Love is like the "e instable" in the French phonetic alphabet. Even when it seems like it's there, it's still unstable and you're not sure if you should pronounce it or not.
And if you do, it somehow doesn't have the effect you hoped it would.
Je suis a la recherche d'un alphabet plus stable.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Pumpkin Sculpting
To translate "carving pumpkins" into French, it's more like "sculpting pumpkins" ("tailler les citrouilles"). And the translation of Jack O' Lantern is something excessively long and artistic-sounding like "a pumpkin sculpted into the form of a visage."
This makes carving Jack O' Lanterns seem on par with other artistic milestones such as Michael Angelo's David, when in fact, as my French friends will soon disover, it mainly involves shovelling out pumpkin glop and requires only a very rudimentary mastery of basic geometric shapes-- notably, the triangle.
This makes carving Jack O' Lanterns seem on par with other artistic milestones such as Michael Angelo's David, when in fact, as my French friends will soon disover, it mainly involves shovelling out pumpkin glop and requires only a very rudimentary mastery of basic geometric shapes-- notably, the triangle.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Presidentielle 2008
I just sent off my voting ballot-- Fed Ex "special election rate" cost me 17 euros, but this is a small price to pay to participate in democracy. Especially democracy in the form of voting AGAINST McCain-Palin to try to prevent 4 more years of the same catastrophic Bush policies from ruining the country. I was talking to my dad recently and he said the image of America in the world made him so sad now. Once (like in 1850 during the potato famine), it was a way of life that people in other countries might have envied and admired and even immigrated to attain.
Now we have the 700 billion dollar bank bailout and the Republican party claiming that Sarah Palin seeing Russia from her house counts as foreign policy experience.
Lately with the election only a week away, I've spent a lot of my time defending the American public to the French and assuring them Sarah Palin is a wildly underqualified psychotic fascist and that we ARE ready to have a "president noir"-- and have become very passionate and defensive... Just because it would probably never happen in France, doesn't mean it's impossible in the US, as even Spike Lee once pointed out. I'm especially fond of quoting Spike Lee on this topic. And then the common response in France (from someone French or otherwise) is to inform me that if Obama's elected, he'll just be assassinated by one of his own bodyguards. This consipracy theory seems to come from a sketch on a news parody show called Les Gignols de l'info, which features muppets, one of whom is a Sylvester Stallone-like Obama bodyguard who suggests that his job is actually to assassinate his boss, not protect him. A little cynical, insulting and reductive about ethnic relations in America, non?
Many a francais seems to think this assassination theory is God's literal truth and that the political muppet show is actually a documentary about real life in the US, despite the puppets. Or maybe they think we all really look like Jim Henson's workshop, but fatter.
If I might make a small suggestion, maybe basing political opinions on puppet shows is not the most intellectual approach to international politics.
Obviously, I'm especially sensitive to the image of the US abroad lately because of the international scrutiny that the election receives, but also it seems like the more people here consider America, the more hostility is expressed. For example, it really seemed like my hairdresser recently was trying her best to recite every single negative annecdote she'd ever heard about the US. Like that 2 of her clients had disasterous hair cuts/dye jobs in New York and "you'd think that in the US they know how to do hair, but they don't." Since there are clearly only these 2 hair salons in all 3,000 square miles of America.
She also told me about an American client who only got her hair cut in France because all salons anywhere in the hexagon were better than those in the US. Really, I asked her, passive-agressively a la parisienne, among my American friends, it's the opposite. They wait to go back to the US for their haircuts because they don't trust French hair salons since they never listen to the client and think their opinion is always the right and only one.
Having exausted the errors of American hairdressers, Claire the coiffeuse then turned to politics and in typical French bulldog fashion when ahead and gave me her opinion of all political candidates, which I couldn't help thinking, if the roles were reversed and I were coiffing a French woman in the US, I would never say anything like as insensitive to a foreign person like, "oh hello, there. Sarkozy is a shallow racist bloodthirsy capitalist wannabe celebrity destroying French social systems, culture and democracy." Even if I wanted to express that same idea, it would be phrased more like: "in the US, the image we have of Sarkozy is that he likes fame and power and isn't a fan of immigrants, how do more people see him in France?"
Claire then mentioned a radio broadcast where conservatives were quoted as calling Obama "une singe" (a monkey), which is obviously some freakish fringe opinion since he's the preferred candidate at the moment and ahead in the polls. I can say with confidence that the vast majority of the American population is aware that he is a homo sapien. The singe story sounds typical of the French media to seek the biggest weirdos imaginable (unfortunately, folks like this are always around somewhere to oblige foreign journalists) and make it seem like they are representative of the entire American population. She talked at length about how outrageous this attitude was-- "can you imagine? They don't even recognize him as a human being!" Finally, to shut her up, I said, yes, it's deplorable, sounds like the Front National in France. "Oh, but it's worse," she assured me. "Ah, bon?" I replied witheringly, "didn't they almost win the 2002 presidential election?" The phrase "ah, bon" can express many varying degrees of disbelief, disapproval and outright contempt. French has so many polite ways of saying bugger off.
The other latest Annoying Election Question that even NPR-like radio station France Inter has started debating is why Obama doesn't call himself a "metis," because that's what he is as someone half white and half Kenyan (this translates as "mixed" or "half-blood"). And then they say that this all has to do with the history of slavery and American racism. Obviously, this history does color a lot of ethnic relations in the US and no country is a perfect racism-free one. I'm still trying to find a good way to explain to them that everyone in the US has roots in different countries, some European and some not, so we're all mixed, this term doesn't mean anything and we don't talk endlessly about it because unlike France, we don't actually assume that everyone should be white. Rather than having a uniform term for mixed ethnicity, I think we tend to be more specific about ethnic heritage through strategic use of hyphens, like Asian-American, Dutch-Indonesian, etc.
Anyway, despite the dire political asssasination predictions of the muppets in their oracle-like wisdom and the inability of American hairdressers to do a dye job correctly, I have confidence that Obama will remain ahead in the polls and that the rest of the world will see a new side of America come November 4. To which most French people would probably respond with an
"ah, bon?"
Now we have the 700 billion dollar bank bailout and the Republican party claiming that Sarah Palin seeing Russia from her house counts as foreign policy experience.
Lately with the election only a week away, I've spent a lot of my time defending the American public to the French and assuring them Sarah Palin is a wildly underqualified psychotic fascist and that we ARE ready to have a "president noir"-- and have become very passionate and defensive... Just because it would probably never happen in France, doesn't mean it's impossible in the US, as even Spike Lee once pointed out. I'm especially fond of quoting Spike Lee on this topic. And then the common response in France (from someone French or otherwise) is to inform me that if Obama's elected, he'll just be assassinated by one of his own bodyguards. This consipracy theory seems to come from a sketch on a news parody show called Les Gignols de l'info, which features muppets, one of whom is a Sylvester Stallone-like Obama bodyguard who suggests that his job is actually to assassinate his boss, not protect him. A little cynical, insulting and reductive about ethnic relations in America, non?
Many a francais seems to think this assassination theory is God's literal truth and that the political muppet show is actually a documentary about real life in the US, despite the puppets. Or maybe they think we all really look like Jim Henson's workshop, but fatter.
If I might make a small suggestion, maybe basing political opinions on puppet shows is not the most intellectual approach to international politics.
Obviously, I'm especially sensitive to the image of the US abroad lately because of the international scrutiny that the election receives, but also it seems like the more people here consider America, the more hostility is expressed. For example, it really seemed like my hairdresser recently was trying her best to recite every single negative annecdote she'd ever heard about the US. Like that 2 of her clients had disasterous hair cuts/dye jobs in New York and "you'd think that in the US they know how to do hair, but they don't." Since there are clearly only these 2 hair salons in all 3,000 square miles of America.
She also told me about an American client who only got her hair cut in France because all salons anywhere in the hexagon were better than those in the US. Really, I asked her, passive-agressively a la parisienne, among my American friends, it's the opposite. They wait to go back to the US for their haircuts because they don't trust French hair salons since they never listen to the client and think their opinion is always the right and only one.
Having exausted the errors of American hairdressers, Claire the coiffeuse then turned to politics and in typical French bulldog fashion when ahead and gave me her opinion of all political candidates, which I couldn't help thinking, if the roles were reversed and I were coiffing a French woman in the US, I would never say anything like as insensitive to a foreign person like, "oh hello, there. Sarkozy is a shallow racist bloodthirsy capitalist wannabe celebrity destroying French social systems, culture and democracy." Even if I wanted to express that same idea, it would be phrased more like: "in the US, the image we have of Sarkozy is that he likes fame and power and isn't a fan of immigrants, how do more people see him in France?"
Claire then mentioned a radio broadcast where conservatives were quoted as calling Obama "une singe" (a monkey), which is obviously some freakish fringe opinion since he's the preferred candidate at the moment and ahead in the polls. I can say with confidence that the vast majority of the American population is aware that he is a homo sapien. The singe story sounds typical of the French media to seek the biggest weirdos imaginable (unfortunately, folks like this are always around somewhere to oblige foreign journalists) and make it seem like they are representative of the entire American population. She talked at length about how outrageous this attitude was-- "can you imagine? They don't even recognize him as a human being!" Finally, to shut her up, I said, yes, it's deplorable, sounds like the Front National in France. "Oh, but it's worse," she assured me. "Ah, bon?" I replied witheringly, "didn't they almost win the 2002 presidential election?" The phrase "ah, bon" can express many varying degrees of disbelief, disapproval and outright contempt. French has so many polite ways of saying bugger off.
The other latest Annoying Election Question that even NPR-like radio station France Inter has started debating is why Obama doesn't call himself a "metis," because that's what he is as someone half white and half Kenyan (this translates as "mixed" or "half-blood"). And then they say that this all has to do with the history of slavery and American racism. Obviously, this history does color a lot of ethnic relations in the US and no country is a perfect racism-free one. I'm still trying to find a good way to explain to them that everyone in the US has roots in different countries, some European and some not, so we're all mixed, this term doesn't mean anything and we don't talk endlessly about it because unlike France, we don't actually assume that everyone should be white. Rather than having a uniform term for mixed ethnicity, I think we tend to be more specific about ethnic heritage through strategic use of hyphens, like Asian-American, Dutch-Indonesian, etc.
Anyway, despite the dire political asssasination predictions of the muppets in their oracle-like wisdom and the inability of American hairdressers to do a dye job correctly, I have confidence that Obama will remain ahead in the polls and that the rest of the world will see a new side of America come November 4. To which most French people would probably respond with an
"ah, bon?"
A Divorce, a Sensuality Coach and 5 Good Friends
I found myself eating a pastry called a divorce and watching Star Academy, a reality TV/karaoke competition (the French version of American Idol), while the wannabe future French Idols took sensuality lessons from a sensuality coach (as I often assure others when I tell any story set in France, I am not kidding) to prepare for a song called Undress Me. This was probably a new low in defining what it means to be single. It also occurred to me then that maybe I would feel more sensual if I weren’t stuffing my face with what is essentially a double chocolate and coffee-flavored éclair, or wearing 3 sweaters because for the first time in my illustrious career of illegal apartment sublets, heat is no longer included in my rent, or too lazy to unfold the sofa bed anymore at night. I’m used to sleeping alone, as well as watching tv and eating colorfully named pastries alone.
I gave my writing students an extract from Brigit Jones’s Diary this week and it made me think about being 30 and single in a European capital city. Although my friends aren’t yet divided into smug marrieds and singletons, in Brigitspeak, when I visited my friends in California over the summer, they were all paired off in committed relationships, living together in suburbs, tending gardens and it goes without saying, “I” was replaced by “we.” Maybe if I’d stayed in the US, I would have that, too and I’d also use the first person plural pronoun as there would be no other major challenges in my life besides relationships because language and culture would pose no problem.
A characteristic of American ex-pats, I think, is that we tend to think, arrogantly, perhaps, that after living in Paris, moving anywhere else imaginable would be easy, even a space bubble colony run by aliens on Mars. At least the bureaucracy is more reasonable here, all former Paris dwellers would say approvingly, and the sidewalks are cleaner. Living in dangerous, rude, pressed-for-time Manhattan would be like a walk in central park after the challenges of Paris. While there’s definitely the happy fluffy croissant side of life here, like watching the Eiffel Tower sparkle, seeing the dome of Sacré Coeur from in front of my house or sitting in a café for 3 hours with an espresso and no one rushing you to buy something else or leave, there’s also the negative side, maybe call it the boudin noir side, like the metro during rush hour where everyone glares, pushes and generally hates you, or the long lines at the grocery store at 7 pm, or waiting 6 months for internet installation.
What I’ve got in Paris is a circle of international friends, which is already something, and on occasion, I fold out my untrained in sensuality sofa bed. Quick, what would Star Academy sensuality coach do? Judging from the 2 minutes I saw of the show, she would wriggle her shoulders, ask me to imagine I were naked on a desert island, shriek, yes, yes, and then some teenage boy contestant would share with viewers excessive details about how hot the sensuality expert made him. I think making a teenage boy hot is not great evidence of advanced sensuality skills, more just of being a living, breathing woman.
In one of my favorite book series, Tales of the City, beautiful love letters to quirky liberal drug-saturated San Francisco in the 70s that some of my closest friends devoured when we were all together in California this summer, a character says that at this point in her life (she was probably 30), instead of having a lover, she’d settle for 5 good friends. I’d prefer to have both, since these don’t have to be mutually exclusive, but in reality they often are.
If I’d stayed at home, maybe I’d have a relationship, too, instead of my 5 good friends. In some ways, maybe my life hasn’t changed that much—I’m still single, I’m still ambivalent about my job and don’t think I’ll be making a career out of it, the only difference is that instead of eliminating animal welfare from the possible career list, this time it’s French national education. I still have an American best friend who I talk to multiple times a day, just in Franglais text messages instead of free Verizon network phone calls and who makes me dinner a lot, just in the miniature scale Parisian toaster oven that we all have here along with separate burners, instead of an enormous stove that combines both of these features and would be half the size of anyone’s entire French apartment.
But at the same time, everything is different: not just the people, the language and the way of thinking but also the cars, street signs, license plates, advertisements, lampposts— when I look around every day, nothing looks the way it did where I grew up or anywhere I used to live. After 2 years in France, I still marvel at the metro signs, the architecture and the miniscule smart cars; these are the visual markers of a different cultural life that I chose for myself and I relish this challenge (with whatever condiments are available in Paris).
One of the things I most appreciate when I visit the US is just the sheer familiarity of the whole urban landscape, but one of the things I find most stimulating about Paris is the utter lack of familiarity of this same scene. I spend a lot of time wondering if I’ll ever feel integrated into French life. I’m not even sure what this means to me. Understanding all cultural references in any given conversation? Having a French boyfriend always available to adore me and explain new vocabulary? No longer being surprised by any given situation? When do you start to feel welcomed and accepted in a foreign country? Sometimes I think on a very simplistic level, I’ll start to feel more integrated when I no longer notice the metro, the architecture and the cars. And maybe when I have 6 good friends.
I gave my writing students an extract from Brigit Jones’s Diary this week and it made me think about being 30 and single in a European capital city. Although my friends aren’t yet divided into smug marrieds and singletons, in Brigitspeak, when I visited my friends in California over the summer, they were all paired off in committed relationships, living together in suburbs, tending gardens and it goes without saying, “I” was replaced by “we.” Maybe if I’d stayed in the US, I would have that, too and I’d also use the first person plural pronoun as there would be no other major challenges in my life besides relationships because language and culture would pose no problem.
A characteristic of American ex-pats, I think, is that we tend to think, arrogantly, perhaps, that after living in Paris, moving anywhere else imaginable would be easy, even a space bubble colony run by aliens on Mars. At least the bureaucracy is more reasonable here, all former Paris dwellers would say approvingly, and the sidewalks are cleaner. Living in dangerous, rude, pressed-for-time Manhattan would be like a walk in central park after the challenges of Paris. While there’s definitely the happy fluffy croissant side of life here, like watching the Eiffel Tower sparkle, seeing the dome of Sacré Coeur from in front of my house or sitting in a café for 3 hours with an espresso and no one rushing you to buy something else or leave, there’s also the negative side, maybe call it the boudin noir side, like the metro during rush hour where everyone glares, pushes and generally hates you, or the long lines at the grocery store at 7 pm, or waiting 6 months for internet installation.
What I’ve got in Paris is a circle of international friends, which is already something, and on occasion, I fold out my untrained in sensuality sofa bed. Quick, what would Star Academy sensuality coach do? Judging from the 2 minutes I saw of the show, she would wriggle her shoulders, ask me to imagine I were naked on a desert island, shriek, yes, yes, and then some teenage boy contestant would share with viewers excessive details about how hot the sensuality expert made him. I think making a teenage boy hot is not great evidence of advanced sensuality skills, more just of being a living, breathing woman.
In one of my favorite book series, Tales of the City, beautiful love letters to quirky liberal drug-saturated San Francisco in the 70s that some of my closest friends devoured when we were all together in California this summer, a character says that at this point in her life (she was probably 30), instead of having a lover, she’d settle for 5 good friends. I’d prefer to have both, since these don’t have to be mutually exclusive, but in reality they often are.
If I’d stayed at home, maybe I’d have a relationship, too, instead of my 5 good friends. In some ways, maybe my life hasn’t changed that much—I’m still single, I’m still ambivalent about my job and don’t think I’ll be making a career out of it, the only difference is that instead of eliminating animal welfare from the possible career list, this time it’s French national education. I still have an American best friend who I talk to multiple times a day, just in Franglais text messages instead of free Verizon network phone calls and who makes me dinner a lot, just in the miniature scale Parisian toaster oven that we all have here along with separate burners, instead of an enormous stove that combines both of these features and would be half the size of anyone’s entire French apartment.
But at the same time, everything is different: not just the people, the language and the way of thinking but also the cars, street signs, license plates, advertisements, lampposts— when I look around every day, nothing looks the way it did where I grew up or anywhere I used to live. After 2 years in France, I still marvel at the metro signs, the architecture and the miniscule smart cars; these are the visual markers of a different cultural life that I chose for myself and I relish this challenge (with whatever condiments are available in Paris).
One of the things I most appreciate when I visit the US is just the sheer familiarity of the whole urban landscape, but one of the things I find most stimulating about Paris is the utter lack of familiarity of this same scene. I spend a lot of time wondering if I’ll ever feel integrated into French life. I’m not even sure what this means to me. Understanding all cultural references in any given conversation? Having a French boyfriend always available to adore me and explain new vocabulary? No longer being surprised by any given situation? When do you start to feel welcomed and accepted in a foreign country? Sometimes I think on a very simplistic level, I’ll start to feel more integrated when I no longer notice the metro, the architecture and the cars. And maybe when I have 6 good friends.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Things I Learned in Film Analysis Class
-Jack the Ripper in French is Jacques L'éventreur which means "Jack the disemboweler" and sounds more gruesome than ripper, since ripper doesn't overtly specify that he ripped prostitutes' stomaches open...
-A cinematic shot that shows a character's body from their head to mid-thigh is called a "plan américain" because it was used a lot in westerns to show cowboys' guns.
-The average Hollywood film has between 800-1,200 shots. The average French film has about 600 and the average action film can have up to 3,000.
-A cinematic shot that shows a character's body from their head to mid-thigh is called a "plan américain" because it was used a lot in westerns to show cowboys' guns.
-The average Hollywood film has between 800-1,200 shots. The average French film has about 600 and the average action film can have up to 3,000.
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