I wear black Converse low-tops every day back home. I didn’t bring them on this trip because I thought they wouldn’t be good walking shoes. I feel naked without them and I miss them terribly. I can’t even pick up an extra pair here because they’re fairly popular and cost around $80. Weef, we might have to get me a pair in NYC when I get off the plane. I’m seriously having withdrawal.
I miss air-conditioning when it’s 90 degree outside – which it has been this whole trip.
I miss my front porch and wrought-iron table where I smoke my cigarettes.
I miss Route 44-sized drinks from Sonic.
I do not miss the food at all except for late night runs to Taco Cabana.
Okay, I miss chips and queso.
I miss Alex – especially because I did not realize how sane he kept me in wonky guy situations.
I miss the Menil museum that never has more than a handful of people inside it.
I miss the big oak trees in my neighborhood.
I miss 85-cent beer at Valhalla. (Oh wait, make that 95-cent beer at Valhalla.)
I miss Texas – because as wonderful as Paris was, Texas is still the best damn place on earth.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Ana says 'hi'
Okay, we're almost done with Paris and most of the gang has left. I'm here for a few more days. Went on a shopping spree at H&M today because I didn't want to wash my clothers. After falling asleep at 4 pm yesterday and waking up this morning around 9 am, I am starting to feel a little rested. I think the plan for today is to clean up the apartment, get some food and then this evening head over to St. Germain where I have a little place that has a/c and plugs for my computer.
I think I may be so tired of the drama that I'm approaching the point where I'm ready to settle down, get married, and have kids. (I hope this feeling passes quickly.)
It was fun.
And to my roomie: You'll always be my favorite Asian.
I think I may be so tired of the drama that I'm approaching the point where I'm ready to settle down, get married, and have kids. (I hope this feeling passes quickly.)
It was fun.
And to my roomie: You'll always be my favorite Asian.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
The Saga of the Mats of Montmartre
One of my friends in the program organized a get-together last night. We planned to meet at the Villette Gardens north of town and watch one of the outdoor movies which play every night during the summer. The point was to get a more French experience away from all of the touristy stuff. The movie started at sunset and the idea was to bring a small picnic, sit out of the grass, and enjoy a little conversation.
Gracie and I wanted to go, but we needed to find something to sit on while we were there. Our friend Dylan suggested that we go buy these cheapo rattan mats that he saw in Montmartre for a Euro. We thought this an excellent suggestion. Dylan gave us detailed instructions as to the location of the mats, but as we were walking away he said, “Oh, and if the mats aren’t there, don’t hold me personally responsible.”
As Grace and I were walking away I turned to her and said, “He has no idea where these mats are or if he ever even saw them, does he?”
Montmartre is a semi-long metro ride from the Sorbonne. I don’t think I’ve mentioned it before, but I really, really hate the Metro. I’m glad that I don’t have to take a cab everywhere, but I think the metro is a hot, stinky pickpocket paradise. During most of my visit I have walked everywhere in the 90 degree heat in order to avoid the Metro. If I can walk there in 35 minutes or less, I skip the Metro.
Not only that, but we had to take line 4 for part of the trip. Line 4 = Ghetto. You don’t feel unsafe or anything – the cars are just really old, it’s usually crowded and as a result the people always seem to smell more on that line or something.
After an icky Metro ride, Gracie and I got off and began our journey for the mats. I was a little tired. We’d just eaten a ton of cheese and I was carrying all of my school books as well as my purchases from Shakespeare’s. Of course the heat was sweltering as well.
“Do you want me to carry something for you?” Gracie asked as we walked.
“No, I just want to whine. I had my wine and cheese. Now I just want whine and bitch…Okay,” I stopped. “This is about 300 or so feet right here.”
“I thought Dylan said 100 feet,” Grace asked.
“Actually, he said ‘100 meters’,” I answered. “Apparently he’s acclimated and become a European…as if.”
We looked around. No mats. I wanted to walk one way. Gracie wanted to walk the other. We didn’t argue, but both of us had ideas about where the mats would be located. I kept walking into stores that had big bins out in front.
“Um,” said Grace. “I don’t think Dylan ever actually walked into the store.”
“Yeah,” I said, “but I bet they rotate the items in these bins, don’t you think? Maybe this was the store where he saw them, but now instead of mats they’re displaying cheap, plastic hangers.”
Gracie started checking out the tourist shops around the corner.
“Why are you doing that?” I asked.
“Because we walked down this street with Dylan when we visited Sacre Coeur. It must be on this street in one of these stores,” she said.
“That’s all Paris tourist stuff. Why would that store have our mats? Who in god’s name is going to bring back to their friend a cheap mat that was made in China? We need to look inside the stores that have cheap plastic crap and where the junk looks like it was made in Asia. No tourist stores,” I said.
Gracie and I walked up and down, in and out of many hot, people-filled stores and found nothing.
“They’ve got to be right under our nose,” I said. “I bet it’s like a scene in a movie. The audience can see them, but we can’t and everyone’s laughing at us.”
“We can’t leave,” said Gracie. “We’ve now invested too much time. I hate Dylan. If we find the mats, we’re not buying Dylan one with the money he gave us.”
“Clearly,” I said.
After about 45 minutes I was ready to get back on the Metro. Carrying 20 pounds of books was making me overly cranky. Finally, Grace and I spotted a place that carried cheap Asian crap. We scoured the store.
“They’ve got to be here!” I cried. “If they’re not here then they’re not anywhere!”
We couldn’t find them. In the meantime, Gracie decided to buy a fan. I walked outside to do one final perusal. I was digging through a bin of flip-flops when, Eureka!
“Gracie! Gracie!” I called from outside the store. I ran inside carrying the bundles.
“Oh my god!” Gracie said.
At this point we were nearly in tears.
“Oh,” she continued. “I really want to hug you, but it’s so damn hot so let’s just pretend, okay?”
We air-hugged and I threw the mats on the counter. Gracie began to inspect them.
“Did you check them all and get the best one?” she asked.
“Are you kidding me?” I answered. “Did I get the best one of the cheapo dollar mats that we’ll use once in our lifetime for a movie in the park that I found for us after searching for hours? You better freakin’ pay for your mat before I hit you!”
As we left the store Gracie said, “We should have taken a picture of you, me, and the mat bin.”
“Yeah, we should have,” I answered.
That night at the movie Gracie and I proudly sat on our mats and ate cookies, bread, and nutella.
“This mat is so FABULOUS,” I said. “Don’t you think it’s fabulous?”
“This mat is awesome,” Gracie returned. “Best mat ever. I’m taking mine home with me.”
“Me, too,” I said. This is the best thing I’ve bought since I’ve been in Paris. Isn’t this the most comfortable mat ever? Isn’t it great?”
“And only for a dollar!” she exclaimed.
“Thank goodness we’re not attorneys yet,” I said. “If we were, we’d be calling it the $600 mat due to the time that it took us to find it.”
Gracie and I wanted to go, but we needed to find something to sit on while we were there. Our friend Dylan suggested that we go buy these cheapo rattan mats that he saw in Montmartre for a Euro. We thought this an excellent suggestion. Dylan gave us detailed instructions as to the location of the mats, but as we were walking away he said, “Oh, and if the mats aren’t there, don’t hold me personally responsible.”
As Grace and I were walking away I turned to her and said, “He has no idea where these mats are or if he ever even saw them, does he?”
Montmartre is a semi-long metro ride from the Sorbonne. I don’t think I’ve mentioned it before, but I really, really hate the Metro. I’m glad that I don’t have to take a cab everywhere, but I think the metro is a hot, stinky pickpocket paradise. During most of my visit I have walked everywhere in the 90 degree heat in order to avoid the Metro. If I can walk there in 35 minutes or less, I skip the Metro.
Not only that, but we had to take line 4 for part of the trip. Line 4 = Ghetto. You don’t feel unsafe or anything – the cars are just really old, it’s usually crowded and as a result the people always seem to smell more on that line or something.
After an icky Metro ride, Gracie and I got off and began our journey for the mats. I was a little tired. We’d just eaten a ton of cheese and I was carrying all of my school books as well as my purchases from Shakespeare’s. Of course the heat was sweltering as well.
“Do you want me to carry something for you?” Gracie asked as we walked.
“No, I just want to whine. I had my wine and cheese. Now I just want whine and bitch…Okay,” I stopped. “This is about 300 or so feet right here.”
“I thought Dylan said 100 feet,” Grace asked.
“Actually, he said ‘100 meters’,” I answered. “Apparently he’s acclimated and become a European…as if.”
We looked around. No mats. I wanted to walk one way. Gracie wanted to walk the other. We didn’t argue, but both of us had ideas about where the mats would be located. I kept walking into stores that had big bins out in front.
“Um,” said Grace. “I don’t think Dylan ever actually walked into the store.”
“Yeah,” I said, “but I bet they rotate the items in these bins, don’t you think? Maybe this was the store where he saw them, but now instead of mats they’re displaying cheap, plastic hangers.”
Gracie started checking out the tourist shops around the corner.
“Why are you doing that?” I asked.
“Because we walked down this street with Dylan when we visited Sacre Coeur. It must be on this street in one of these stores,” she said.
“That’s all Paris tourist stuff. Why would that store have our mats? Who in god’s name is going to bring back to their friend a cheap mat that was made in China? We need to look inside the stores that have cheap plastic crap and where the junk looks like it was made in Asia. No tourist stores,” I said.
Gracie and I walked up and down, in and out of many hot, people-filled stores and found nothing.
“They’ve got to be right under our nose,” I said. “I bet it’s like a scene in a movie. The audience can see them, but we can’t and everyone’s laughing at us.”
“We can’t leave,” said Gracie. “We’ve now invested too much time. I hate Dylan. If we find the mats, we’re not buying Dylan one with the money he gave us.”
“Clearly,” I said.
After about 45 minutes I was ready to get back on the Metro. Carrying 20 pounds of books was making me overly cranky. Finally, Grace and I spotted a place that carried cheap Asian crap. We scoured the store.
“They’ve got to be here!” I cried. “If they’re not here then they’re not anywhere!”
We couldn’t find them. In the meantime, Gracie decided to buy a fan. I walked outside to do one final perusal. I was digging through a bin of flip-flops when, Eureka!
“Gracie! Gracie!” I called from outside the store. I ran inside carrying the bundles.
“Oh my god!” Gracie said.
At this point we were nearly in tears.
“Oh,” she continued. “I really want to hug you, but it’s so damn hot so let’s just pretend, okay?”
We air-hugged and I threw the mats on the counter. Gracie began to inspect them.
“Did you check them all and get the best one?” she asked.
“Are you kidding me?” I answered. “Did I get the best one of the cheapo dollar mats that we’ll use once in our lifetime for a movie in the park that I found for us after searching for hours? You better freakin’ pay for your mat before I hit you!”
As we left the store Gracie said, “We should have taken a picture of you, me, and the mat bin.”
“Yeah, we should have,” I answered.
That night at the movie Gracie and I proudly sat on our mats and ate cookies, bread, and nutella.
“This mat is so FABULOUS,” I said. “Don’t you think it’s fabulous?”
“This mat is awesome,” Gracie returned. “Best mat ever. I’m taking mine home with me.”
“Me, too,” I said. This is the best thing I’ve bought since I’ve been in Paris. Isn’t this the most comfortable mat ever? Isn’t it great?”
“And only for a dollar!” she exclaimed.
“Thank goodness we’re not attorneys yet,” I said. “If we were, we’d be calling it the $600 mat due to the time that it took us to find it.”
Saturday, July 22, 2006
The Quiet Weekend...
Check it out. I’m blogging from a café in Paris. You always hear about the writers hanging out and doing their writing in the café, but I haven’t seen anyone here doing it yet. Perhaps the café owners became tired of people sitting around for hours at a time. This seems impossible, but who knows. At any rate, I’m running off my battery so I can’t annoy them for too long.
Coffee at this place is 60 cents more if you drink it sitting down as opposed to standing up.
Today is a rather unscheduled day. My roomie is spending the weekend in the Loire Valley. She was thrilled to escape the city and get away from the heat. I originally planned to have the apartment alone with the lover, but now that I’ve been kicked to the curb, I have the entire weekend to myself and no plans. Oddly enough, it’s not a bad feeling. We’ve been so go-go-go since we got here that a weekend with no obligations is rather pleasant.
I should probably study during this time period. We’ll see if that happens. Studying law articles in 90 degree weather is not exactly a pleasant nor plausible situation. Cornell teaches classes in an old building with no wifi, no computer access, and A/C in only two of the main ampitheatres. I found out last week that for 15 Euros and proof of student status, you can study at certain air-conditioned libraries in town – not that Cornell ever told us this. With three days left of class, the library idea is a little late. I think Cornell if suggested anything they told us to study at McDonald’s which has free wi-fi and A/C. Not exactly the quietest place in town.
Anyhoo, this morning I went out to the Musee Marmottan Monet. The museum is in the 16th Arrondisement and was not on my map so I sort of had to wing it to get there. The area was actually pretty nice – not completely infested with tourists and a little quieter, cooler. The museum was not nearly as cool as the Rodin - currently tied with the Pomipidou as my favorite. The Louvre sucks - 18 bazillion people walking around talking loudly with no idea what they are even looking at.
After being here a few weeks I am already annoyed with the tourists. I can’t imagine what it is like for the French. Americans are without a doubt the loudest group of people on earth. Here, everyone speaks in lower tones. You’ll be sitting on the Metro and all of the sudden a group of Americans will get on and your instant reaction is, “Shut up, already. We don’t all need to hear your conversation.”
My French is disastrous. We took a French language class along with our studies, but I haven’t seemed to have gained much experience. Most of my friends know it better than I do it and I just let them attempt to talk.
Case in point: the bar owner just came up and tried to speak to me. She commented that I was typing very quickly. I can pick up bits and pieces. Of course, I am never able to respond. I just smile and say merci. That being said, she seemed thrilled that I was writing in her café. Maybe she hopes I’ll write the next Moveable Feast and her café will be famous for years.
I have learned one word since I got here: tire-bouchon. If you come to Paris, it is a necessary word to know. When I first got here my roomie and I looked it up and asked the man at the market next door if he sold them. He told us we didn’t need to buy one – he would help us with our problem. Over the Bastille weekend I found that I again needed one and this time all of the stores were closed. Eventually I bought one.
Tire-bouchon = cork screw
The story behind this corkscrew is somewhat silly. I have actually seen it before in the States. However, the cork screw was pretty expensive. I found it here for 24 Euros. Additionally, the cork screw is made in Italy. So essentially, there’s no French connection or uniqueness except that I really wanted it, it was a good price, I’ll remember Paris every time I use it, and I did in fact drink a fair amount of wine while I was here.
Wine in Paris is wonderful. You can buy a bottle of it at the supermarche for 2-4 Euros and it tastes better than most 10 dollar bottles of wine in the US….same thing with cheese. The cheese here is tres bon.
Yesterday, the advanced French class had a picnic with wine, bread, and cheese and I nearly O.D.’d on the cheese. I will miss the cheese probably more than anything else once I leave. My mother and my sister love the bread and pastries of Paris, but I’ve fallen in love with the wine and cheese. At least I had one true romance on this trip!
Coffee at this place is 60 cents more if you drink it sitting down as opposed to standing up.
Today is a rather unscheduled day. My roomie is spending the weekend in the Loire Valley. She was thrilled to escape the city and get away from the heat. I originally planned to have the apartment alone with the lover, but now that I’ve been kicked to the curb, I have the entire weekend to myself and no plans. Oddly enough, it’s not a bad feeling. We’ve been so go-go-go since we got here that a weekend with no obligations is rather pleasant.
I should probably study during this time period. We’ll see if that happens. Studying law articles in 90 degree weather is not exactly a pleasant nor plausible situation. Cornell teaches classes in an old building with no wifi, no computer access, and A/C in only two of the main ampitheatres. I found out last week that for 15 Euros and proof of student status, you can study at certain air-conditioned libraries in town – not that Cornell ever told us this. With three days left of class, the library idea is a little late. I think Cornell if suggested anything they told us to study at McDonald’s which has free wi-fi and A/C. Not exactly the quietest place in town.
Anyhoo, this morning I went out to the Musee Marmottan Monet. The museum is in the 16th Arrondisement and was not on my map so I sort of had to wing it to get there. The area was actually pretty nice – not completely infested with tourists and a little quieter, cooler. The museum was not nearly as cool as the Rodin - currently tied with the Pomipidou as my favorite. The Louvre sucks - 18 bazillion people walking around talking loudly with no idea what they are even looking at.
After being here a few weeks I am already annoyed with the tourists. I can’t imagine what it is like for the French. Americans are without a doubt the loudest group of people on earth. Here, everyone speaks in lower tones. You’ll be sitting on the Metro and all of the sudden a group of Americans will get on and your instant reaction is, “Shut up, already. We don’t all need to hear your conversation.”
My French is disastrous. We took a French language class along with our studies, but I haven’t seemed to have gained much experience. Most of my friends know it better than I do it and I just let them attempt to talk.
Case in point: the bar owner just came up and tried to speak to me. She commented that I was typing very quickly. I can pick up bits and pieces. Of course, I am never able to respond. I just smile and say merci. That being said, she seemed thrilled that I was writing in her café. Maybe she hopes I’ll write the next Moveable Feast and her café will be famous for years.
I have learned one word since I got here: tire-bouchon. If you come to Paris, it is a necessary word to know. When I first got here my roomie and I looked it up and asked the man at the market next door if he sold them. He told us we didn’t need to buy one – he would help us with our problem. Over the Bastille weekend I found that I again needed one and this time all of the stores were closed. Eventually I bought one.
Tire-bouchon = cork screw
The story behind this corkscrew is somewhat silly. I have actually seen it before in the States. However, the cork screw was pretty expensive. I found it here for 24 Euros. Additionally, the cork screw is made in Italy. So essentially, there’s no French connection or uniqueness except that I really wanted it, it was a good price, I’ll remember Paris every time I use it, and I did in fact drink a fair amount of wine while I was here.
Wine in Paris is wonderful. You can buy a bottle of it at the supermarche for 2-4 Euros and it tastes better than most 10 dollar bottles of wine in the US….same thing with cheese. The cheese here is tres bon.
Yesterday, the advanced French class had a picnic with wine, bread, and cheese and I nearly O.D.’d on the cheese. I will miss the cheese probably more than anything else once I leave. My mother and my sister love the bread and pastries of Paris, but I’ve fallen in love with the wine and cheese. At least I had one true romance on this trip!
The Soundtrack of My Life?
I brought my mp3 player with me to Paris. It has an am/fm radio on it and as I've walked the streets of Paris it's provided me with French radio to add to the ambience and create some nice background noise.
That being said, if I hear "Everyday I'm hustlin' " one more time, I'm going to be ill.
That being said, if I hear "Everyday I'm hustlin' " one more time, I'm going to be ill.
Let's hear it for idiocy..
The other day I uploaded some pictures from Paris onto shutterfly. I was originally uploading them to a friend's site and so I put silly little captions with references to alcohol and sexual innuendos. Shutterfly saved my pics in a personal account and I decided to send a link for them to my parents so that they could see the pics, too. Before I sent the link, I made changes to all of the captions that might be a little off.
Back on shutterfly last night I realized that the captions got changed in my personal album, but not in the website album that I share.
Even more embarrassing...my dad sent me an email saying how witty my comments were. My poor parents!!!
Back on shutterfly last night I realized that the captions got changed in my personal album, but not in the website album that I share.
Even more embarrassing...my dad sent me an email saying how witty my comments were. My poor parents!!!
Montrosian? I like it...
Rising 1L Frillgirl referred to me the other day as a fellow Montrosian. I've never heard the term before, but I like it. I'm thinking about using it here in Paris.
Parisian: Where are you from?
Moi: Oh, I'm a Montrosian.
Saves me from saying "TEXAS."
I'm also thinking of using it for various types of applications. If a question asks, "Do you recognize yourself as a minority?" I can just answer, "Why yes, of course, I'm a Montrosian. And even rarer, I'm a heterosexual Montrosian."
Oddly enough, I decided to live in the gayborhood during my time in Paris. I guess that makes me a heterosexual Maraisian as well.
I am so freakin' unique.
Parisian: Where are you from?
Moi: Oh, I'm a Montrosian.
Saves me from saying "TEXAS."
I'm also thinking of using it for various types of applications. If a question asks, "Do you recognize yourself as a minority?" I can just answer, "Why yes, of course, I'm a Montrosian. And even rarer, I'm a heterosexual Montrosian."
Oddly enough, I decided to live in the gayborhood during my time in Paris. I guess that makes me a heterosexual Maraisian as well.
I am so freakin' unique.
What? No cannoli?
So when I first got here I found out that my roomie was a serious ice cream addict. From day one we've been hitting a little place in town called Amorino that sells gelato. Before I came to Paris everyone raved about the bread and pastries. "Pain au chocolat and buy elastic pants!" This was my sister's advice on what to do in Paris. The thing is, I'm not a big bread person and after two days, I was really sick of it.
There's a zillion different kind of pastries you can get here so one day I turned to my roomie and asked, "Do they have cannoli in France?"
"No, (you moron)," she answered, "that's Italian."
"They don't even make a French version of cannoli?" I quizzed. "I mean, they have gelato. That's Italian. Why not cannoli? I like cannoli. That's a breadish pastry thing that I would be willing to eat a lot of while I was in Paris in order to experience the full Paris bread experience."
"No cannoli," my roommate replied.
Since then, I've been craving cannoli like crazy. Thank goodness Weef has promised to take me for some when I visit her in NYC on my way back home.
There's a zillion different kind of pastries you can get here so one day I turned to my roomie and asked, "Do they have cannoli in France?"
"No, (you moron)," she answered, "that's Italian."
"They don't even make a French version of cannoli?" I quizzed. "I mean, they have gelato. That's Italian. Why not cannoli? I like cannoli. That's a breadish pastry thing that I would be willing to eat a lot of while I was in Paris in order to experience the full Paris bread experience."
"No cannoli," my roommate replied.
Since then, I've been craving cannoli like crazy. Thank goodness Weef has promised to take me for some when I visit her in NYC on my way back home.
Fun cultural discoveries...
Did you know that in Paris you can buy cake..in a box...for like a dollar? I haven't eaten it yet, but clearly I had to buy it. The supermarche also had tiramisu in a box for 1.50. Maybe if the cake is good I'll try that next.
Friday, July 21, 2006
What to buy in Paris?
My roomie keeps making fun of my Paris purchases. What people choose to spend their money on is an interesting habit to watch. I'm not the biggest fan of clothes, but I do like books. Books are not exactly what you want to carry home with you from a trip, but somehow that's what I've ended up with.
I was so-so on this whole Paris excursion until I found the Bookinistes. They are little booksellers who have magazine-like stands set up along the Seine.
Although my French is awful the bookinistes were happy to chat with me about different writings. So far I've ended up with Sartre's paper on existentialism, a memoir of Beauvoir's early years, and a 1950's copy of Les Temps Modernes. I've bought so many books that on the day I found the Beauvoir book, I held it longingly in my hands trying to determine whether or not I really needed it. The bookinistes only take cash and the book would cost me my money I had taken out for dinner. I stood with book sighing, debating, and pondering when suddenly the bookiniste dropped the price and I took it.
"You're a good bargainer," he said. "Most Americans don't know how to bargain."
Ha-ha. I wasn't trying to bargain. I was just trying to determine which was more important - the book or dinner!
Today my roomie and I went to Shakespeare's, the big english-language bookstore in Paris. Many American writers including Hemingway bought books there when they lived in Paris. The store is not the original owner or location, but the spirit is still there. I bought the Second Sex by Beauvoir and then on my way out located an Anais Nin and had to go back to buy that, too.
"Stop buying books!" my roomie said.
Oh well. They may be heavy to carry, but I'll have bound memories of Paris forever.
I was so-so on this whole Paris excursion until I found the Bookinistes. They are little booksellers who have magazine-like stands set up along the Seine.
Although my French is awful the bookinistes were happy to chat with me about different writings. So far I've ended up with Sartre's paper on existentialism, a memoir of Beauvoir's early years, and a 1950's copy of Les Temps Modernes. I've bought so many books that on the day I found the Beauvoir book, I held it longingly in my hands trying to determine whether or not I really needed it. The bookinistes only take cash and the book would cost me my money I had taken out for dinner. I stood with book sighing, debating, and pondering when suddenly the bookiniste dropped the price and I took it.
"You're a good bargainer," he said. "Most Americans don't know how to bargain."
Ha-ha. I wasn't trying to bargain. I was just trying to determine which was more important - the book or dinner!
Today my roomie and I went to Shakespeare's, the big english-language bookstore in Paris. Many American writers including Hemingway bought books there when they lived in Paris. The store is not the original owner or location, but the spirit is still there. I bought the Second Sex by Beauvoir and then on my way out located an Anais Nin and had to go back to buy that, too.
"Stop buying books!" my roomie said.
Oh well. They may be heavy to carry, but I'll have bound memories of Paris forever.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Trying to get into the swing, here...
Maybe if I make a concerted effort to jot down a little each day, I'll eventually have something to say that's worthwhile. The problem with blogging thus far has been that I don't take my computer with me anywhere for various reasons. There is no wi-fi at school and in order to take notes during class, you have to sit in the front where they run an extension cord across the front of the room. Beyond that, I would have to actually carry my laptop with me to class - ie take it with me on the Metro - through Chatelet and then also carry the heavy, hot behemoth back with me from class.
Who knows. Maybe I'll break down and do it. It suddenly doesn't seem like such a bad idea. I just wish the battery lasted longer. I sit near the back and it might be odd to move at this point. I am not sure how people ever lasted w/o computers. I have a friend back home who doesn't take hers to class because she finds it distracting. I have found that I cannot pay attention w/o my little keyboard in front of me to allow me to easily take notes and jot down little phrases.
Plus, I always take notes on the computer when I read and I've found that that isn't working here either. There are no plugs at the Pompidou where I study and studying in the apartment is impossible. I'll try and post some pics, but trust me, the apartment is a real dump. I would feel like I was slumming it like a true American expat except for the fact that the area I live in is super nice and the streets are crawling with boutiques where skirts sell for $150. I think my roomie hates the apartment more than I do. I just wish it had more air circulation.
We keep the window open 24 hours a day which helps, but only to make it bearable. Plus, with the open window you can hear every conversation and car that runs down the street. Saturday night a group of kids decided to have a long chat right outside our apartment...at 4 in the morning.
I love that about Paris, though. I never realize when it is getting late because a) it takes forever for the place to get dark, but b) people are still out walking around at midnight. It's funny because many places here close much earlier or are open less often than in the States, but the people stay awake until late and they stay out, too. Perhaps it is because their apartment is as crappy as mine!
My classes make me sad. I think I would greatly enjoy them if I were anywhere but in Paris. As it is, I think all of my professors are evil meanies if they assign even ten pages of reading a night because they're depriving me of true educational moments. I joked with my roommate after we first got here that we should drop our classes and save 3k. We'd found each other, the apartment, met other people in the program, etc. I figured at that point Cornell had down all it could do for us! She didn't go for it, of course. Personally, I am still waffling...except for the fact that I am now way past the point of being able to get any money back. Maybe I'll use this strategy on a study abroad program next year.
So I'll try to write and I'll try not to whine so much. (ha-ha.) My roomie sent my mother an email a week or so ago that said, "Ana complains alot, but she does keep the apartment very clean." Mom thought it was hilarious and sent back an email stating that I often complain just to have something to talk about and that I am actually not as negative as I come across - I just don't even realize that I am complaining. I thought it was an odd email because I've found it to be true. I bitch about everything, but not out of general unhappiness...it's just kind of a well-honed past-time. At any rate, I need to take it down a notch.
Phew, I am feeling better already - just typing a few words makes me feel like I'm back in my routine. Give me a couple of days and I'll start some creative blogging about life in Paris. I think I've experienced enough tidbits to really over-exagerrate, have fun, and create some make-believe drama. Like yesterday's post. My Paris lover sucks. Ha! Do I really have a Paris lover? Not really. But geez, I'm in Paris. Everyone needs a lover during their time in Paris, right? Right? Of course I'm right. Ana is always right. That's why I love Ana.
Who knows. Maybe I'll break down and do it. It suddenly doesn't seem like such a bad idea. I just wish the battery lasted longer. I sit near the back and it might be odd to move at this point. I am not sure how people ever lasted w/o computers. I have a friend back home who doesn't take hers to class because she finds it distracting. I have found that I cannot pay attention w/o my little keyboard in front of me to allow me to easily take notes and jot down little phrases.
Plus, I always take notes on the computer when I read and I've found that that isn't working here either. There are no plugs at the Pompidou where I study and studying in the apartment is impossible. I'll try and post some pics, but trust me, the apartment is a real dump. I would feel like I was slumming it like a true American expat except for the fact that the area I live in is super nice and the streets are crawling with boutiques where skirts sell for $150. I think my roomie hates the apartment more than I do. I just wish it had more air circulation.
We keep the window open 24 hours a day which helps, but only to make it bearable. Plus, with the open window you can hear every conversation and car that runs down the street. Saturday night a group of kids decided to have a long chat right outside our apartment...at 4 in the morning.
I love that about Paris, though. I never realize when it is getting late because a) it takes forever for the place to get dark, but b) people are still out walking around at midnight. It's funny because many places here close much earlier or are open less often than in the States, but the people stay awake until late and they stay out, too. Perhaps it is because their apartment is as crappy as mine!
My classes make me sad. I think I would greatly enjoy them if I were anywhere but in Paris. As it is, I think all of my professors are evil meanies if they assign even ten pages of reading a night because they're depriving me of true educational moments. I joked with my roommate after we first got here that we should drop our classes and save 3k. We'd found each other, the apartment, met other people in the program, etc. I figured at that point Cornell had down all it could do for us! She didn't go for it, of course. Personally, I am still waffling...except for the fact that I am now way past the point of being able to get any money back. Maybe I'll use this strategy on a study abroad program next year.
So I'll try to write and I'll try not to whine so much. (ha-ha.) My roomie sent my mother an email a week or so ago that said, "Ana complains alot, but she does keep the apartment very clean." Mom thought it was hilarious and sent back an email stating that I often complain just to have something to talk about and that I am actually not as negative as I come across - I just don't even realize that I am complaining. I thought it was an odd email because I've found it to be true. I bitch about everything, but not out of general unhappiness...it's just kind of a well-honed past-time. At any rate, I need to take it down a notch.
Phew, I am feeling better already - just typing a few words makes me feel like I'm back in my routine. Give me a couple of days and I'll start some creative blogging about life in Paris. I think I've experienced enough tidbits to really over-exagerrate, have fun, and create some make-believe drama. Like yesterday's post. My Paris lover sucks. Ha! Do I really have a Paris lover? Not really. But geez, I'm in Paris. Everyone needs a lover during their time in Paris, right? Right? Of course I'm right. Ana is always right. That's why I love Ana.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Bonjour!
I think things in Paris are starting to slow down. It is still ridiculously hot here. I haven't received a good night's sleep in ages because I just lie on the top of my cot in the stale air and hope that I pass out from the humidity. Yes, you read that right - I'm sleeping on a cot. I gave my roommate the double bed. How nice am I? The cot is not soo bad. You can still have sex on it...just not too rowdy because you think the cot may break. I did a poor job of choosing the lover for my Paris tryst. Phooey on me. Then again, we're only here for a month. That doesn't give me a whole lot of time for interviewing and reference checking. You just kinda grab someone and go. I feel like I need to make a manual for him on "How to be a good partner in a Paris tryst." I know 22 year olds who are better at faking romance. I mean, we're in Paris for crying out loud. How hard can this be?
Oh well. C'est la vie. We've only got 14 more days. Now is a little late to try and switch to someone else. I'll either suck it up and deal with it or else I'll just spend the next two weeks actually studying...perish the thought. Who actually studies in Paris? What a dumb idea. Yesterday I sat with my roommate studying and flat out said, "This is BS."
Really, I'm all for studying, but what an inefficient use of my time! I'm sitting in an enclosed area reading a law book during a limited stay in Paris. Talk about no brainer. I'd really love to learn what they're teaching us here at this program, but time is short and valuable. Then again, I've wasted most of it. I thought I'd romp all over the city and visit museums. I've romped, but haven't hit the museums nearly enough. I got caught up in this whole idea of having a romance in Paris and put way too much time into the effort. Now I'll leave here feeling like I didn't study enough, didn't see enough of the city, and wasted the whole time on some dumb boy with half my life experience. I guess you can say that Paris hasn't changed me in the least! :-)
Tomorrow I will try and write some fun stuff about Paris....because Paris is actually pretty fun. I'm just in whine mode right now..or wine mode...you never really know with Ana.
Kisses.
Oh well. C'est la vie. We've only got 14 more days. Now is a little late to try and switch to someone else. I'll either suck it up and deal with it or else I'll just spend the next two weeks actually studying...perish the thought. Who actually studies in Paris? What a dumb idea. Yesterday I sat with my roommate studying and flat out said, "This is BS."
Really, I'm all for studying, but what an inefficient use of my time! I'm sitting in an enclosed area reading a law book during a limited stay in Paris. Talk about no brainer. I'd really love to learn what they're teaching us here at this program, but time is short and valuable. Then again, I've wasted most of it. I thought I'd romp all over the city and visit museums. I've romped, but haven't hit the museums nearly enough. I got caught up in this whole idea of having a romance in Paris and put way too much time into the effort. Now I'll leave here feeling like I didn't study enough, didn't see enough of the city, and wasted the whole time on some dumb boy with half my life experience. I guess you can say that Paris hasn't changed me in the least! :-)
Tomorrow I will try and write some fun stuff about Paris....because Paris is actually pretty fun. I'm just in whine mode right now..or wine mode...you never really know with Ana.
Kisses.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
In School/On Vacation...
Ana is in Paris...and will resume posting at some point. In the meantime she's just trying to keep up with summer school, meeting new people, and keeping a (written) journal.
Kisses!
Kisses!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)