and pen you've been toting around everywhere and WRITE THINGS DOWN.
I realized on the phone with my mom this morning that I am overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by my return to education. I'm definitely excited to be learning a new language, and the culture and history of France is especially interesting considering how in love I am with this city, but this is also the most challenging thing I've ever done. Which is kind of sad. I don't know that in my 16 years of school I was ever really challenged. I swept through a public high school and a state university, and rarely felt, if ever, truly challenged. As an artist, I've definitely had challenges. As a human I've faced (collectively with my family) more than my fair share of challenges. But academically...?
I love my country. I have read the statistics, and I knew the sorry state of affairs, but I guess witnessing first-hand how behind we really are has changed my perspective a bit. So, now the question remains: what exactly am I going to do about it?
Pope Benedict XVI was in Paris for the weekend. This meant 3x the amount of tourists to get in my way on my way home from school Friday. As a non-practicing, "confirmed" catholic, it really didn't mean much else. I didn't have much of a desire to see the pope-mobile or hear the man speak. I have nothing at all against him, but fighting the crowd did not seem at all desirable. I was, however, happy to learn some interesting facts about him. He was, for instance, the oldest man to ever be elected pope. And he started an organization that sells his writings to provide scholarships for students. Did you know he speaks 5 languages, and can read 7? Obviously, he didn't grow up in the US.
So I sit here avoiding studying like a true American with my chocolate ice-cream bar. Like a true French woman, my host-mother keeps eating my supply (she's now even eaten the ones she bought to replace the ones she ate before). I don't really mind since the situation's kind of comical, but the moon is waxing and chocolate is vital to my existence right now.
I miss my mom.
And Naked juices.
And big salads.
And veggie burgers.
And bagels.
Ah, well. Wish me luck.
Speaking of lullabies, I'm pretty tired from another fun night about town with my new partner in crime, Zoe Nissman. Zoe hails from Topanga Canyon in LA and went to school in NYC with my girl, Ms. Lauren Kincheloe. They now live together in Lalaland, and Zoe will be here through the end of the month. We spent the day window shopping and moseying around Montmartre. I love that the French expression for window shopping is "faire du lèche-vitrines," which literally means licking the window. We drank a couple of bottles of wine with our hot new French friend Tristan (who looks like a male model, rides a motorbike, and speaks perfect English without an accent as he spent his first 10 years in Connecticut), and then met up with my friend Nicolas at a bar in Odéon for more drinking and French lessons. French lessons that I have completely forgotten. Seriously, this stuff needs to start sticking.
Note to self: USE the damn notebook and pen you've been toting around everywhere and WRITE THINGS DOWN.
I realized on the phone with my mom this morning that I am overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by my return to education. I'm definitely excited to be learning a new language, and the culture and history of France is especially interesting considering how in love I am with this city, but this is also the most challenging thing I've ever done. Which is kind of sad. I don't know that in my 16 years of school I was ever really challenged. I swept through a public high school and a state university, and rarely felt, if ever, truly challenged. As an artist, I've definitely had challenges. As a human I've faced (collectively with my family) more than my fair share of challenges. But academically...?
I love my country. I have read the statistics, and I knew the sorry state of affairs, but I guess witnessing first-hand how behind we really are has changed my perspective a bit. So, now the question remains: what exactly am I going to do about it?
Pope Benedict XVI was in Paris for the weekend. This meant 3x the amount of tourists to get in my way on my way home from school Friday. As a non-practicing, "confirmed" catholic, it really didn't mean much else. I didn't have much of a desire to see the pope-mobile or hear the man speak. I have nothing at all against him, but fighting the crowd did not seem at all desirable. I was, however, happy to learn some interesting facts about him. He was, for instance, the oldest man to ever be elected pope. And he started an organization that sells his writings to provide scholarships for students. Did you know he speaks 5 languages, and can read 7? Obviously, he didn't grow up in the US.
So I sit here avoiding studying like a true American with my chocolate ice-cream bar. Like a true French woman, my host-mother keeps eating my supply (she's now even eaten the ones she bought to replace the ones she ate before). I don't really mind since the situation's kind of comical, but the moon is waxing and chocolate is vital to my existence right now.
I miss my mom.
And Naked juices.
And big salads.
And veggie burgers.
And bagels.
Ah, well. Wish me luck.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
sensitive (sensible)
One question...
How does one react to your house mother asking if you like the niggers in her living room?
Do you take the time, after you finished choking on the sip of water you just took, to explain to the dear the inappropriateness of the word in your country?
I didn't. Don't be ashamed. It was late.
Yes, I realize that's two questions.
How does one react to your house mother asking if you like the niggers in her living room?
Do you take the time, after you finished choking on the sip of water you just took, to explain to the dear the inappropriateness of the word in your country?
I didn't. Don't be ashamed. It was late.
Yes, I realize that's two questions.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Premièrement, tout d'abord
It has been suggested by more than a few that I keep a blog while gallivanting around Paris, and I was just able to get hooked up with the internet so here goes nothin...
It was over a year ago that I decided I should spend some time abroad. I thought for a while I would be spending time in Italy as an Italian beau had often regaled me with stories of his homeland, "EEn EEtaly..." He was quite the character, and although he was passionate about many things (cooking, tattoos, Vespas, hashish, et moi par exemple), one thing he kept saying was, "Bellina, butterfly, you must travel!" So was planted the seed.
The seed that is now blossoming à Paris. After speaking with many people about living in European cities, I kept hearing great things about Paris. I was told it was the safest. I was told it had the best Metro system. I was told it was beautiful. I took a year of French in highschool. Sold. I found this program called Lexia Study Abroad with a Film Studies Paris program that seemed right up my alley. I maxed out a couple of credit cards, saved the cash to pay the bills, et voilà.
The program thus far seems catered to me. I'm studying French at the Sorbonne, and then French Film one-on-one with an aspiring filmmaker, and French culture and history with the other Lexia students. The other students are two young guys aged 19 and 21 who seem to be having a little trouble adjusting. I will henceforth refer to them as Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. You can derive what you'd like from that. The director of the program is this amazing French woman who's incredibly generous and knowledgeable about a variety of topics. And she speaks perfect English.
The city is beyond beautiful! It just doesn't stop. There's one thing after another to take your breath away. My host family is an older couple with 2 grown children (one my age). They are kind and generous, and very funny. I enjoy their company immensely. My room is bright and enormous, and I have my own shower. I really couldn't ask for more. J'aime bien ou j'habite...we live in this little town called Saint Mandé just outside the city limits to the east. It's absolutely dreamy with the classic architecture of Paris, beautiful old churches, and lush green parks. It's about three miles from the center of Paris...which I can reach by metro in about 20min. Which brings me to "what they do better" portion of my blog, where I hang my head and ask, "Why New York City Metro, oh why can't you have trains that come every 2 minutes?"
Also better: access to free bikes. All around the city. Yeah, c'est vrai. I wish to God I knew the city well enough to confidently use them.
And it's so damn clean, I've officially extended the 5 second rule to 10 full seconds!! Seriously, there must be street cleaning every morning or these people just don't litter as much as New Yorkers do.
Don't worry, New York still wins for prices (even not factoring in the exchange rate...ouch). And coffee...sure, sure they've mastered the tasty shot of espresso, but you're definitely SOL if you favor a delicious iced coffee to go. And people. Only 'cause I miss mine.
But you are still mine even though we're miles apart. And I'm still yours. Votre dame.
It was over a year ago that I decided I should spend some time abroad. I thought for a while I would be spending time in Italy as an Italian beau had often regaled me with stories of his homeland, "EEn EEtaly..." He was quite the character, and although he was passionate about many things (cooking, tattoos, Vespas, hashish, et moi par exemple), one thing he kept saying was, "Bellina, butterfly, you must travel!" So was planted the seed.
The seed that is now blossoming à Paris. After speaking with many people about living in European cities, I kept hearing great things about Paris. I was told it was the safest. I was told it had the best Metro system. I was told it was beautiful. I took a year of French in highschool. Sold. I found this program called Lexia Study Abroad with a Film Studies Paris program that seemed right up my alley. I maxed out a couple of credit cards, saved the cash to pay the bills, et voilà.
The program thus far seems catered to me. I'm studying French at the Sorbonne, and then French Film one-on-one with an aspiring filmmaker, and French culture and history with the other Lexia students. The other students are two young guys aged 19 and 21 who seem to be having a little trouble adjusting. I will henceforth refer to them as Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. You can derive what you'd like from that. The director of the program is this amazing French woman who's incredibly generous and knowledgeable about a variety of topics. And she speaks perfect English.
The city is beyond beautiful! It just doesn't stop. There's one thing after another to take your breath away. My host family is an older couple with 2 grown children (one my age). They are kind and generous, and very funny. I enjoy their company immensely. My room is bright and enormous, and I have my own shower. I really couldn't ask for more. J'aime bien ou j'habite...we live in this little town called Saint Mandé just outside the city limits to the east. It's absolutely dreamy with the classic architecture of Paris, beautiful old churches, and lush green parks. It's about three miles from the center of Paris...which I can reach by metro in about 20min. Which brings me to "what they do better" portion of my blog, where I hang my head and ask, "Why New York City Metro, oh why can't you have trains that come every 2 minutes?"
Also better: access to free bikes. All around the city. Yeah, c'est vrai. I wish to God I knew the city well enough to confidently use them.
And it's so damn clean, I've officially extended the 5 second rule to 10 full seconds!! Seriously, there must be street cleaning every morning or these people just don't litter as much as New Yorkers do.
Don't worry, New York still wins for prices (even not factoring in the exchange rate...ouch). And coffee...sure, sure they've mastered the tasty shot of espresso, but you're definitely SOL if you favor a delicious iced coffee to go. And people. Only 'cause I miss mine.
But you are still mine even though we're miles apart. And I'm still yours. Votre dame.
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