Saturday, December 29, 2007
Buckle Up for Safety
I've seriously got to buckle down and figure out the days before me. I need a job. A real one. Not just some side adventure in retail. I need one which involves dental and a health plan, something I love would be great. But really, I just want to go something worth while that also utilizes all of my attributes to the best of their ability. I'm having a difficult time feeling optimistic, but that's that. There's no choice in the matter. I need to find a career.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Lessons and Things
"She just said, 'How will you live?'"
I'd been out of the United States boundaries for a little over one hour when I began to speak with the person sitting beside me. She was about 5'6, pretty, olive skin, dark hair, topped off with a straw cowboy hat, university-aged to be sure. She looked like an all-American girl. Her name was Antoinette, I learned, and she was returning home to her native France after three months in Montana working as the American version of an au pair.
The child across the aisle on the United Airlines flight was starring at us strangely as I butchered French and Antoinette attempted to translate my Franglais into something with substance.
The five-year-old asked me again, "How will you live?" but it sounded more like "Comment tu vivras?" Antoinette waited for me to ask for help while the flight attendants fluttered about handing out safety packets in French and English and the pilot announced our ascension in two languages. Hovering above "The Land of the Free" for a few more hours before sailing over the ocean only to traverse across France, my first savory flavors of French conversation were underway.
Continuing on toward my new home, I attempted to translate the conversation the 5-year-old, called Marie, was having with Antoinette. She had realized my less than proficient skills, and therefore abandoned me. Yet, every few minutes she took pity, tapped me on the shoulder to ask questions regarding my final French destination.
I responded like her 3-year-old French little sister would have.
"I come from Chicago. I'm going to France. I am going to Pau. It is in the South."
She looked on with silent laughter, and then leaned over me to speak with Antoinette. I could understand her, just barely.
"Qu'est ce qui se passe?" or rather, "What just happened?"
The two giggled in what I deemed to be the way only French girls giggle, turned to me and continued feeble chitchat.
"Does your mom live in Pau?" Marie asked. I shook my head. Mortified she responded like any child would. Apparently worried about my future livelihood, she asked again, "How will you live?"
I had no answers. Five hours later and probably five French vocabulary words stronger, the plane landed in Paris.
Just like in all cities, neighborhoods are scattered throughout this couture glittered paradise, and similar to London, big name museums and monuments lie near the rushing river. I came to St. Michel, an area for straggling tourists searching for Notre-Dame, students on their way to the Latin Quarter, and Parisians. I was attempting to look like one of them, one of the French, but my small orange backpack pointed out student and when I opened my mouth, the words pointed out tourist.
Peaking over the small four story apartments directly next to the river stood the Victor Hugo-famed cathedral. I'd heard of it as a child in my catholic Sunday school lessons, as well as seen Disney's Quasimodo-induced "Hunchback of Notre-Dame. Just down a ways was Le Louvre followed by the Champs Elysées, le Musee d'Orsay and barely visible on a clear day was Paris' international namesake, The Eiffel Tower.
After nearly a week of site seeing in the city of romance, speaking almost entirely in Franglais, I had survived. I was completely full with the essentials, food and water.
But international cities aren't like small town anywhere. In New York, Rome, London, Tokyo, Madrid and Los Angeles, one can get away with not speaking the native tongue. It's too easy to pass through the large city gates of the international arena. In order to know any country more than a flighty tourist, it's essential to live outside of the box, even if you feel further away from the action.
This is what Marie meant by, "How will you live?" The moment I arrived in the quaint city of Pau in France, I noticed even the French people are different than those I found in Paris.
Sure, the streets were just as confusing, each called Rue Something French or Something Else in French, winding in circles, squares, triangles and sometimes, just straight lines out to nowhere, but the attitude simply feels wrong to a stranger.
"Depuis combien de tu es ici?"
"D'où est-ce que tu viens?"
"Comment s'appelle?"
These questions all seem unfamiliar, but they're nothing more than conversation starters: How long are you here? Where are you from? What's your name? And when that's all you've got to go on people take notice.
"Bonjour, je m'appelle Brigid. Je suis etudiante etranger. Je viens de Chicago."
I was running out of steam and fast! These were the only things I knew how to say with any clarity. When I said these things I knew what I was saying, all other times it was a guess, a shot into thing air. I knew my name, that I was a foreign student and that I had a home in the states.
"Bonjour Brigid. Je m'apppelle Florence, et je voudrais prendre votre baggage dans ma voiture."
I think she is my host mom, and she might have wanted my luggage.
Standing in the parking lot of the University of Pau's dormitory, I was meeting my host mother for the first time. It was sweltering outside; the palm trees were beginning to droop with the early September heat, while the sun perpetually beat down onto the tops of our heads.
I turned to wave goodbye to my companions, but no one waved back as they too were meeting their families for the first time.
Two weeks in, my conversation starters began to completely wear. I could just hear my host mother repeating to herself. ''Yes, I know you're name and that you come from Chicago.'' But I had no time to learn practical questions. I needed to finish my homework. We'd been learning the passive tense along with the conditional tense in class; so I my speech became limited to indefinite shoulds, woulds and coulds or things that I had done. Rarely did I venture into the future without my trusty 'going to go' phrase.
Sitting in my sunlit bedroom for most of the afternoon, Florence came in to pose a question.
"You would like to take our meal with us tonight? If it pleases you, of course."
Her short brown haired head popped through the cracked open door. I was granted eight meals with the family per month as part of my rent. But I had learned to conserve each meal and limited myself to around two each week.
"Oui. I would like. Yes. But, tomorrow, no for me. I would not like to eat tomorrow."
Florence's lean frame gained firmer entry into my room as she listened to my response.
"You will not eat tomorrow?"
"No, I will eat, but not here tomorrow."
"I don't understand why you will not eat."
We went on like this for another minute until I had to stop her. Consulting my dictionary, I said I'd talk to her in a few minutes. Or at least, that's what I'd meant to say.
Scaling down the spiral staircase into the kitchen I nearly bumped into her as she placed the warming plate onto the table next to the pâte and couscous. Sweat beads formed across my brow as I attempted what felt like the impossible.
"Je ne voudrais pas manger avec ta famille demain parce que je vais aller chez mon amie. Ça va?"
"Oui. Ca marche. Bon."
So this is what success felt like, I thought. No, I would not like to eat with your family tomorrow, because I am going to go to a friend's house.
She turned to stir the soup some more. I walked out of the kitchen glanced at the pealing lavender wallpaper and continued to walk up. In my head I repeated the words to make sure I said exactly what I meant. It was right according to my grammar book, dictionary, countless handouts and Rick Steves. But there was no applause at the end of my simple declaration. It was a victory only I could see.
"C'est normal," Florence said to me at dinner a few weeks later. "C'est normale que…ben…that you more learn now."
We had just finished a minor conversation about life goals and third world countries. We, meaning my host mother, host grandparents, host sister and my biological parents. They were visiting France for the premier time, and neither spoke a lick of the language.
''Bon, it's very normal that you like France,'' said my host grandfather to my dad. Jean-Claude, apparently Claudy to his friends, announced this in French. Larry Marshall did not comprehend.
Instead, he starred off in the direction of the cast iron stove and asked in crisp English if it was wood-burning.
''Désolée, Florence. Il ne parle pas Français,'' I explained to my host mother his lacking French oral skills. She winked at me, went over to the stove and began to place pieces of wood into the burner.
''Yes, Dad, it's wood-burning. They don't call it a Franklin Stove here either.''
My mother was on the other end of the table speaking Spanish to my host grandmother, Victoria. I vaguely heard something about my host little sister Lukia and the education age.
She turned to look down the table at my father and Claudy breaking down the differences between the United States social security system and France's Securité Sociale.
''Brigid, can you, well, how do you? I'm just, how do I say that the US system of government is actually well-thought out and George Bush gets a bad rap?''
The only thing that came to mind was, is my 55-year-old father really asking me to translate and defend the US government? I had no qualms with what he wanted to explain, but I had never been the one to drive a conversation involving two cultures, languages and generations forward.
''Sure, yeah, with pleasure,'' I said. Leaning closer to the two men I began my thorough and incomplete explanation, pausing to give each party a moment to understand.
Nearly forty-five minutes later, the appetizers had disappeared along with four bottles of the Southwest of France's finest Jurançon Sec white wine and some sort of Irish Whisky.
''Brigid used to be a little shhh,'' Florence said holding her pointer finger to her lips. ''But, I think she knows better now French.''
''Oui, oui, Florence, c'est vrais, yes it's true,'' I said. ''But, you said, tu as dit, 'c'etait normal.' It was normal.''
I translated for my parents Florence's next words. ''Oui, it is quite hard to be living with new people and not know what to say. You don't know them, and it can make you nervous, but it is good to practice with them.''
On the way back to Pau's Hotel Bristol my mother hummed along to the French music playing on the cab's radio, as my father attempted to re-explain France's social security system. I simply looked out the window and understood what the lyrics were to the music.
I'd been out of the United States boundaries for a little over one hour when I began to speak with the person sitting beside me. She was about 5'6, pretty, olive skin, dark hair, topped off with a straw cowboy hat, university-aged to be sure. She looked like an all-American girl. Her name was Antoinette, I learned, and she was returning home to her native France after three months in Montana working as the American version of an au pair.
The child across the aisle on the United Airlines flight was starring at us strangely as I butchered French and Antoinette attempted to translate my Franglais into something with substance.
The five-year-old asked me again, "How will you live?" but it sounded more like "Comment tu vivras?" Antoinette waited for me to ask for help while the flight attendants fluttered about handing out safety packets in French and English and the pilot announced our ascension in two languages. Hovering above "The Land of the Free" for a few more hours before sailing over the ocean only to traverse across France, my first savory flavors of French conversation were underway.
Continuing on toward my new home, I attempted to translate the conversation the 5-year-old, called Marie, was having with Antoinette. She had realized my less than proficient skills, and therefore abandoned me. Yet, every few minutes she took pity, tapped me on the shoulder to ask questions regarding my final French destination.
I responded like her 3-year-old French little sister would have.
"I come from Chicago. I'm going to France. I am going to Pau. It is in the South."
She looked on with silent laughter, and then leaned over me to speak with Antoinette. I could understand her, just barely.
"Qu'est ce qui se passe?" or rather, "What just happened?"
The two giggled in what I deemed to be the way only French girls giggle, turned to me and continued feeble chitchat.
"Does your mom live in Pau?" Marie asked. I shook my head. Mortified she responded like any child would. Apparently worried about my future livelihood, she asked again, "How will you live?"
I had no answers. Five hours later and probably five French vocabulary words stronger, the plane landed in Paris.
Just like in all cities, neighborhoods are scattered throughout this couture glittered paradise, and similar to London, big name museums and monuments lie near the rushing river. I came to St. Michel, an area for straggling tourists searching for Notre-Dame, students on their way to the Latin Quarter, and Parisians. I was attempting to look like one of them, one of the French, but my small orange backpack pointed out student and when I opened my mouth, the words pointed out tourist.
Peaking over the small four story apartments directly next to the river stood the Victor Hugo-famed cathedral. I'd heard of it as a child in my catholic Sunday school lessons, as well as seen Disney's Quasimodo-induced "Hunchback of Notre-Dame. Just down a ways was Le Louvre followed by the Champs Elysées, le Musee d'Orsay and barely visible on a clear day was Paris' international namesake, The Eiffel Tower.
After nearly a week of site seeing in the city of romance, speaking almost entirely in Franglais, I had survived. I was completely full with the essentials, food and water.
But international cities aren't like small town anywhere. In New York, Rome, London, Tokyo, Madrid and Los Angeles, one can get away with not speaking the native tongue. It's too easy to pass through the large city gates of the international arena. In order to know any country more than a flighty tourist, it's essential to live outside of the box, even if you feel further away from the action.
This is what Marie meant by, "How will you live?" The moment I arrived in the quaint city of Pau in France, I noticed even the French people are different than those I found in Paris.
Sure, the streets were just as confusing, each called Rue Something French or Something Else in French, winding in circles, squares, triangles and sometimes, just straight lines out to nowhere, but the attitude simply feels wrong to a stranger.
"Depuis combien de tu es ici?"
"D'où est-ce que tu viens?"
"Comment s'appelle?"
These questions all seem unfamiliar, but they're nothing more than conversation starters: How long are you here? Where are you from? What's your name? And when that's all you've got to go on people take notice.
"Bonjour, je m'appelle Brigid. Je suis etudiante etranger. Je viens de Chicago."
I was running out of steam and fast! These were the only things I knew how to say with any clarity. When I said these things I knew what I was saying, all other times it was a guess, a shot into thing air. I knew my name, that I was a foreign student and that I had a home in the states.
"Bonjour Brigid. Je m'apppelle Florence, et je voudrais prendre votre baggage dans ma voiture."
I think she is my host mom, and she might have wanted my luggage.
Standing in the parking lot of the University of Pau's dormitory, I was meeting my host mother for the first time. It was sweltering outside; the palm trees were beginning to droop with the early September heat, while the sun perpetually beat down onto the tops of our heads.
I turned to wave goodbye to my companions, but no one waved back as they too were meeting their families for the first time.
Two weeks in, my conversation starters began to completely wear. I could just hear my host mother repeating to herself. ''Yes, I know you're name and that you come from Chicago.'' But I had no time to learn practical questions. I needed to finish my homework. We'd been learning the passive tense along with the conditional tense in class; so I my speech became limited to indefinite shoulds, woulds and coulds or things that I had done. Rarely did I venture into the future without my trusty 'going to go' phrase.
Sitting in my sunlit bedroom for most of the afternoon, Florence came in to pose a question.
"You would like to take our meal with us tonight? If it pleases you, of course."
Her short brown haired head popped through the cracked open door. I was granted eight meals with the family per month as part of my rent. But I had learned to conserve each meal and limited myself to around two each week.
"Oui. I would like. Yes. But, tomorrow, no for me. I would not like to eat tomorrow."
Florence's lean frame gained firmer entry into my room as she listened to my response.
"You will not eat tomorrow?"
"No, I will eat, but not here tomorrow."
"I don't understand why you will not eat."
We went on like this for another minute until I had to stop her. Consulting my dictionary, I said I'd talk to her in a few minutes. Or at least, that's what I'd meant to say.
Scaling down the spiral staircase into the kitchen I nearly bumped into her as she placed the warming plate onto the table next to the pâte and couscous. Sweat beads formed across my brow as I attempted what felt like the impossible.
"Je ne voudrais pas manger avec ta famille demain parce que je vais aller chez mon amie. Ça va?"
"Oui. Ca marche. Bon."
So this is what success felt like, I thought. No, I would not like to eat with your family tomorrow, because I am going to go to a friend's house.
She turned to stir the soup some more. I walked out of the kitchen glanced at the pealing lavender wallpaper and continued to walk up. In my head I repeated the words to make sure I said exactly what I meant. It was right according to my grammar book, dictionary, countless handouts and Rick Steves. But there was no applause at the end of my simple declaration. It was a victory only I could see.
"C'est normal," Florence said to me at dinner a few weeks later. "C'est normale que…ben…that you more learn now."
We had just finished a minor conversation about life goals and third world countries. We, meaning my host mother, host grandparents, host sister and my biological parents. They were visiting France for the premier time, and neither spoke a lick of the language.
''Bon, it's very normal that you like France,'' said my host grandfather to my dad. Jean-Claude, apparently Claudy to his friends, announced this in French. Larry Marshall did not comprehend.
Instead, he starred off in the direction of the cast iron stove and asked in crisp English if it was wood-burning.
''Désolée, Florence. Il ne parle pas Français,'' I explained to my host mother his lacking French oral skills. She winked at me, went over to the stove and began to place pieces of wood into the burner.
''Yes, Dad, it's wood-burning. They don't call it a Franklin Stove here either.''
My mother was on the other end of the table speaking Spanish to my host grandmother, Victoria. I vaguely heard something about my host little sister Lukia and the education age.
She turned to look down the table at my father and Claudy breaking down the differences between the United States social security system and France's Securité Sociale.
''Brigid, can you, well, how do you? I'm just, how do I say that the US system of government is actually well-thought out and George Bush gets a bad rap?''
The only thing that came to mind was, is my 55-year-old father really asking me to translate and defend the US government? I had no qualms with what he wanted to explain, but I had never been the one to drive a conversation involving two cultures, languages and generations forward.
''Sure, yeah, with pleasure,'' I said. Leaning closer to the two men I began my thorough and incomplete explanation, pausing to give each party a moment to understand.
Nearly forty-five minutes later, the appetizers had disappeared along with four bottles of the Southwest of France's finest Jurançon Sec white wine and some sort of Irish Whisky.
''Brigid used to be a little shhh,'' Florence said holding her pointer finger to her lips. ''But, I think she knows better now French.''
''Oui, oui, Florence, c'est vrais, yes it's true,'' I said. ''But, you said, tu as dit, 'c'etait normal.' It was normal.''
I translated for my parents Florence's next words. ''Oui, it is quite hard to be living with new people and not know what to say. You don't know them, and it can make you nervous, but it is good to practice with them.''
On the way back to Pau's Hotel Bristol my mother hummed along to the French music playing on the cab's radio, as my father attempted to re-explain France's social security system. I simply looked out the window and understood what the lyrics were to the music.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
C'est presque fini...
I'm nearly finished with France. Rather, I'm nearly finished with my first go at France. I'm confident in my will to return to this country. Honestly, I really like France. I may not be shouting at the top of my lungs for Pau, but I certainly have enjoyed being away from home, both Chicago and Iowa City.
It seems surreal that I've got little over one week left here. I'm rehashing the sentiments of my last posts, but wow. You come to a country, know it really isn't home, but just when you've begun to call it that, the rug's snatched out from beneath your feet, and you're left with a bruise on your rump.
Would it be a terrible cliché or something like that if I said Pau will always be a bruise on my ass? Probably, but I've gone and said it anyway.
I've got so many stories about what's happened over the last few days, weeks and months, I don't think that when I tell them that anyone aside from those involved will get it. Maybe. But it's an extremely strange concept.
Some things I'm looking forward to comes next Sunday, December 23rd:
1. MacBook Pro
2. Sledding in 12 inches of snow
3. Christmas, for perhaps the last time at 995 Beverly
4. Speaking French when annoyed
5. Passing the time slowly
6. Taking showers at night
7. Central Standard Time
It seems surreal that I've got little over one week left here. I'm rehashing the sentiments of my last posts, but wow. You come to a country, know it really isn't home, but just when you've begun to call it that, the rug's snatched out from beneath your feet, and you're left with a bruise on your rump.
Would it be a terrible cliché or something like that if I said Pau will always be a bruise on my ass? Probably, but I've gone and said it anyway.
I've got so many stories about what's happened over the last few days, weeks and months, I don't think that when I tell them that anyone aside from those involved will get it. Maybe. But it's an extremely strange concept.
Some things I'm looking forward to comes next Sunday, December 23rd:
1. MacBook Pro
2. Sledding in 12 inches of snow
3. Christmas, for perhaps the last time at 995 Beverly
4. Speaking French when annoyed
5. Passing the time slowly
6. Taking showers at night
7. Central Standard Time
Monday, December 03, 2007
Inevitable Excitement
Over this past weekend I booked it to Amsterdam. I left Friday morning and arrived Friday night. My friend, Rebecca, from home, has been student teaching in London for the past month and was granted a week off to travel around. She met me there and now will be in Paris until Thursday. It was so refreshing to be with someone from home. I miss that familiarity a lot as every day since I've been here I've been forced to deal with the unfamiliar. Plus, she totally gave me an ego boost when I called her hotel to make sure the reservation was still on. I spoke to the concierge in French. It was actually kind of rewarding.
My parents are on their way to Pau right now from Paris, where the flew in a couple days ago. I love Paris. I'm going back with them for the weekend as well as going to Normandy on a day trip. Should be really fun. I just love history, and in Pau; there is some, but it's from medieval/renaissance periods. I love learning about the world wars and all that here. It's totally different from learning about them in the US. The history is right here. I can't wait to see the beaches made famous on DDay (Decision Day), June 6, 1944. I really can't wait.
It's so strange to think I have only three more weeks left, when just what feels like a little bit ago I was saying I only had three months left. What's more is that the French students haven't been in school for the last 3 weeks. What's up with 3's?
It's weird that all my big trips are finished as well. The Netherlands was the last country I was to visit. Obviously otherthan continuing to live in France. It's weird that I can legitimately say, 'Yes, I lived in France for a little while.'
I just, I don't know. I do know that I'm excited for things though. Excited for Normandy and excited for Christmas and excited for Meagan Ekberg's wedding and excited to see people again and share stories and live life at a slower pace for a while. It helps that my class schedule for Spring is ridiculous. MTW class at 1:30, none ThF. Seriously? Seriously, this is my life. I just can't believe I need to get a real job with health insurance and a dental plan and an apartment or condo and blah; blah, blah. I will have bills to pay.
But it was inevitable. Just like everything else.
My parents are on their way to Pau right now from Paris, where the flew in a couple days ago. I love Paris. I'm going back with them for the weekend as well as going to Normandy on a day trip. Should be really fun. I just love history, and in Pau; there is some, but it's from medieval/renaissance periods. I love learning about the world wars and all that here. It's totally different from learning about them in the US. The history is right here. I can't wait to see the beaches made famous on DDay (Decision Day), June 6, 1944. I really can't wait.
It's so strange to think I have only three more weeks left, when just what feels like a little bit ago I was saying I only had three months left. What's more is that the French students haven't been in school for the last 3 weeks. What's up with 3's?
It's weird that all my big trips are finished as well. The Netherlands was the last country I was to visit. Obviously otherthan continuing to live in France. It's weird that I can legitimately say, 'Yes, I lived in France for a little while.'
I just, I don't know. I do know that I'm excited for things though. Excited for Normandy and excited for Christmas and excited for Meagan Ekberg's wedding and excited to see people again and share stories and live life at a slower pace for a while. It helps that my class schedule for Spring is ridiculous. MTW class at 1:30, none ThF. Seriously? Seriously, this is my life. I just can't believe I need to get a real job with health insurance and a dental plan and an apartment or condo and blah; blah, blah. I will have bills to pay.
But it was inevitable. Just like everything else.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Central & Standard
By the way, I do realize I'm currently not in central standard time. I just wish I were a lot of the time.
Happy Thanksgiving, too!
Happy Thanksgiving, too!
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Continuum
Yesterday I went back and read most of my blogs that have led me up to where I am now. It was odd. All the ones of last year had to do with my impending life here in Pau and the impossibility of fitting everything into 24 hour days. How did I let myself get so busy? And how in the world was I able to enjoy anything with that much on my shoulders? It's only weird now because here in France it seems I have all too much time and none at the same time. I can't really comprehend this notion that has seemed to plague me throughout my university years. This same problem, I fear, is going to follow me everywhere. It's here in that I have nearly 23 hours of class per week, so I don't have enough time to spend doing other things (such as travel as much as I'd like or simply pass the time with new friends). There doesn't seem to be an even playing field for all the things I'd like to be doing versus those I must. In anycase, I'm bothered.
On an unrelated note, I have just over one month left of my study abroad experience, and it's as if I have nothing to show for it. Things have happened, yes, but at the same time it seems that everything is exactly the same, even though I know it isn't. One of my best friends has gotten engaged while I have been away, I have visited many places and met a lot of interesting and fun people, but I still feel as if I don't really know anyone. It's unsettling. What's more, is that the friends I have at home have gone on without me, not that they had any choice either. And I'm certainly not asking that they stay in the same spot I left them. No. That'd be unfair and impossible anyway. It's just odd.
It doesn't help anything that all of my expensive items save my hair straightener have been stolen. First it was just my iPod and camera, but once I got back from London I found my laptop and jewelry had vanished as well.
Anyway, I'll be sad to leave Europe, but it won't be that hard to leave Pau.
On an unrelated note, I have just over one month left of my study abroad experience, and it's as if I have nothing to show for it. Things have happened, yes, but at the same time it seems that everything is exactly the same, even though I know it isn't. One of my best friends has gotten engaged while I have been away, I have visited many places and met a lot of interesting and fun people, but I still feel as if I don't really know anyone. It's unsettling. What's more, is that the friends I have at home have gone on without me, not that they had any choice either. And I'm certainly not asking that they stay in the same spot I left them. No. That'd be unfair and impossible anyway. It's just odd.
It doesn't help anything that all of my expensive items save my hair straightener have been stolen. First it was just my iPod and camera, but once I got back from London I found my laptop and jewelry had vanished as well.
Anyway, I'll be sad to leave Europe, but it won't be that hard to leave Pau.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
My Professor called me jaded. I called myself honest.
It’s almost a certainty that I neglected to give France a chance. Sure, I went to Paris. I saw that Tour Eiffel, no really, I did, it just, well, it wasn’t a big deal. Clearly, this is not true. I mean, yes, I saw the Eiffel Tower, and it was great, but it is a big deal. There’s one thing that hits you though when you go to anywhere in France that isn’t near the Eiffel Tower — and that thing is that, mostly France is just like Iowa or some other plain state. There are loads of farms. I’m not quite sure, about how I managed to edit out that France is world-renown for their cheese. And that cheese comes from, yes, farms.
Driving to the south of France after five days in the City of Love was like a dream. Nearly six hours went by and still, Pau felt no closer than when I’d left Paris. Upon arrival it occurred to me straightaway that if we’re talking distance, Pau is closer to Spain than it is to France’s capital city.
The Palois, the citizens of Henry IV’s Pau, have dark hair and tanned skin, and speak French, but many know Spanish, including the French host mother who was to take me in as her own for the next few months. We’d met outside the University of Pau dormitories. There were palm trees and it was hot, but not the kind of hot that forces one inside, the kind of hot that makes you excited to jump through sprinklers no matter your age.
Everything seemed surreal. She was Florence and I was Brigid, but I didn’t know she was Florence, and she had really no idea who I was. Thanks to confusion brought on by a small slip of paper describing my host situation I’d assumed the surname of Madame Carde was her first name. Two weeks went by until she finally mentioned that her name was not in fact Carde, game or any other sort. This is normal, though. There’s an unwanted unfamiliarity once one is thrust into it. No matter how prepared I thought I was, what with my travel towel and 20 pairs of underwear, for my voyage across land and sea, there’s no way to really get it.
No, not until I was here for over a month did I fully comprehend that France, even with it’s Eiffel Tower, mountain stretches, crepes and cheese, is just another country. The same things happen, people pass their time, students go to school, adults work, and life presses forward.
But back to this point that I didn’t give France a chance. Because I didn’t. There’s wasn’t enough time, but then again, that’s all I and my fellow study abroad classmates had. We had time to run to the supermarket to nick a 30 centime baguette and some frommage de Chevre. We had enough time to practice French with each other, while trying to introduce ourselves to each other at the same time. There was time for all that, but none to process it. That simply doesn’t happen until a few months in, when the honeymoon wears off, so to speak.
Something has to happen to make the flick switch. For me, I was faced with the seriousness of thievery, and for others it was simply that they were homesick and felt left without a paddle. The thing is, this unnaturalness of living with someone, having friends, yet completely being alone. It’s the realization that, although you may have shared your life story, there hasn’t been enough time for people to process, to get who you are or where you’re coming from. And, while I might be speaking English, it doesn’t matter, because I’m speaking another language.
Going from point A to point B isn’t difficult, it’s comprehending the journey, and after nearly a semester’s worth of driving forward, there’s a lull where the only thing I am capable of doing is thinking. These are the things people tell you, but remain impossible to decipher until the moment comes upon you, like it did for me, starring at the expanse of mountains from a small green bench overlooking the Pyrenees Mountains in the south of France.
Driving to the south of France after five days in the City of Love was like a dream. Nearly six hours went by and still, Pau felt no closer than when I’d left Paris. Upon arrival it occurred to me straightaway that if we’re talking distance, Pau is closer to Spain than it is to France’s capital city.
The Palois, the citizens of Henry IV’s Pau, have dark hair and tanned skin, and speak French, but many know Spanish, including the French host mother who was to take me in as her own for the next few months. We’d met outside the University of Pau dormitories. There were palm trees and it was hot, but not the kind of hot that forces one inside, the kind of hot that makes you excited to jump through sprinklers no matter your age.
Everything seemed surreal. She was Florence and I was Brigid, but I didn’t know she was Florence, and she had really no idea who I was. Thanks to confusion brought on by a small slip of paper describing my host situation I’d assumed the surname of Madame Carde was her first name. Two weeks went by until she finally mentioned that her name was not in fact Carde, game or any other sort. This is normal, though. There’s an unwanted unfamiliarity once one is thrust into it. No matter how prepared I thought I was, what with my travel towel and 20 pairs of underwear, for my voyage across land and sea, there’s no way to really get it.
No, not until I was here for over a month did I fully comprehend that France, even with it’s Eiffel Tower, mountain stretches, crepes and cheese, is just another country. The same things happen, people pass their time, students go to school, adults work, and life presses forward.
But back to this point that I didn’t give France a chance. Because I didn’t. There’s wasn’t enough time, but then again, that’s all I and my fellow study abroad classmates had. We had time to run to the supermarket to nick a 30 centime baguette and some frommage de Chevre. We had enough time to practice French with each other, while trying to introduce ourselves to each other at the same time. There was time for all that, but none to process it. That simply doesn’t happen until a few months in, when the honeymoon wears off, so to speak.
Something has to happen to make the flick switch. For me, I was faced with the seriousness of thievery, and for others it was simply that they were homesick and felt left without a paddle. The thing is, this unnaturalness of living with someone, having friends, yet completely being alone. It’s the realization that, although you may have shared your life story, there hasn’t been enough time for people to process, to get who you are or where you’re coming from. And, while I might be speaking English, it doesn’t matter, because I’m speaking another language.
Going from point A to point B isn’t difficult, it’s comprehending the journey, and after nearly a semester’s worth of driving forward, there’s a lull where the only thing I am capable of doing is thinking. These are the things people tell you, but remain impossible to decipher until the moment comes upon you, like it did for me, starring at the expanse of mountains from a small green bench overlooking the Pyrenees Mountains in the south of France.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Here & Away
You come for me in the worst of places
You come for me, you come and try to take me home
I'm always in need and it's hard to be reciprocating
The fabric of our life gets torn
And everything's changing so how am I to know
How I'm going to hold on to you when I'm spinning out of control
-Ryan Adams "Everybody Knows" off of Easy Tiger
You come for me, you come and try to take me home
I'm always in need and it's hard to be reciprocating
The fabric of our life gets torn
And everything's changing so how am I to know
How I'm going to hold on to you when I'm spinning out of control
-Ryan Adams "Everybody Knows" off of Easy Tiger
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Goals:
1. Wing things more often. IE: just buy a ticket to go somewhere and figure the rest out later
2. Concentrate on remembering the details, so later I can think about how awesome everything is.
3. Know French more, speak with my French family more, and not be afraid of my new conversation partner.
So far, that's it.
2. Concentrate on remembering the details, so later I can think about how awesome everything is.
3. Know French more, speak with my French family more, and not be afraid of my new conversation partner.
So far, that's it.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
France & it's Effects
So, I've been in France now for a little over two weeks. Hard to believe it. I've been taking a Travel Writing class as part of my requirements at the University of Pau. Here's a story I wrote about one of my experiences thus far.
So, here we are:
To say that France is on the other side of the world is geographically incorrect, but to say that it's barely, mildly, minute detail-y correct with regard to cultural differences, Fine.
But that's it.
__________
Something like Wal-mart should have been familiar, but then again, it was just something like Wal-mart. And France's chain super store, "LeClair" isn't Wal-mart.
Yeah, it's got Neutrogena body products, back packs and a fruit section, but it's also got an unrefrigerated milk section and security guards prepared for those inevitable thieves: French masterminds and foreigners alike.
Fifteen minutes until class was certainly enough to scour the store for delicious French pastries and delicious French pop, soda, coke, you know, with delicious French sweets practically popping off the shelves every which way.
Hypothetically, fifteen minutes is enough time for everything including the trudge across what often feels like a super highway spanning two directions and a grassy island in between, but is really just Alles Condorcet. Hypothetically.
But it's not as if you've got a French mindset telling you otherwise, meaning the truth that fifteen minutes is not enough time.
So I took my chances in search of that delectable delight of a Fruit tart a friend and I had for the last two days. Who am I to break my new found tradition. Three's a charm right? Or is that just a phrase fitting in the United States (Aux Etats-Unis, I mean.)
Friend in tote, the two of us paraded down the stretch of side walk separating the French version of Walmart and the French version of college.
It's not like we looked suspicious, no, we didn't look suspicious at all. So, we were matching. It's not like we had planned it. There were no calls made: white "T" with jeans, gym shoes, yeah, any color.
We were in a rush, but honestly, we were American, and looked it. They don't make short red-heads in France.
Marching toward the back wall, nothing but an aisle of diapers between us and les sucres, we eyed the lower shelf. Yes, it's us again our faces said to the French women who now recognized our salivating mouths.
"Oui, bonjour! Je voudrais un tartilles, oui, un euro, quarant centiemes. Oui, merci."
I had barely noticed my friend announce her choice, reoccupied with my pending joy.
"Oui, moi aussi, mais je voudrais un tartilles, un euro. Merci beaucoup!"
In unison: "Je paye ici."
"D'accord," they said in return.
"Merci!"
We needed to get back though, we had learning to do. Oh, no, 4:20, I mean, seize heures, vente.
Glancing at the pastry box in my friend's grip, we walked out through a non-exit. She bustled through without a hitch. She didn't look like a thief, but neither did I. Beep, Beep, Beep. Three seconds later my small orange bag was shuffled through as if I was a common criminal by the security guard.
Taking each item out one by one and starring suspiciously at that MADE IN AMERICA SPF 55 Neutragena sunscreen. I could tell he thought, that pale skin doesn't fool me Miss USA. No one in France ever carries sunscreen apparently, only if they've thrown it in their bag without paying at LeClair.
"Come with me" he said in French. This is the most action he's gotten all week. No, my friend couldn't come in the back room to get searched like me. Padded down at a grocery store, LeClair doesn't fool around. No, definitely not.
He left me alone for about ten seconds and eyed me as I attempted to sit down. Five seconds after that a smiling blond French woman came toward me with a metal detector. "You can have the sunscreen!" I said in my mind. "You don't need sunscreen, get burnt!"
"Where did you get your pants mademoiselle" she said in French.
I panicked, "H et M." That was a lie! They're American made, GAP.
My mind flashed questions: Do they have firing squads in France? Did that door lead to their secret shotgun room?
"When did you get those pants?" she followed up.
"Yesterday," another lie. I got them two months ago.
Apparently I hadn't cut off the metal security protector mischievously hidden on the left inside pant leg. That GAP employee is laughing now as they think of their customers pent up in bag rooms at French super stores.
"You can go," I heard them mutter in disappointment.
"I can have my sunscreen?"
"Yes."
Exiting the death chamber the color in my face returned.
Is it warmer out here? My breath wasn't white as it left the confines of my lungs.
"What happened?" Concerned friend.
She hadn't eaten her tart. I wouldn't have blamed her if she had.
Placing the crumbling crust, melting custard and sugar coated fruits onto my tongue, I thought, "French pastries are worth the interrogation."
So, here we are:
To say that France is on the other side of the world is geographically incorrect, but to say that it's barely, mildly, minute detail-y correct with regard to cultural differences, Fine.
But that's it.
__________
Something like Wal-mart should have been familiar, but then again, it was just something like Wal-mart. And France's chain super store, "LeClair" isn't Wal-mart.
Yeah, it's got Neutrogena body products, back packs and a fruit section, but it's also got an unrefrigerated milk section and security guards prepared for those inevitable thieves: French masterminds and foreigners alike.
Fifteen minutes until class was certainly enough to scour the store for delicious French pastries and delicious French pop, soda, coke, you know, with delicious French sweets practically popping off the shelves every which way.
Hypothetically, fifteen minutes is enough time for everything including the trudge across what often feels like a super highway spanning two directions and a grassy island in between, but is really just Alles Condorcet. Hypothetically.
But it's not as if you've got a French mindset telling you otherwise, meaning the truth that fifteen minutes is not enough time.
So I took my chances in search of that delectable delight of a Fruit tart a friend and I had for the last two days. Who am I to break my new found tradition. Three's a charm right? Or is that just a phrase fitting in the United States (Aux Etats-Unis, I mean.)
Friend in tote, the two of us paraded down the stretch of side walk separating the French version of Walmart and the French version of college.
It's not like we looked suspicious, no, we didn't look suspicious at all. So, we were matching. It's not like we had planned it. There were no calls made: white "T" with jeans, gym shoes, yeah, any color.
We were in a rush, but honestly, we were American, and looked it. They don't make short red-heads in France.
Marching toward the back wall, nothing but an aisle of diapers between us and les sucres, we eyed the lower shelf. Yes, it's us again our faces said to the French women who now recognized our salivating mouths.
"Oui, bonjour! Je voudrais un tartilles, oui, un euro, quarant centiemes. Oui, merci."
I had barely noticed my friend announce her choice, reoccupied with my pending joy.
"Oui, moi aussi, mais je voudrais un tartilles, un euro. Merci beaucoup!"
In unison: "Je paye ici."
"D'accord," they said in return.
"Merci!"
We needed to get back though, we had learning to do. Oh, no, 4:20, I mean, seize heures, vente.
Glancing at the pastry box in my friend's grip, we walked out through a non-exit. She bustled through without a hitch. She didn't look like a thief, but neither did I. Beep, Beep, Beep. Three seconds later my small orange bag was shuffled through as if I was a common criminal by the security guard.
Taking each item out one by one and starring suspiciously at that MADE IN AMERICA SPF 55 Neutragena sunscreen. I could tell he thought, that pale skin doesn't fool me Miss USA. No one in France ever carries sunscreen apparently, only if they've thrown it in their bag without paying at LeClair.
"Come with me" he said in French. This is the most action he's gotten all week. No, my friend couldn't come in the back room to get searched like me. Padded down at a grocery store, LeClair doesn't fool around. No, definitely not.
He left me alone for about ten seconds and eyed me as I attempted to sit down. Five seconds after that a smiling blond French woman came toward me with a metal detector. "You can have the sunscreen!" I said in my mind. "You don't need sunscreen, get burnt!"
"Where did you get your pants mademoiselle" she said in French.
I panicked, "H et M." That was a lie! They're American made, GAP.
My mind flashed questions: Do they have firing squads in France? Did that door lead to their secret shotgun room?
"When did you get those pants?" she followed up.
"Yesterday," another lie. I got them two months ago.
Apparently I hadn't cut off the metal security protector mischievously hidden on the left inside pant leg. That GAP employee is laughing now as they think of their customers pent up in bag rooms at French super stores.
"You can go," I heard them mutter in disappointment.
"I can have my sunscreen?"
"Yes."
Exiting the death chamber the color in my face returned.
Is it warmer out here? My breath wasn't white as it left the confines of my lungs.
"What happened?" Concerned friend.
She hadn't eaten her tart. I wouldn't have blamed her if she had.
Placing the crumbling crust, melting custard and sugar coated fruits onto my tongue, I thought, "French pastries are worth the interrogation."
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
France---well, almost
I have just about 4 days before I depart for France.
Honestly, I haven't made a lot of time for myself to think and plan and all that. I mean, I made probably 10 To-Do lists. I've counseled my University Studies Abroad Consortium (USAC) packets an innumerable amount of times. There doesn't seem to be much more to do, yet I feel incredibly anxious and unsure and to be honest, a little scared. Obviously these are all normal and even natural feelings. Of course adjustment to another lifestyle, language and set of people to hang out with will be most likely trial and error. But, I imagine all will work itself out.
One thing that I touched on briefly while chatting with someone about my extended out-of-country experience, was the possibility for things like illness and death and all of that. It freaks me out to think of what could happen. Brian said that as far as that's concerned I shouldn't be with it. He's right, because it is true that even if I were in Iowa I'd have to come home. The only difference is a pricey plane ticket. Everything else will hurt just the same.
Anyway, there are certainly a zillion things I'm looking forward to. Examples:
1. French Cuisine
2. French Couture
3. French Culture
4. French Language
5. Travel & Adventures!
6. New people
Right now I'm just thinking about how much I already miss my friends who have returned to school without me. Plus, I think that working at my father's office has brought on a little boredom with life in Lake Forest. Not that it was ever that arresting.
On a completely unrelated note, I want a new computer. Mine is no good. However, this far I do not have the proper finances to afford the MacBook Pro. It'll have to wait as I'm planning to spend my cash abroad.
If any of you don't already have my mailing address feel free to shoot one my way.
Brigid Marshall
C/O Robina Müller
Bureau 136 Faculté des Lettres
Université de Pau
64000 Pau, FRANCE
Au revoir mes amies.
Honestly, I haven't made a lot of time for myself to think and plan and all that. I mean, I made probably 10 To-Do lists. I've counseled my University Studies Abroad Consortium (USAC) packets an innumerable amount of times. There doesn't seem to be much more to do, yet I feel incredibly anxious and unsure and to be honest, a little scared. Obviously these are all normal and even natural feelings. Of course adjustment to another lifestyle, language and set of people to hang out with will be most likely trial and error. But, I imagine all will work itself out.
One thing that I touched on briefly while chatting with someone about my extended out-of-country experience, was the possibility for things like illness and death and all of that. It freaks me out to think of what could happen. Brian said that as far as that's concerned I shouldn't be with it. He's right, because it is true that even if I were in Iowa I'd have to come home. The only difference is a pricey plane ticket. Everything else will hurt just the same.
Anyway, there are certainly a zillion things I'm looking forward to. Examples:
1. French Cuisine
2. French Couture
3. French Culture
4. French Language
5. Travel & Adventures!
6. New people
Right now I'm just thinking about how much I already miss my friends who have returned to school without me. Plus, I think that working at my father's office has brought on a little boredom with life in Lake Forest. Not that it was ever that arresting.
On a completely unrelated note, I want a new computer. Mine is no good. However, this far I do not have the proper finances to afford the MacBook Pro. It'll have to wait as I'm planning to spend my cash abroad.
If any of you don't already have my mailing address feel free to shoot one my way.
Brigid Marshall
C/O Robina Müller
Bureau 136 Faculté des Lettres
Université de Pau
64000 Pau, FRANCE
Au revoir mes amies.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Recaps
After what was probably the strangest weekend full of shady memories and questionable events I'm almost, almost glad I have a 9-5 job today. I mean, of course, not really.
Wait, let's recap: my lovely friend Rebecca needed a couple of those after last Tuesday's downtown 21st birthday fest. In adorable Goldstein fashion Ms. Rebes-ee felt it a necessary action to love tap (or just smack) her three friends (Kerst, Kate and myself) with the tupperwear cap her mother had given her for the much coveted chococate cake. Obviously Rebecca left it on the train...but not before her lovely dance moves took on the Chicago Union Pacific Metra train and all of the passengers in car 3. It was a night to remember.
"So, [insert Chicago Cab driver name], who are you voting for in '08?"
Rebes is voting for Obama, in case you were curious.
She wasn't the only one with interesting stories following the first full week of August.
From Teddy O'Brian's to a night of white wine and Nickel Creek, plus Amy's amazing return home from Philly, I felt good about where my friendships have gone since I first started making them.
I can guarantee that if you were there to witness the magic of last weekend in particular, you were a lucky one.
Recaps are still necessary.
Newport Coffee, anyone?
Wait, let's recap: my lovely friend Rebecca needed a couple of those after last Tuesday's downtown 21st birthday fest. In adorable Goldstein fashion Ms. Rebes-ee felt it a necessary action to love tap (or just smack) her three friends (Kerst, Kate and myself) with the tupperwear cap her mother had given her for the much coveted chococate cake. Obviously Rebecca left it on the train...but not before her lovely dance moves took on the Chicago Union Pacific Metra train and all of the passengers in car 3. It was a night to remember.
"So, [insert Chicago Cab driver name], who are you voting for in '08?"
Rebes is voting for Obama, in case you were curious.
She wasn't the only one with interesting stories following the first full week of August.
From Teddy O'Brian's to a night of white wine and Nickel Creek, plus Amy's amazing return home from Philly, I felt good about where my friendships have gone since I first started making them.
I can guarantee that if you were there to witness the magic of last weekend in particular, you were a lucky one.
Recaps are still necessary.
Newport Coffee, anyone?
Friday, August 10, 2007
Post Consumer Consuming
What's a post consumer product? I feel as if it has something to do with saving the environment, but if you buy a post consumer product what does that make you? See what I mean? The marketing just doesn't make a whole lot of sense.
On top of that debacle I am hungry.
On top of that debacle I am hungry.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
1,000 Beats Per Minute
Yeah, that's how fast this summer seems to be going. I can hardly believe how quickly May, June and now 1/2 way through July, have gone. Everyone is getting ready to move out of their current place of residence onto another venue to place their weary heads. And here I am, doing the same, but I don't even know where I'll be resting this next semester, or if I'll even have time to.
So far almost everything for my semester abroad has arrived. The only things left are:
1. obtain a visa (long stay, student visa)
2. find out who I'll be living with (for my home stay)
Plus a few left over dollars have first to be earned and then paid.
I'm starting to become really nervous actually. I told my friend Megan that I thought I'd be a terrible French person and the epitome of all things horribly American. She laughed and said I had anxiety issues, and basically, I'll be fine. So what if I have slight anxiety, I mean, who wouldn't? But it's the good kind, the kind that's justified, because everyone's a little scared of the unknown, but not everyone's willing to try it out.
Studying abroad is a pretty good step in the direction of living fearlessly, and I'm really excited for it. But of course, things will continue here, and when I return many things will have changed, but for now, I hope that not everything changes. I'll really miss life here, and it's a good thing that I recognize that now. The only thing that makes it rough is there's a life I'll be leaving on hold.
So far almost everything for my semester abroad has arrived. The only things left are:
1. obtain a visa (long stay, student visa)
2. find out who I'll be living with (for my home stay)
Plus a few left over dollars have first to be earned and then paid.
I'm starting to become really nervous actually. I told my friend Megan that I thought I'd be a terrible French person and the epitome of all things horribly American. She laughed and said I had anxiety issues, and basically, I'll be fine. So what if I have slight anxiety, I mean, who wouldn't? But it's the good kind, the kind that's justified, because everyone's a little scared of the unknown, but not everyone's willing to try it out.
Studying abroad is a pretty good step in the direction of living fearlessly, and I'm really excited for it. But of course, things will continue here, and when I return many things will have changed, but for now, I hope that not everything changes. I'll really miss life here, and it's a good thing that I recognize that now. The only thing that makes it rough is there's a life I'll be leaving on hold.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
A Time Bomb
I have a problem. It's a problem regarding my usual problem. Yeah, the one regarding "time."
I'm a complainer, so kill me, but seriously, I'm always caught in between this problem of time.
It's either:
1. I have none
2. I have too much.
Either way, it bothers me. By the way, I am open to solutions.
I'm a complainer, so kill me, but seriously, I'm always caught in between this problem of time.
It's either:
1. I have none
2. I have too much.
Either way, it bothers me. By the way, I am open to solutions.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
fortune cookies
whenever i read a fortune cookie outloud now i hear straight after, "in bed." This brings me to my next point. I love the "that's what she said" line.
Sunday, June 03, 2007
sister, sister, never knew how much i missed her
So, maybe that Tia and Tamara reference is lost on some of you, but the meaning is basically the same. My sister Colleen Marie Marshall is booking it back to the United States in a little less than two weeks. It's hard to even believe it. I saw her about six months ago when my parents and I met up with her in Thailand, and now I will see her again. It was one thing to see her in a foreign country away from all things either of us really knew, but I think when she is back in one of Chicago's North Shore suburbs it'll be more insane for her to see the enormous differences. It's not that her mindset will have changed completely, but I think there'll be some substantial changes. Honestly, I'm looking forward to seeing how it goes. But really, I'm just excited to go to Medieval Times with her during her visit. It's going to rock. I've never been before, and apparently I'm going to be able to take the Black Knight. Super, super excited!
Thursday, May 24, 2007
jobs
what i hate about jobs is not the actual applying, getting, working---no, it's much more than that. it's annoying that i have to
1. apply to more than one place and
2. the ones that i only sort of want to get, i get, and the ones i get maybe later if at all, are then pushed away because i already have the other one.
i dont like that i have to choose among jobs after applying many places. i would feel bad saying "yes" somewhere and then getting the better job later, and saying "yes" to them and then going to tell the other place "actually, just kidding" shrug. it's a difficult life. i wish i could just apply one place that i really want and they would give it to me. no questions asked.
1. apply to more than one place and
2. the ones that i only sort of want to get, i get, and the ones i get maybe later if at all, are then pushed away because i already have the other one.
i dont like that i have to choose among jobs after applying many places. i would feel bad saying "yes" somewhere and then getting the better job later, and saying "yes" to them and then going to tell the other place "actually, just kidding" shrug. it's a difficult life. i wish i could just apply one place that i really want and they would give it to me. no questions asked.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Tunes and Fiction
I just finished revising my fiction piece, "Open Your Eyes." I actually like it quite a bit and will probably put the 21-page story up on this blog later.
It'll probably have to go up in short excerpts.
When I was finishing up some grammar, syntax, plot line problems, one of my roommates, Elizabeth Erwin, put on Derrick Webb's "She Must and Shall Go Free." I have some songs from the album, but not all of them. Man, it is beautiful. I really enjoyed listening to "Saint and Sinner."
Oh, and if you haven't already gotten Wilco's newest album, "Sky Blue Sky," get it. Probably one of the best album's ever and definitely tied with "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot."
I'll put up my radio story review and print piece tomorrow evening should you find yourself intrigued.
It'll probably have to go up in short excerpts.
When I was finishing up some grammar, syntax, plot line problems, one of my roommates, Elizabeth Erwin, put on Derrick Webb's "She Must and Shall Go Free." I have some songs from the album, but not all of them. Man, it is beautiful. I really enjoyed listening to "Saint and Sinner."
Oh, and if you haven't already gotten Wilco's newest album, "Sky Blue Sky," get it. Probably one of the best album's ever and definitely tied with "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot."
I'll put up my radio story review and print piece tomorrow evening should you find yourself intrigued.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
Disney World and Moving On
This weekend from Thursday, May 3 to Sunday, May 6 I was in Florida. One of my brothers, Sean, graduated from college. He went to Valparaiso in Indiana for a year to play soccer before transferring to Stetson University for the last three years to play on their soccer team. Anyway, it was really fun to go down there and hang out, see his school for the first and last time as well as go to Disney World and Daytona Beach. Most people after having the worst week of their college careers just take a really long nap, but I got to see Mickey Mouse and ride "A Small World." I'm ready to take on my last week as a junior and Sean's ready to take on the rest of his life. Weird.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Monday, April 30, 2007
List
A. Global Media
1. Travel Writing Article-Thailand, Due: Wednesday, May 2
2. Bake Irish Soda bread for Wednesday
3. Soliya Log, Due: Wednesday, May 2
B. Fiction Writing
1. Read Novella and write a response, Due: Thursday (counts for 2 responses)
2. Read short story and write a response, Due: Thursday
3. Second Short Story, at least 10 pages, Due: Thursday, May 10
4. Portfolio, Due: Thursday, May 10
C. French
1. Dossier Voyage=Ten page paper in French, Due: Friday, but Thursday for me
2. Put together a scrap book of my make-believe French trip, Due: Friday, but Thursday for me
3. French Oral Final, When: Thursday, May 3 at 9 a.m.
D. Shakespeare
1. Read The Tempest, Othello, Macbeth, & Midsummer Nights Dream
2. Midterm, When: Monday, May 7
E. Arts & Culture R & W
1. Extra Credit Book Review Due, Thursday, May 3
2. Paper Project on two Reviewers I like/dislike, Due: Thursday, May 3
3. Enterprise Rewrite, Due: Monday, May 7
1. Travel Writing Article-Thailand, Due: Wednesday, May 2
2. Bake Irish Soda bread for Wednesday
3. Soliya Log, Due: Wednesday, May 2
B. Fiction Writing
1. Read Novella and write a response, Due: Thursday (counts for 2 responses)
2. Read short story and write a response, Due: Thursday
3. Second Short Story, at least 10 pages, Due: Thursday, May 10
4. Portfolio, Due: Thursday, May 10
C. French
1. Dossier Voyage=Ten page paper in French, Due: Friday, but Thursday for me
2. Put together a scrap book of my make-believe French trip, Due: Friday, but Thursday for me
3. French Oral Final, When: Thursday, May 3 at 9 a.m.
D. Shakespeare
1. Read The Tempest, Othello, Macbeth, & Midsummer Nights Dream
2. Midterm, When: Monday, May 7
E. Arts & Culture R & W
1. Extra Credit Book Review Due, Thursday, May 3
2. Paper Project on two Reviewers I like/dislike, Due: Thursday, May 3
3. Enterprise Rewrite, Due: Monday, May 7
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Loads of things
It seems like everything at the end of semester is just another "thing" to add to the innumerable amount. My head might explode. I gave up Spider Solitaire and cookies for Lent, and only recently have I begun to eat cookies again and yes, I even downloaded Spider Solitaire. I didn't want to do it, but it just "takes the edge off." Instead of a beer to relax, I stare at a screen because in that game I control it all. Sometimes it feels like I have no control over anything. It's tough, but I know all of this stress and busyness is worth it. But right now, I'm tired.
Here's a picture that made me laugh today:
Here's a picture that made me laugh today:
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Blending in
I have this need to do something great with my life.
I think it comes from the way my parents have raised me and my siblings. My sister is a US Peace Corps volunteer in Kyrgyzstan, my brother Sean is in the midst of applying to be a Navy officer, my brother Larry is attempting to get out of the corporate business grind focusing his sights on a career in improvisation, and Timmy and Kevin have their whole lives ahead of them as they decide upon which college to attend.
For some reason I feel this need to do something outside of myself, my comfort zone, even my country and help others, give money, I don't know. I just want to do something that will last, something that I can look back on with pride--something worth while. I don't want my life to blend in with the rest. I don't want to be another face in the crowd.
I think it comes from the way my parents have raised me and my siblings. My sister is a US Peace Corps volunteer in Kyrgyzstan, my brother Sean is in the midst of applying to be a Navy officer, my brother Larry is attempting to get out of the corporate business grind focusing his sights on a career in improvisation, and Timmy and Kevin have their whole lives ahead of them as they decide upon which college to attend.
For some reason I feel this need to do something outside of myself, my comfort zone, even my country and help others, give money, I don't know. I just want to do something that will last, something that I can look back on with pride--something worth while. I don't want my life to blend in with the rest. I don't want to be another face in the crowd.
Monday, April 16, 2007
"It's an animal city, and a cannibal world"
Seriously, if everyone listened to Shakira I think everything would be better.
With lyrics like the above, how can anyone deny the awesomeness.
Friday, April 13, 2007
David Bazan (of Pedro the Lion)
So, I recently was able to interview the past Pedro the Lion front man to preview a concert at The Picador in Iowa City tonight. He was a really interesting man, and I ended up not just previewing the concert, but profiling him in a couple of ways.
Here are links to the article I wrote (which landed the front page slot of our weekend edition), and along with it is the radio story I put together for KRUI 89.7 to complement the article. If you find yourself super interested in The Daily Iowan's arts and culture section head to 80 Hours Weekend in Edition or catch the full April 12th radio podcast here.
Let me know how it all turns out.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Christos Anestis!
Happy Easter!
Brian told me that for Greek Easter they dye all the eggs red and crack the eggs against each other. The person with the egg that doesn't crack is the winner and "is in charge of the house."
Yesterday I dyed eggs with two of my good girl friends from home, Jackie and Kate. Kate showed me how to blow the egg out of the shell. After we did that then we dyed them.
Here's how they turned out...
Brian told me that for Greek Easter they dye all the eggs red and crack the eggs against each other. The person with the egg that doesn't crack is the winner and "is in charge of the house."
Yesterday I dyed eggs with two of my good girl friends from home, Jackie and Kate. Kate showed me how to blow the egg out of the shell. After we did that then we dyed them.
Here's how they turned out...
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Teeth
I really like teeth. They're really important, but at the same time this little drawing is hilarious, because it's true. Teeth are creepy, but what's really odd is when parents keep the teeth of their children long after the Tooth Fairy dropped by to leave a little somethin' somethin'.
When I was in junior high or high school I found this little wooden case shaped like a tooth where I used to put my knocked/fallen out teeth. I found it in my mother's random drawer, you know, the one's where mother's just toss whatever it is in their hands that they don't want in their hands anymore in. It was strange to me, seeing those teeth. I can remember there being more than four. It's weird though, what sort of attachment could my mom have fostered with my baby teeth?
I think it would infinitely more odd if my mom kept the "adult" teeth that could have fallen out. Lucky for me, my big teeth have stayed relatively in the same place for the last decade or so.
I know a few people that have a fake tooth or two, so now, sometimes I wonder if what I'm seeing is actually what was originally there. Veneers are weird, but for some people definitely necessary. My best friend had to get some of her teeth shaved down and the dentist placed caps on them for various reasons. One of my college friends simply didn't like the way her teeth were so she got veneers on the front four. And another girl I know had a tooth die on her, so she had it replaced. If it were fifty years or a hundred years before today those girls would have to just deal. Our culture is so complex.
Hey Cupcake
I sometimes get Natalie Dee cartoons e-mailed to me by friends. Recently I was reminded of this particular cartoon that I received last year, and have been searching endlessly on Natalie Dee's website, but it wasn't showing up. I just found it on some random person's Myspace.com page. I'm a creep, but I found it. Hooray.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
80 Hours on Air- KRUI 89.7
Listen to these radio stories I did for The Daily Iowan radio broadcast and podcast:
A story on the University of Iowa's "Ten Minute Play Festival"
A story on controversial performing artist Tim Miller at the UI's Obscenity Symposium
For a list of all the radio pieces done this semester by The Daily Iowan arts staff
A story on the University of Iowa's "Ten Minute Play Festival"
A story on controversial performing artist Tim Miller at the UI's Obscenity Symposium
For a list of all the radio pieces done this semester by The Daily Iowan arts staff
Like clockwork
I miss:
-reading for fun
-going to concerts and dancing like a crazy
-whistling
-the days when my butt wasn't in pain after doing homework
-talking to my sister on the phone regularly
-out on a lot of stuff, but i do other stuff
-white sox games
-being right most of the time
-snail mail
-listening to an entire album while driving
-sleeping more than 6 hours
I think the name of this year in my chronology of thoughts since birth would be titled "Time: Having, Yet Not Having."
While at the same *time* I also think I need to spend it better i.e. on things that will last. It's hard to tell the things that are important from the unimportant when I'm so close to it all. I need to back up and look at things from a different perspective.
-reading for fun
-going to concerts and dancing like a crazy
-whistling
-the days when my butt wasn't in pain after doing homework
-talking to my sister on the phone regularly
-out on a lot of stuff, but i do other stuff
-white sox games
-being right most of the time
-snail mail
-listening to an entire album while driving
-sleeping more than 6 hours
I think the name of this year in my chronology of thoughts since birth would be titled "Time: Having, Yet Not Having."
While at the same *time* I also think I need to spend it better i.e. on things that will last. It's hard to tell the things that are important from the unimportant when I'm so close to it all. I need to back up and look at things from a different perspective.
Saturday, March 03, 2007
accents
I always found it so strange that the United States is such a potluck of people. We have all heard the term "melting pot," but I guess I never kind of paid attention to the fact that people come here, to the US to live. They leave their roots, cultures--lives behind. And for what? To live here.
Currently U2's "The Refugee" is playing on my iTunes. It goes something like this:
Oh, Oh
She's the refugee.
I see your face,
I see you staring back at me.
Oh, Oh
She's the refugee
Her mama say one day she's gonna
live in America.
In the morning,
She is waiting,
Waiting for the ship to sail,
Sail away.
Her papa go to war.
He gonna fight,
But he don't know what for.
Her papa go to war
Her mama say one day he's
gonna come back from far away.
Help me.
How can you help me?
In the evening,
She is waiting,
Waiting for her man to come.
And take her by her hand.
And take her to this promise land.
She's a pretty face,
But at the wrong time and at the wrong place.
She's a pretty face.
Her mama say one days she's gonna live in America.
Yeah, America.
She's a refugee.
She's coming back, she's coming for company.
She's a refugee.
Her mama say one day she's gonna live in America.
The concept of an American going to live abroad, I feel, more than in other countries, is seen as kind of unpatriotic. "We've got it so good here--Why live anywhere else?" I think that's part of a problem in America. People only want to do what's comfortable, and if you're born in U2's so-called "promised land" should there be anywhere else worthy of living in? Personally, I'm all about understanding the lives and cultures of other human beings. To me, it's really unfortunate when I hear of someone who has no desire to go beyond these boarders. For those who are akin to traveling I can really see that lifestyle as appealing. Maybe not forever, but enough, enough to satisfy.
If this isn't making any sense, then fine, but I just started thinking about how my country is seen in the world, and I wonder so much if I would feel this way if I lived outside of here. Then there's always the accents. However aware I am of my Chicago sound, I still think its rather humorous when I hear the accent of someone else. There's this moment when you realize that we both sound kind of cool to the other. It just doesn't always seem that when in Iowa, where there's an international student maybe 1 in 100, if not less.
Really, that's it. All I have really thought about so far.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Busy Bee, Busy Body
I'm currently spinnin' the tunes here at KRUI 89.7 It's alright, you know, just kind of time consuming.
That's pretty much the story of my life. I like what I'm doing, but what I'm doing is making it difficult to like my life. It's a tough line to walk, but as Mr. Cash said, "I walk the line."
The real question proposes whether or not I walk that line well. Am I just a drunk person wobbling through or is my sanity there enough to get into my car and continue driving?
Tonight I have to make my way through the tundra of my snow-covered campus to see Romeo and Juliet. I hope I don't fall asleep.
That's pretty much the story of my life. I like what I'm doing, but what I'm doing is making it difficult to like my life. It's a tough line to walk, but as Mr. Cash said, "I walk the line."
The real question proposes whether or not I walk that line well. Am I just a drunk person wobbling through or is my sanity there enough to get into my car and continue driving?
Tonight I have to make my way through the tundra of my snow-covered campus to see Romeo and Juliet. I hope I don't fall asleep.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
February and everything after...
I've always been an advocate for winter. I love it's white glistening shine. I love the sound of fresh snow crunching under my feet. Most of the time I don't even mind the chilly breeze.
This year winter has taken advantage of me and my love.
I resent winter and want it to end pronto.
This year winter has taken advantage of me and my love.
I resent winter and want it to end pronto.
Monday, February 05, 2007
I forgot
There are certain things you just forget when you get to college:
1. Babies drool, so don't wear a sweater you planned on wearing again to babysit.
2. Parents aren't awake or apt to talking with past 10 p.m.
3. The high point of the day shouldn't be before you wake up.
4. It isn't normal to be upset that you don't have a chocolate fountain.
5. To have a classy party people shouldn't have to bring their own alcohol, but then again people shouldn't just go to a party with the intention of getting "Fucked up."
As much as I love college, there are certain things that I just wish I could remember. Until then, I'm going to allow for my roommate's irrational anger at the chocolate fountain we don't have.
1. Babies drool, so don't wear a sweater you planned on wearing again to babysit.
2. Parents aren't awake or apt to talking with past 10 p.m.
3. The high point of the day shouldn't be before you wake up.
4. It isn't normal to be upset that you don't have a chocolate fountain.
5. To have a classy party people shouldn't have to bring their own alcohol, but then again people shouldn't just go to a party with the intention of getting "Fucked up."
As much as I love college, there are certain things that I just wish I could remember. Until then, I'm going to allow for my roommate's irrational anger at the chocolate fountain we don't have.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
American Fool
The Bears haven't won a Super Bowl since 1985. The Bears should win their game today. Who gives about the Colts? Maybe John Cougar, but not this kid.
Colleen and I used to listen to John Cougar tapes when we were kids. "American Fool" to get specific. I miss that -- those things in childhood where you just did things, some were cool others not so much (i.e. wearing a pink Minnie Mouse outfit everyday for a week). Now it feels like people have to try so hard to be something so that someone else will think, awesome.
It's really unfortunate the trade offs we have in our lives. Who are you anyway?
If that question has to be asked, pretty intense examination of what makes you, well, you has to get done. At twenty years old, here I am sometimes finding it difficult to decide which me I really am. It sounds much more like an existential crisis than it really is. But, all the same, everything seems to go so quickly, life, people, friends everything just keeps moving, and I just want to stop sometimes and say, hold on. Let me take it slow.
From newspaper to classes, friendships, relationships, everything --
I feel like I am watching everything from space
And in a minute I hear my name and I wake
I think the finish line's a good place we could start
Take a deep breath, take in all that you could want
It's only sometimes, because there's a certain amount of reinvention, evolution, change that occurs within a person, and with those changes, others around are doing the same in their own lives. It's almost scary if you can find yourself on a coordinating plane of existence as someone else.
I think it's interesting when celebrities change their stage names. From Puff Daddy to John Cougar Mellencamp. Reinvention: Evolution: Change.
An American fool can only stay one for so long before he grows up.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
The Winter of Our Discontent
Lyrics of the songs people have given to me, have written, have put on their facebook profiles as a favorite quote, can really tell a lot about a person.
I stumbled upon a load of music in my Windows Media Player which I imagine myself in Cyber space dusting off coughing as I inhale the tiny organisms which associate themselves with dust.
I found some of my old playlists from freshman year, some old songs I had long since deleted on my iTunes. I had deleted them for a reason, and now as I attempt to clean out my hard drive I find them, sneaking into the crevices of my musical soul. Right now one of the lists is playing.
Is it necessary to learn about your past self? --to know your past self?
I stumbled upon a load of music in my Windows Media Player which I imagine myself in Cyber space dusting off coughing as I inhale the tiny organisms which associate themselves with dust.
I found some of my old playlists from freshman year, some old songs I had long since deleted on my iTunes. I had deleted them for a reason, and now as I attempt to clean out my hard drive I find them, sneaking into the crevices of my musical soul. Right now one of the lists is playing.
Is it necessary to learn about your past self? --to know your past self?
Thursday, January 18, 2007
"More than anything I want to see you go take a glorious bite out of the whole world"- snow patrol
Yesterday I was kind of being a whack job. It was basically because I've been tired ever since I was born, which is to say, this year I was born into some other being other than myself. What I mean by this is only that since I have been tossed into the mixed salad of upper journalism -- namely the newspaper, content, KRUI and class -- is that I think I've bitten off more than I can chew, but I like the taste. Stupid metaphor. I can't even take credit for it. I heard my Content Editor-in-Chief say it today.
However, all is well, even though it's been three days and already I'm showing signs of stress. Please, watch for red flares emanating from my inevitable distress. Smile and nod.
The other day I finally got Snow Patrol. I was meaning to get it so many times, but always I get caught up in whatever it is I am doing, and I forgot...numerous times.
Since I've gone to Thailand, you know scoured the globe (pah) and now that all my study abroad buddies are back I'm just itching to get a move on and see things. I don't even know why I want to, other than wanting to practice french. I have my meeting with my study abroad counselor tomorrow. If all goes well I'll be able to sign up for a program soon enough. Everything is happening so fast. Pretty soon this semester will be over, I will (hopefully) have an internship, Brian will have graduated, Sean too, newspaper will end for the semester and what will I have to show for it all? Not to get sentimental, but honestly, life does fly by.
Until next time
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Thailand and all
Over break you may have gone home for a while—maybe you had a good time, sat around the fire, took part in a holiday celebration: New Years being the most recent. . I bet you spent your break sitting on the couch, maybe packin’ on pounds you’ll undoubtedly not shed so you could get through this quiet, freezing and uneventful break as the winter solstice came to dwell. I bet you ate a whole cake by yourself. I bet your mom uttered between baking sessions: TMT—that’s too many Twinkies for those of you who don’t know.
But by chance those four weeks in between grueling finals and spring semester hysteria led me into another direction. My sister’s been in the US Peace Corps for about a year and a few months now. She’s been in
There’s nothing quite like seeing someone you had felt you would never see again, even though that person may be the one closest to you. Perhaps that’s why it hurt so badly when they left. But alas, over a year later my parents and I saw her again, and it was as if she had never left at all. Although we were more than jazzed to be with her, international traveling is always a hassle. That’s the story no one seems to tell, there’s only the term “jet lag” to speak of.
There is more to it though: You get off the plane. You search endlessly for your luggage, that inevitably was the last piece to come out of the turn-around, or if you’re really lucky it never comes out at all. You stand in line some more. You can’t understand your foreign tour guide. He doesn’t care anyway, because let’s face it: you’re foreign in his country. You’re tired. You’re flight was eighteen hours.
People don’t feel bad for you. You’re an international jetsetter.
You fly around; time turns back for you depending on which direction you’re going.
Sometimes its better just to stick it out for those three or four weeks, take up shop on the couch and call it a break. But then again, new situations, rekindled relationships, and excursions abroad open up a whole other world.
So I got over the time difference, and visited the King’s Palace.
Monday, January 15, 2007
College
I've been in Iowa City for a couple days so far, and tomorrow school will take up again. Life's about to get hectic. I've been told before that I wouldn't be able to function if I wasn't busy. And it's probably true. So far I've honestly not done much. Today my Thailand Arts-Op was due. It's still not finished at about 9 p.m. I'm just kind of, shit I can't even think of it--I have writers block. Anyway, Meagan, L-Squared and I are watching Scoop.
My favorite Scoop quotes remain as such:
1. "I don't have to work out, my anxiety acts as aerobics."
2. "It's a crimson red, a rouge red, like a tomato red."
"Yes, sir. A red sweater."
3. "I don't like contacts, because I don't like to touch my eye-ball."
4. "I was in the lounge, I heard you drowning, I finished my tea and scones and came immediately!"
Among others...Off to the movies.
My favorite Scoop quotes remain as such:
1. "I don't have to work out, my anxiety acts as aerobics."
2. "It's a crimson red, a rouge red, like a tomato red."
"Yes, sir. A red sweater."
3. "I don't like contacts, because I don't like to touch my eye-ball."
4. "I was in the lounge, I heard you drowning, I finished my tea and scones and came immediately!"
Among others...Off to the movies.
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