Monday morning I have a history class about communism in France, and Tuesday night I will be attending the Americans Abroad election coverage over-night party here in Paris. I'm growing tired of waiting, but I also feel excited and inspired and confident. My dad's still voting Republican, which is beyond me. It is to him and to others who share his opinions that I would like to sing a song:
Come gather 'round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You'll be drenched to the bone
If your time to you is worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'
Come writers and critics
Who prophesies with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won't come again
And don't speak too soon
For the wheel's still in spin
And there's no tellin' who that it's namin'
'Cause the loser now
Will be later to win
For the times they are a-changin'
Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don't stand in the doorways
Don't block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he that has stalled
The battle outside ragin'
Will soon shake your windows
And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin'
Come mothers and fathers
All over the land
And don't criticize
What you can't understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is rapidly agin'
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin'
The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast
And the present now
Will later be past
The order is rapidly fadin'
The first one now
Will later be last
For the times they are a-changin'
For the times they are a-changin'
-Bob Dylan
Friday, October 31, 2008
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Oui, oui, oui all the way home.
Last week, I brought Ariane some English nursery rhyme books and a couple of cattails to get me back in her good graces. I think she likes me and all, but it's hard to stay popular when each time you show up, mommy and daddy leave. She really enjoyed them, but now I'm suffering with various ones stuck in my head as I try to finish this screenplay and write a reaction to Une Femme est Une Femme.
Her favorite is: Peas porridge hot, peas porridge cold, peas porridge in the pot nine days old. Some like it hot, some like it cold, some like it in the pot nine days old.
"Encore, encore," she says, like a little French teletubby. Or an opera audience.
Ludmilla (her mother, my teacher) believes it's because there's one similar to this that she already knows in Hungarian. She also then noted, that there aren't many French nursery rhymes because the language doesn't have that type of musicality to it. Which would explain why good French music, as I've noticed, is somewhat hard to come by.
Really frustrated with the language at this point. I can comprehend quite a bit reading, and I've even started thinking in French sometimes, but when people speak to me, I'm pretty lost. It's quite humbling. I'm really going to push myself this last month and a half to step up to the plate, and get my money's worth out of the program.
I had a long lunch with Tweedle Dee the other day, and he's really disappointed with the program we're in. He's pretty high maintenance and hard to please in any given situation. He asked me for advice, so I tried explaining to him some of the basic Buddhist philosophies that helped me through some rough patches this past year. It was great to try and teach what little I know about enlightenment and happiness, because it helps me remember things, too.
Before I left town, and told people in NYC that I would be staying with a host family, some people's reactions were really funny. "Oh no, what if they're crazy?" I would laugh, and think of how silly it was to worry about that. Situations are what you make them, right?
My house mother has turned out to be quite neurotic. She's been through 4 maids since I moved in, and I had the opportunity to speak with one on her way out. The maid said the lady of the house was absolutely crazy and would never be happy. She said she would deliberately make huge messes (I have noticed erratic messiness) and then would insist that the maid finish an impossible list of chores in less than 3 hours. She won't let me do my own laundry, and she insist on cleaning my shower almost daily (even if I haven't showered). They told me I could use a small refrigerator in the basement, and she rearranges my food in there.
And yet, she is very kind and generous. She leaves me soup, and chocolate bars, and cough syrup. She may be strange and it may be driving me absolutely bonkers, but she's obviously suffering in some way to act the way she does. She's a retired woman with a little too much time on her hands is all. Although, I'd rather live on my own, there's nothing I can do about it. Except have compassion and patience for my wayward hostess.
I also often wonder if I got ripped off with this program. Tweedle Dee was very focused on this subject. Where exactly is all of our money (or credit, in my case) going? Well, I guess we could sit around feeling cheated, but what in the hell is that going to do? It is in the past. Tuition is paid in full. All we can do is squeeze every little great experience there is to be had in the short time we have left. In Paris, I mean. But I guess that's true in the bigger picture as well.
Telling someone else these things did my spirit a lot of good. And I realized that I would like to teach yoga when I get home. It has given me a lot of perspective, and I think it would be a great gift to give to others. Not to mention the fact that teaching something is the best way to learn it.
I've also made some other decisions about my life through this experience. Unfortunately, I've created an equal amount of unanswered questions. If that makes any sense. All I know is that for the next 6 weeks, to each and every opportunity this city has to offer I will say, oui. Oui. Oui.
Her favorite is: Peas porridge hot, peas porridge cold, peas porridge in the pot nine days old. Some like it hot, some like it cold, some like it in the pot nine days old.
"Encore, encore," she says, like a little French teletubby. Or an opera audience.
Ludmilla (her mother, my teacher) believes it's because there's one similar to this that she already knows in Hungarian. She also then noted, that there aren't many French nursery rhymes because the language doesn't have that type of musicality to it. Which would explain why good French music, as I've noticed, is somewhat hard to come by.
Really frustrated with the language at this point. I can comprehend quite a bit reading, and I've even started thinking in French sometimes, but when people speak to me, I'm pretty lost. It's quite humbling. I'm really going to push myself this last month and a half to step up to the plate, and get my money's worth out of the program.
I had a long lunch with Tweedle Dee the other day, and he's really disappointed with the program we're in. He's pretty high maintenance and hard to please in any given situation. He asked me for advice, so I tried explaining to him some of the basic Buddhist philosophies that helped me through some rough patches this past year. It was great to try and teach what little I know about enlightenment and happiness, because it helps me remember things, too.
Before I left town, and told people in NYC that I would be staying with a host family, some people's reactions were really funny. "Oh no, what if they're crazy?" I would laugh, and think of how silly it was to worry about that. Situations are what you make them, right?
My house mother has turned out to be quite neurotic. She's been through 4 maids since I moved in, and I had the opportunity to speak with one on her way out. The maid said the lady of the house was absolutely crazy and would never be happy. She said she would deliberately make huge messes (I have noticed erratic messiness) and then would insist that the maid finish an impossible list of chores in less than 3 hours. She won't let me do my own laundry, and she insist on cleaning my shower almost daily (even if I haven't showered). They told me I could use a small refrigerator in the basement, and she rearranges my food in there.
And yet, she is very kind and generous. She leaves me soup, and chocolate bars, and cough syrup. She may be strange and it may be driving me absolutely bonkers, but she's obviously suffering in some way to act the way she does. She's a retired woman with a little too much time on her hands is all. Although, I'd rather live on my own, there's nothing I can do about it. Except have compassion and patience for my wayward hostess.
I also often wonder if I got ripped off with this program. Tweedle Dee was very focused on this subject. Where exactly is all of our money (or credit, in my case) going? Well, I guess we could sit around feeling cheated, but what in the hell is that going to do? It is in the past. Tuition is paid in full. All we can do is squeeze every little great experience there is to be had in the short time we have left. In Paris, I mean. But I guess that's true in the bigger picture as well.
Telling someone else these things did my spirit a lot of good. And I realized that I would like to teach yoga when I get home. It has given me a lot of perspective, and I think it would be a great gift to give to others. Not to mention the fact that teaching something is the best way to learn it.
I've also made some other decisions about my life through this experience. Unfortunately, I've created an equal amount of unanswered questions. If that makes any sense. All I know is that for the next 6 weeks, to each and every opportunity this city has to offer I will say, oui. Oui. Oui.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Au contraire, mon frère
Many will be happy to know that my brother's visit was extremely enjoyable. My cousin Jolene joined us for his week-long European vacation, and we had quite the time indeed. The highlight was definitely a laid back 3 days in the great city of Amsterdam where we had a ball strolling and rolling through the canopy of fall colors around the canals and shops of the Dutch wonderland.
Paris was actually more accessible than I originally thought...almost all the buses are accessible with ramps and with 2 of the most laid back, indifferent tourists ever, I had a blast just riding around checking out the sights at leisure. We had crepes and red wine and hot chocolate, my brother participated in a protest concerning the rights of French immigrants, and we spent enough time in the Louvre to become fully saturated with fine art.
This morning (my brother's birthday, no less) was a bit of a nightmare trying to get to the airport by public transportation. The ease of the week somehow made us forget the fact that shit happens. And the obstacles presented to those in wheelchairs can be quite time consuming. I guess the laid back indifference has its drawbacks.
I'm notorious for getting to the airport late. It's really only thanks to some twisted miraculous luck that I've never missed a flight. The time when I would have most definitely missed one, the plane was delayed 3 hours. Just a couple of months ago, I arrived at LaGuardia just in time to be scurried through international lines and escorted directly to the plane by a ticket agent for my flight here.
I will now note that Gary and Jolene (a.k.a. Rupert and Winkie) were aware of this reputation. I say this only because of my extreme guilt for what happened this morning. I was late meeting them (I was to help them with the luggage), and waiting for me probably cost them a precious 20 minutes. 20 minutes, however, was nothing compared to the hour and a half we spent looking for the elevator to the RER at Chatelet (the closest Parisian equivalent to Grand Central Station) and arguing with the extraordinarily rude bus drivers for the CDG bus-shuttle thingy. To top it off, the bus-driver told them to get off at the wrong terminal, so I don't know if the 20 minutes would have saved the day...but it certainly hasn't stopped the tears today.
Luckily, the great people at Delta were able to get them on another flight and waved the charge. It was, however, with a layover and just thinking of the miserable birthday he must be having has left me irreparably blue.
My brother is an enigma, and undoubtedly the most amazing individual I know. I've often said he has the epitome of confidence without an ounce of pride. For those of you who don't know him, he was in a car accident in 2002 that completely severed his spinal cord. He's a paraplegic. But he's more of an MBA student/full-time computer engineer, homeowner who drives and is completely self-reliant, who just happens to get around on wheels.
I discovered this week, he is also the least opinionated, most argumentative person I know. He is a Libra afterall, and although I don't put too much stock in Astrology (hey, it's probably more stable than most things on the market today), I can't help but note the fact. He argues every side to every issue, and although he certainly has opinions (I am the worst driver ever, for example), he is slow in deliberate in deciding what those opinions are. Always weighing the each side. I envy his endurance.
My brother also loves money. Always has. At a very young age, his penchant for making a buck was blatantly obvious. He's a steadfast saver, a wise investor and a hard worker. But for someone who's all about the Benjamins, he is extraordinarily generous (almost to a fault). A couple of Christmas's ago, this man gave me Monopoly and replaced the fake money with real dough. I mean, come on. He also doesn't have a materialistic bone in his skinny body. He'd wear the same clothes everyday, eat spaghetti for dinner every night, and really only seems to buy the necessities (keystone light and Wi games excluded).
We got into a conversation the other night about fate. He thinks it's bullshit. There is no rhyme or reason, and the world is left to chance. He hasn't ruled out the idea of a creator, but he/she's not an active God. There is no hand. There is no control. But he believes in luck, he says with a grin. And believes he has it.
Au contraire, mon frère. It is anyone who knows you that is lucky. Anyone you've smiled at or argued with or loved or hated. Anyone who's opened a door for you or helped you on a bus. Anyone who got your "pardon" song or gracious "merci." And me. Your fuck-up of a big sis that didn't get you to the airport on time. I'm sorry and I love you. Bon anniversaire.
Paris was actually more accessible than I originally thought...almost all the buses are accessible with ramps and with 2 of the most laid back, indifferent tourists ever, I had a blast just riding around checking out the sights at leisure. We had crepes and red wine and hot chocolate, my brother participated in a protest concerning the rights of French immigrants, and we spent enough time in the Louvre to become fully saturated with fine art.
This morning (my brother's birthday, no less) was a bit of a nightmare trying to get to the airport by public transportation. The ease of the week somehow made us forget the fact that shit happens. And the obstacles presented to those in wheelchairs can be quite time consuming. I guess the laid back indifference has its drawbacks.
I'm notorious for getting to the airport late. It's really only thanks to some twisted miraculous luck that I've never missed a flight. The time when I would have most definitely missed one, the plane was delayed 3 hours. Just a couple of months ago, I arrived at LaGuardia just in time to be scurried through international lines and escorted directly to the plane by a ticket agent for my flight here.
I will now note that Gary and Jolene (a.k.a. Rupert and Winkie) were aware of this reputation. I say this only because of my extreme guilt for what happened this morning. I was late meeting them (I was to help them with the luggage), and waiting for me probably cost them a precious 20 minutes. 20 minutes, however, was nothing compared to the hour and a half we spent looking for the elevator to the RER at Chatelet (the closest Parisian equivalent to Grand Central Station) and arguing with the extraordinarily rude bus drivers for the CDG bus-shuttle thingy. To top it off, the bus-driver told them to get off at the wrong terminal, so I don't know if the 20 minutes would have saved the day...but it certainly hasn't stopped the tears today.
Luckily, the great people at Delta were able to get them on another flight and waved the charge. It was, however, with a layover and just thinking of the miserable birthday he must be having has left me irreparably blue.
My brother is an enigma, and undoubtedly the most amazing individual I know. I've often said he has the epitome of confidence without an ounce of pride. For those of you who don't know him, he was in a car accident in 2002 that completely severed his spinal cord. He's a paraplegic. But he's more of an MBA student/full-time computer engineer, homeowner who drives and is completely self-reliant, who just happens to get around on wheels.
I discovered this week, he is also the least opinionated, most argumentative person I know. He is a Libra afterall, and although I don't put too much stock in Astrology (hey, it's probably more stable than most things on the market today), I can't help but note the fact. He argues every side to every issue, and although he certainly has opinions (I am the worst driver ever, for example), he is slow in deliberate in deciding what those opinions are. Always weighing the each side. I envy his endurance.
My brother also loves money. Always has. At a very young age, his penchant for making a buck was blatantly obvious. He's a steadfast saver, a wise investor and a hard worker. But for someone who's all about the Benjamins, he is extraordinarily generous (almost to a fault). A couple of Christmas's ago, this man gave me Monopoly and replaced the fake money with real dough. I mean, come on. He also doesn't have a materialistic bone in his skinny body. He'd wear the same clothes everyday, eat spaghetti for dinner every night, and really only seems to buy the necessities (keystone light and Wi games excluded).
We got into a conversation the other night about fate. He thinks it's bullshit. There is no rhyme or reason, and the world is left to chance. He hasn't ruled out the idea of a creator, but he/she's not an active God. There is no hand. There is no control. But he believes in luck, he says with a grin. And believes he has it.
Au contraire, mon frère. It is anyone who knows you that is lucky. Anyone you've smiled at or argued with or loved or hated. Anyone who's opened a door for you or helped you on a bus. Anyone who got your "pardon" song or gracious "merci." And me. Your fuck-up of a big sis that didn't get you to the airport on time. I'm sorry and I love you. Bon anniversaire.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Je suis très fatigué
I have to go to sleep since I'm getting on a train in less than 6 hours to go to the south of France for the weekend. After Marseille, I'm headed to Amsterdam with the bro and cousin for 4 days. It should be loads of fun, but you're not gonna get a worthwhile blog for some time. Yes, it's hard to be me.
In all seriousness, I have had a hard week looking for an accessible hotel that didn't cost an arm and paralyzed leg. Obviously things of that nature are a little bit more dated on this side of the pond. It just so happened that the one excursion my school organized and is paying for fell on the weekend that my brother arrives. This has been the cause for beaucoup anxiety this week.
My French still sucks. It's becoming more apparent that I will only have scraped the surface in 4 months, and I'll just have to come back some day to really perfect it ;-)
Last weekend I had an amazing time at Nuit Blanche, which is this all-night art festival in Paris. I'm spearheading the NYC branch when I get back. Seriously. Well, hopefully.
Anyway, starting production on my first film soon (don't get too excited...just a student project written and directed by moi), heading to Berlin and Florence next month, and lamenting my limits (financial and time-wise).
Bonne nuit, mes amis.
In all seriousness, I have had a hard week looking for an accessible hotel that didn't cost an arm and paralyzed leg. Obviously things of that nature are a little bit more dated on this side of the pond. It just so happened that the one excursion my school organized and is paying for fell on the weekend that my brother arrives. This has been the cause for beaucoup anxiety this week.
My French still sucks. It's becoming more apparent that I will only have scraped the surface in 4 months, and I'll just have to come back some day to really perfect it ;-)
Last weekend I had an amazing time at Nuit Blanche, which is this all-night art festival in Paris. I'm spearheading the NYC branch when I get back. Seriously. Well, hopefully.
Anyway, starting production on my first film soon (don't get too excited...just a student project written and directed by moi), heading to Berlin and Florence next month, and lamenting my limits (financial and time-wise).
Bonne nuit, mes amis.
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