The most surreal exam period of my life

No one—not even the professor—knew if there was a final for my class at Univ. of Paris III. He told us that all he knew was that the Comp. Lit. department had asked him for a question and he’d given them one and if any student needed another grade (2 were required), we should ask the Comp. Lit. office when and where we could take the final. Because heaven forfend the professor should be familiar with requirements for his own class or even arrive to teach it every week. I mean, what do we want from him? Blood?

As far as I can tell, the Comp. Lit. office is one evil troll woman who spends all her time smoking and insulting American students, making her a rather typical Parisian and someone whom I try to avoid.

One of our readings for my French society class posed the question, is the French University system in crisis? I would have to reply yes. My prof. at Paris III cancelled our class 6 times during the semester and 3 of those times he just didn’t show up—no announcement in advance, no message left with Evil Troll so that she could put a note on the classroom door. And the times he showed up, we never, not once, actually discussed the books on the syllabus for the semester. Tales of Paris III: a friend of mine had a Prof. who showed up an hour late for their final. Another friend of mine has a class at Paris III that had to move to another room for the 2nd half of the class each day they met because there weren’t enough available classrooms or chairs for all the students and classes offered on Wednesdays. The professors all also have to bring their own erasers for the black board and apparently, their presence, like the elusive final exam schedule, is optional.

Other finals absurdities: the question for my French society class was: is France capable of reform? (Can we just reply, “no” and leave, someone asked?)

The question for my grammar class was: is the massive use of cell phones due to the fear of loneliness? During the exam, a bunch of people got calls on their cells, no doubt from the fearful and lonely ready to provide the three required examples for the first part of the essay.

I swear, I will become a philosopher simply by taking exams in France.

And how does one answer questions like these? Not like a normal human being.

Below is an example of a good thesis-antithesis-synthesis essay. You start with a general phrase, form a “problematique,” then announce the organization of the essay (which should be always 2 or 3 parts each with 3 sub parts) and then conclude. I swear, this is really the norm for an argumentative essay in which you are asked to give your opinion. It's a form of writing that is still strange to me, but I'm getting used to it-- now it's kind of fun (instead of horrifying) to force the 2-part essay vision on every single question on earth.

Example:

The sky has fascinated man for ages and has formed both our concept of the divine (the heavens) and our vision of reality (the science of astronomy). Many claim that it is blue in color, but how do human beings interpret color and are we capable of understanding the natural world? Can one really say that the sky, as we know it, is blue? In a formulaic 2-part essay, each with 3 sub parts, we will first consider evidence supporting this claim, then we will look at evidence to the contrary.

Yes, the sky is blue (3 specific examples).

We may think that they sky is blue, but we are wrong (3 specific examples).

In conclusion, the sky is and is not blue. And rather than ending on a conclusive note, we will now broaden our question to invite the reader to think about something else similar yet also completely different, for example, is the grass really green?

Libraries and Algeria: 2 weeks of finals

If you’re wondering how I’ve been spending my time in the city of light, the answer is in the dark-- or at least dimly lit libraries or in front of my computer, or both at the same time when my laptop accompanies me to my beloved BNF. This is a shame, because I’ve heard from people not enslaved to academia that Paris, where I live, is a fun city... In an internet version of the Bryn Mawr College “done is good” credo, something that hasn’t crossed my mind in the past 6 years since I graduated, as of today, I’ve taken 2 exams and handed in 3 papers (2 of which were French paper records for me at 13 pages). I have yet to finish another 12-pager and take 3 exams, the last of which is the slightly terrifying subject of 19th century French History from the revolution to the resistance.

The 19th of December (the day of my last final) will indeed be a happy day, which I am starting to imagine as a date nearly as monumental and liberating for me as the day France recognized Algerian independence (one of my essays was on the conquest of Algeria).

Charmed Life

The show Charmed is always on French TV. You know, an Aaron Spelling creation that used to star Shannon Dogherty before she was too bitchy to work with. Skinny chicks fighting evil in halter tops. In English, they use “vanquish” as a noun to refer to saving innocent people, or killing bad guys with a ball of fire thing that is way less cool than Buffy vampires that disintegrate instantaneously. Frankly, I don’t really know what they say in French for “a vanquish,” because most of the time they just pout and plot against an evil wizard or something named Cole who is in love with Phoebe.

General rule: shows about witches are lame. Sabrina couldn’t even make a talking cat interesting.

Whenever I get home and turn on the TV, there they are, the annoying glamour witches who run a nightclub in San Francisco in their spare time, drive a BMW SUV and own (yes, own) a Victorian in SF, obtained no doubt by magic. But every show includes a shot of the Golden Gate Bridge and sometimes the skyline (which should have the Christmas lights up now) to imply a realism that obviously is not present in all areas of the show, like the witchcraft part. Every once in a while I’ll actually watch these silly night club witches just to see the Transamerica pyramid.