I heart Chekov plays in English. Vanya on 42nd Street is my favorite Wallace Shawn-Andre Gregory collaboration (film version of Uncle Vanya). I like it even better than My Dinner with Andre. And it has an actual famous actress is in it-- Julianne Moore plays Yelena, the young seductress married to the old professor.
I also heart Chekov plays in French. After Oncle Vania last week at the theatre in the round at Theatre de la Bastille, Evelyn and I decided that Chekovian humour translates well into French-- quiet tragi-comic afternoons at the country estate when in the course of your banal existance, you suddenly realise that you have no more money, and you've wasted your life and you spend the next 2 hours complaining about it and blaming others. Very Parisian. With lots of understatement. Did I mention that they also complain a lot?
For anyone not already familair with this charming personality trait, complaining and criticizing are essentially the main hobbies of all Parisians. The greastest compliment in the French language is to say you have nothing to say (j'ai rien a dire). It's implied that if you had anything to say, it would, of course, be critical (what else could possibly be worth mentioning?) Someone has therefore done something so incredibly well that there is miraculously nothing to criticize or complain about.
I guess I should spend my time seeing French plays in French; they do have some good playwrights, after all, but it somehow seems appropriately contradictory and contrary to see only Russian plays in French.
Some fun dialogue from Anton C. : it's a beautiful day. A beautiful day to hang one's self. (Vanya)
And: I am in mourning for my life. (Cherry Orchard)
J'ai rien a dire.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
La Princesse de Cleves fait greve
I really understand nothing about the current strike at one of my work places. In all fairness, some of the proposed reforms sound bad, like budget cuts (the public French university is already essentially bankrupt) and suppression of teaching positions. The main reason behind the current strike according to the professors is that the French governement wants to change teachers' status so that they're no longer state employees with lifetime job security. As a non-French person and non-functionnaire from a land where few human beings ever attain lifetime job security, I was never really convinced that all teachers should be state employees with lifetime job security no matter how mediocore a job they did (French job promotions are based more on national exam results than actual job performance), but if this is something you are currently lucky enough to have, you will obviously fight to protect it.
As one teacher pointed out, the strike is a "French cultural experience." I feel that the cultural experience of the education strike is similar to some other equally horizon-broadening cultural experiences, like waiting in line, being constantly required to give the French bureaucracy some new type of attestation, a RIB, ID photos and a birth certificate (French translation, of course-- how else would they know that you were indeed born somewhere on a specific date?) and being pushed on the metro. Here is what I've observed so far about the nature of education strikes.
If you are a professor organising a university strike at a certain university in the valley of Disneyland, you apparently do the following:
-Receive the entirety of your monthly salary despite not working for political reasons. Wish they'd mentioned that we'd be paid for doing nothing-- maybe then the foreigners would have signed up for caring about the future of French fonctionnaires...
-Hold a general assembly every day.
-Have a demonstration every Thursday.
-Grow tired of actually being on strike and start coming in to see your students during classtime to talk to them about your reasons for being on strike and do "alternative activites" which seem to comprise communication games and strike propaganda.
-Not worry that your dramatic stance to Save French Public Education is causing students to stop attending class and drop out of school. You're striking for their future, too.
-Send email to the students directly inciting them to revolution.
-Except that when they do revolt, the president closes the uni upon hearing of student threats to occupy university buildings and break things.
-Email homework to your students and tell them how concerned you are about how they will pass their final exams with good results and be sufficiently prepared for next year's classes.
-Have a 3-hour meeting every Monday morning that always comes to the same conclusion: continue the strike. It's also always unanimous. Like Tom Petty, the professors won't back down, gonna stand my ground.
-Organise a public reading of La princesse de Cleves in multiple languages. Naturally, this is the only next logical step. But where do we go from here? On to Flaubert?
As one teacher pointed out, the strike is a "French cultural experience." I feel that the cultural experience of the education strike is similar to some other equally horizon-broadening cultural experiences, like waiting in line, being constantly required to give the French bureaucracy some new type of attestation, a RIB, ID photos and a birth certificate (French translation, of course-- how else would they know that you were indeed born somewhere on a specific date?) and being pushed on the metro. Here is what I've observed so far about the nature of education strikes.
If you are a professor organising a university strike at a certain university in the valley of Disneyland, you apparently do the following:
-Receive the entirety of your monthly salary despite not working for political reasons. Wish they'd mentioned that we'd be paid for doing nothing-- maybe then the foreigners would have signed up for caring about the future of French fonctionnaires...
-Hold a general assembly every day.
-Have a demonstration every Thursday.
-Grow tired of actually being on strike and start coming in to see your students during classtime to talk to them about your reasons for being on strike and do "alternative activites" which seem to comprise communication games and strike propaganda.
-Not worry that your dramatic stance to Save French Public Education is causing students to stop attending class and drop out of school. You're striking for their future, too.
-Send email to the students directly inciting them to revolution.
-Except that when they do revolt, the president closes the uni upon hearing of student threats to occupy university buildings and break things.
-Email homework to your students and tell them how concerned you are about how they will pass their final exams with good results and be sufficiently prepared for next year's classes.
-Have a 3-hour meeting every Monday morning that always comes to the same conclusion: continue the strike. It's also always unanimous. Like Tom Petty, the professors won't back down, gonna stand my ground.
-Organise a public reading of La princesse de Cleves in multiple languages. Naturally, this is the only next logical step. But where do we go from here? On to Flaubert?
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Students, apartments and chateau-neuf des papes
Life is a bit of a blur of prepping classes and attempting to charm new students-- be they CG artists, children, corporate lawyers or arms dealers...
Today, for example, is Saturday, but I now spend half the weekend-- Sat 10-16h-- with students, so feel a bit of the decalage with the normal weekend schedule world that I used to feel when I worked Tues-Sat at the animal shelter in Oakland. This just started, and part of me already misses my Saturdays, but I need the money. The Saturday folks are all pretty adorable, though, so in an odd way, it is kind of relaxing-- although still work. One of my students has already mentioned possible future translation jobs and I'm opportunistically hoping that this sudden new network of English students might help me find an apartment.
All my beginner English students have inspired me to learn German, I have a textbook with a CD, but I need to find a native German speaker willing to do German/English language exchanges with me. Not only will I learn something new, but I also think it's extremely important for all language teachers at all times to be able to put themsleves in the place of their students, as the language learner who has no idea what the question was, instead of the professor who asks the questions.
I feel very uninvolved with the university, despite it still offically (meaning fiscally) being my primary job. It was closed on Thursday because a band of rogue students announced their intent to occupy university buildings, disrupt classes and break things, so the president sent out a ludicrous email about the bande d'etudiants sauvages. After being throughly surprised that the university could become even more surreal and beckettian than it is already, I found it hilarious and promptly forwarded the message du president to all my friends, especially the ex-Marne colleagues.
I'm apartment hunting in earnest now and I've so far looked at 1 and loved it, but the timing wasn't right. It's still a little early to look for an apartment for May 1, but good to familiarise myself with the market and see how far my limited money will go. Everything costs so much-- life is expensive, and I'm already stressing about paying rent, a deposit and buying furniture and trying to think of ways to save money after the move, like cancelling my gym membership and changing to a cheaper cell phone plan. Am also prepared to sleep on the floor for awhile and furnish a new apartment over several months.
Ideally, I'd like to live in the 19th arrondissement near metro Jaures, since rents still seem affordable there, it's a safe area, unlike the 20th and near the canal st. Martin, 2 canal-side cinemas and the lovely park Butte-Chaumont.
Next weekend, I'll be in London for a friend's wedding and I'm looking forward to a little change of scenary. For her wedding present, I got a bottle of what France does best-- a chateauneuf des papes red. Jill and I got to be friends in Avignon (where the papes-- the popes-- lived and where the wine is from) during a summer study abroad program 10 years ago and I thought this bottle would remind her of our summer in the sunny south of France. I'm going to write in the card that she should let the bottle age for a year and then open it up to continue the wedding festivities and celebrate her first wedding anniversary. Besides watching Jill walk down the aisle, I'll also see some British friends and my godfather and hopefully, Camden, Brick Lane and a play at the theatre.
Today, for example, is Saturday, but I now spend half the weekend-- Sat 10-16h-- with students, so feel a bit of the decalage with the normal weekend schedule world that I used to feel when I worked Tues-Sat at the animal shelter in Oakland. This just started, and part of me already misses my Saturdays, but I need the money. The Saturday folks are all pretty adorable, though, so in an odd way, it is kind of relaxing-- although still work. One of my students has already mentioned possible future translation jobs and I'm opportunistically hoping that this sudden new network of English students might help me find an apartment.
All my beginner English students have inspired me to learn German, I have a textbook with a CD, but I need to find a native German speaker willing to do German/English language exchanges with me. Not only will I learn something new, but I also think it's extremely important for all language teachers at all times to be able to put themsleves in the place of their students, as the language learner who has no idea what the question was, instead of the professor who asks the questions.
I feel very uninvolved with the university, despite it still offically (meaning fiscally) being my primary job. It was closed on Thursday because a band of rogue students announced their intent to occupy university buildings, disrupt classes and break things, so the president sent out a ludicrous email about the bande d'etudiants sauvages. After being throughly surprised that the university could become even more surreal and beckettian than it is already, I found it hilarious and promptly forwarded the message du president to all my friends, especially the ex-Marne colleagues.
I'm apartment hunting in earnest now and I've so far looked at 1 and loved it, but the timing wasn't right. It's still a little early to look for an apartment for May 1, but good to familiarise myself with the market and see how far my limited money will go. Everything costs so much-- life is expensive, and I'm already stressing about paying rent, a deposit and buying furniture and trying to think of ways to save money after the move, like cancelling my gym membership and changing to a cheaper cell phone plan. Am also prepared to sleep on the floor for awhile and furnish a new apartment over several months.
Ideally, I'd like to live in the 19th arrondissement near metro Jaures, since rents still seem affordable there, it's a safe area, unlike the 20th and near the canal st. Martin, 2 canal-side cinemas and the lovely park Butte-Chaumont.
Next weekend, I'll be in London for a friend's wedding and I'm looking forward to a little change of scenary. For her wedding present, I got a bottle of what France does best-- a chateauneuf des papes red. Jill and I got to be friends in Avignon (where the papes-- the popes-- lived and where the wine is from) during a summer study abroad program 10 years ago and I thought this bottle would remind her of our summer in the sunny south of France. I'm going to write in the card that she should let the bottle age for a year and then open it up to continue the wedding festivities and celebrate her first wedding anniversary. Besides watching Jill walk down the aisle, I'll also see some British friends and my godfather and hopefully, Camden, Brick Lane and a play at the theatre.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Montre-moi l'argent
Due to the university where I teach in my primary job being completely bizarre because of an interminable strike (rant about that one coming soon), I've become more invested and interested in my other workplaces. I don't really have an individual other workplace-- instead of an office, I spend my days dutifully trotting across Paris to different peoples' houses or fancy corporate offices where I go to teach English. I hope to do the impossible with these motivated adult students and have them answering phones like a native English speaker, writing perfect emails, planning a wedding in English and landing new jobs that require English fluency. While these new challenges are good for me and I genuinely enjoy my new students, I also enjoy extra income. Like many Americans before me, I am also a cold, calculated capitalist-- just not one who works in sub-prime, but in sectors equally, if not more, morally dubious.
I will teach ANYONE English for money as evidenced by the fact that I had only faint moral qualms upon learning yesterday that my newest corporate clients are essentially arms dealers. When you live in expensive-beyond-belief-Paris, arms dealers' money is an good as anybody else's. In fact, they probably tend to have more of it than people who actually improve the world. Yes, I recognize that this probably means I no longer have a soul, but when you spend your entire salary each month, who can afford moral integrity? I would just like to not overdraw my bank account and afford a new apartment come May 1st. It's also a legitimate government business-- at least it's not illegal arms trafficking and they don't make landmines that maim and kill children and they probably use recylced paper.
Elaborate overjustification, perhaps, but sometimes it's hard to feel good about what I do in France. Arms dealer students aside, I know I wouldn't be qualified to teach in an American university; it's a total fluke that I can teach in a French one in a temporary position that only exists for native English speakers. Although teaching in a university might sound impressive to someone unfamiliar with the French public university system, it's essentially just 3 extra years of high school with surly, unmotivated teenagers, the majority of whom drop out. I never studied to be a teacher and have no ESL background and feel like a big fraud more often than I feel like a good teacher imparting important wisdom about vital issues like when to use the present perfect tense. In my private lessons, it sometimes feels extremely dishonest to take peoples' money for chatting with them for an hour in my native language.
As usual, guilt and self-doubt persist in my career choices-- or non-choices. It's more France who decided that I would be an English teacher, not me. I just couldn't complain because it meant I had a job. All this, of course, contributes to the on-going existential crisis and fuels the "what am I doing with my life?" fire. But at least I don't sell or manufacture weapons.
I will teach ANYONE English for money as evidenced by the fact that I had only faint moral qualms upon learning yesterday that my newest corporate clients are essentially arms dealers. When you live in expensive-beyond-belief-Paris, arms dealers' money is an good as anybody else's. In fact, they probably tend to have more of it than people who actually improve the world. Yes, I recognize that this probably means I no longer have a soul, but when you spend your entire salary each month, who can afford moral integrity? I would just like to not overdraw my bank account and afford a new apartment come May 1st. It's also a legitimate government business-- at least it's not illegal arms trafficking and they don't make landmines that maim and kill children and they probably use recylced paper.
Elaborate overjustification, perhaps, but sometimes it's hard to feel good about what I do in France. Arms dealer students aside, I know I wouldn't be qualified to teach in an American university; it's a total fluke that I can teach in a French one in a temporary position that only exists for native English speakers. Although teaching in a university might sound impressive to someone unfamiliar with the French public university system, it's essentially just 3 extra years of high school with surly, unmotivated teenagers, the majority of whom drop out. I never studied to be a teacher and have no ESL background and feel like a big fraud more often than I feel like a good teacher imparting important wisdom about vital issues like when to use the present perfect tense. In my private lessons, it sometimes feels extremely dishonest to take peoples' money for chatting with them for an hour in my native language.
As usual, guilt and self-doubt persist in my career choices-- or non-choices. It's more France who decided that I would be an English teacher, not me. I just couldn't complain because it meant I had a job. All this, of course, contributes to the on-going existential crisis and fuels the "what am I doing with my life?" fire. But at least I don't sell or manufacture weapons.
Sunday, March 01, 2009
Desperately Seeking...
Apartment for May 1-- preferably legal and stable living situation without evil 400-year old non-French speaking concierge; charming, mature non-commitment phobic boyfriend for whenever, reliable healthcare, a local cafe where everybody knows my name (not that they'd be able to pronounce it...), a well-paying teaching job where I could maybe do all my hours in one conveniently-located place, instead of scampering around Ile-de-France giving English classes in every arrondisement, payment-- long overdue-- for overtime hours unknowingly worked last year when the university blatantly tried to take advantage of foreign teaching staff, the illusory feeling of being accepted in busy, crowded, waiting in line-oriented, indifferent to my plight Paris.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
The unbearable lightness of being (incidently one of my favorite films EVER)
Lightness might not be the right term; it's actually more the unbearable instability and uncertainty of being in France...
Uncertainty at the workplace:
Everyone at my primary job is on strike. Last week, I had no idea if I would have any students. Very few came. Some classes happened, some didn't-- it was about 50/50 on Thursday and then I only had 1 student on Friday. It's equally uncertain if I'll have any students at all this week. And then next week is vacation. Vacation from what, you may very well ask. This teachers' strike is on top of a general strike 2 weeks ago-- I have 1 class that I haven't seen yet since the start of the second semester! Will I ever see my writing class again so that I can tell them that we're changing our Friday class to Monday and thus give me a fixed, accurate schedule at the university? I only have 2 other jobs to fit the university hours around...
Uncertainty at the other potential workplaces:
I recently had 2 job interviews for part time teaching jobs, both went well and I was hired. Supposedly. No contract has materialized. One of the jobs hasn't yet answered my email accepting their offer and I have no idea if they've changed their minds or not and if there will be a contract to sign. I find it telling that in French "eventuel"/"eventuellement" doesn't mean that something will happen in the future, but that it might possibly happen... The other job seems a little more certain, although they don't know how many hours they can promise me because of my already planned vacation in the US in June and I just got a cryptic email about their schedule. I don't understand if this would be my proposed schedule or if it's just to give me an idea of the demand they have for English classes right now. Only in France would you wonder if you were really hired after someone said you were were...
Uncertainty about housing:
Will I be moving in May? Where would I live? It all depends on whether or not my landlord can renew her visa in Canada, which seems unlikely. She really wants to stay, but the Canadian government is under no obligation to make that happen for her...
Uncertainty about money:
When, O, when will the university pay me for the 100 extra hours I worked last year? An extra 3 grand would be welcome ANY TIME, especially considering the possible move.
Uncertainty about love:
Will I ever go on another date? Are intercultural relationships truly possible? How many successful intercultural relationships can I really think of? Does British/American count or are those already pretty close? It seems like all my college friends are getting married THIS year, the year we turned 30. While this sudden phenom is a little suspicious, it also makes me wonder, will I ever move in with someone? Marriage, I am not worrying about yet, I would content myself with moving in with someone eventually (ha, in the French sense, of course) and this seems like a rather necessary first step before considering marriage/pacs-ing or adopting cats together.
Uncertainty at the workplace:
Everyone at my primary job is on strike. Last week, I had no idea if I would have any students. Very few came. Some classes happened, some didn't-- it was about 50/50 on Thursday and then I only had 1 student on Friday. It's equally uncertain if I'll have any students at all this week. And then next week is vacation. Vacation from what, you may very well ask. This teachers' strike is on top of a general strike 2 weeks ago-- I have 1 class that I haven't seen yet since the start of the second semester! Will I ever see my writing class again so that I can tell them that we're changing our Friday class to Monday and thus give me a fixed, accurate schedule at the university? I only have 2 other jobs to fit the university hours around...
Uncertainty at the other potential workplaces:
I recently had 2 job interviews for part time teaching jobs, both went well and I was hired. Supposedly. No contract has materialized. One of the jobs hasn't yet answered my email accepting their offer and I have no idea if they've changed their minds or not and if there will be a contract to sign. I find it telling that in French "eventuel"/"eventuellement" doesn't mean that something will happen in the future, but that it might possibly happen... The other job seems a little more certain, although they don't know how many hours they can promise me because of my already planned vacation in the US in June and I just got a cryptic email about their schedule. I don't understand if this would be my proposed schedule or if it's just to give me an idea of the demand they have for English classes right now. Only in France would you wonder if you were really hired after someone said you were were...
Uncertainty about housing:
Will I be moving in May? Where would I live? It all depends on whether or not my landlord can renew her visa in Canada, which seems unlikely. She really wants to stay, but the Canadian government is under no obligation to make that happen for her...
Uncertainty about money:
When, O, when will the university pay me for the 100 extra hours I worked last year? An extra 3 grand would be welcome ANY TIME, especially considering the possible move.
Uncertainty about love:
Will I ever go on another date? Are intercultural relationships truly possible? How many successful intercultural relationships can I really think of? Does British/American count or are those already pretty close? It seems like all my college friends are getting married THIS year, the year we turned 30. While this sudden phenom is a little suspicious, it also makes me wonder, will I ever move in with someone? Marriage, I am not worrying about yet, I would content myself with moving in with someone eventually (ha, in the French sense, of course) and this seems like a rather necessary first step before considering marriage/pacs-ing or adopting cats together.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Friday, January 23, 2009
Questions du jour
Is there life on Mars? Is there life outside of Paris? Are there French cities with a lively cultural scene and friendly residents who don't make a hobby of criticizing, complaining and huffing and puffing in annoyance every 4 seconds and bumping into you in the metro? Does Paris think I'm a martian? Should I phone home or attempt to colonize the world? Are globalization and Americanization the same thing? Aside from dying your hair a different colour, is there any change you can believe in in Paris?
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Small Daily Humiliations
Everytime someone asks if I live in Paris and if I have a job here.
That people I don't know well think it's ok to ask me how much money I make, or inform me of everything that they think is wrong with American politics-- after we'd just met. Um, are Parisians just somehow culturally immune to ever thinking that they sound arrogant?
Everytime someone informs me that I have an accent.
Everytime (which is more or less all the time) someone assumes that if you're a foreigner, you're a complete idiot and will believe whatever they tell you. Like that my last apartment rental wasn't illegal, I just couldn't ever put my name on the door or tell anyone I paid rent to live there.
Everytime someone patronisingly repeats the exact phrase I just said. What's up with that? I assume it's a passive aggressive way to correct my pronounciation or do they actually just want to verify that they heard it correctly?
Everytime someone stares the Parisian stare at me on the metro. Men undress you with their beady little eyes, while women mentally calculate the total value of your wardrobe and haircut. This is why I now find it normal to wear makeup to the gym.
At Planning Familial today when upon asking my age, they asked me if I weren't considering stopping the Pill to get pregnant.
When I asked the doctor there to recommend a lab (because it's not like you can get blood drawn by the actual doctor who wants you to have it done or like any single medical facility in France actually has all the medical equipment they need) and he replied, you don't know how to use the internet? Um, yes, the French health care system is ludicrously decentralised (I once left a doctor's office with my papsmear in a jar and I had to mail it to a lab myself) but I am not about to google a medical lab to draw my blood-- should I just diagnose myself and write my own prescriptions, too, while I'm researching medical info online? What if French crack dens or other disreputable entities whose livelihood involves needles have their own web sites and pose as legitimate medical labs?
When I requested coppery-red highlights and the hairdresser ignored this and gave me pale white-blond ones instead which obviously look like middleaged woman masking the gray with a side of Cruella DeVille thrown in (in other words, utter crap) and then informed me that she found them "jolies." I mean, after all, that's what counts, isn't it?
Thank you, Parisians, for annoying the hell out of me on a daily basis. I'm sure that to some small extent, I'd miss all your surreal conneries if I ever lived somewhere normal and judging from the Americans I know who no longer live here, apparently, if you ever leave Paris, you seem to become a brainwashed nostalgia zombie, and Paris becomes nothing but the expensive taxpayer-subsidized glittering lights of the Eiffel Tower, and la vie en rose and you even long for the rudeness of French waiters and the arrogance of French hair dressers.
That people I don't know well think it's ok to ask me how much money I make, or inform me of everything that they think is wrong with American politics-- after we'd just met. Um, are Parisians just somehow culturally immune to ever thinking that they sound arrogant?
Everytime someone informs me that I have an accent.
Everytime (which is more or less all the time) someone assumes that if you're a foreigner, you're a complete idiot and will believe whatever they tell you. Like that my last apartment rental wasn't illegal, I just couldn't ever put my name on the door or tell anyone I paid rent to live there.
Everytime someone patronisingly repeats the exact phrase I just said. What's up with that? I assume it's a passive aggressive way to correct my pronounciation or do they actually just want to verify that they heard it correctly?
Everytime someone stares the Parisian stare at me on the metro. Men undress you with their beady little eyes, while women mentally calculate the total value of your wardrobe and haircut. This is why I now find it normal to wear makeup to the gym.
At Planning Familial today when upon asking my age, they asked me if I weren't considering stopping the Pill to get pregnant.
When I asked the doctor there to recommend a lab (because it's not like you can get blood drawn by the actual doctor who wants you to have it done or like any single medical facility in France actually has all the medical equipment they need) and he replied, you don't know how to use the internet? Um, yes, the French health care system is ludicrously decentralised (I once left a doctor's office with my papsmear in a jar and I had to mail it to a lab myself) but I am not about to google a medical lab to draw my blood-- should I just diagnose myself and write my own prescriptions, too, while I'm researching medical info online? What if French crack dens or other disreputable entities whose livelihood involves needles have their own web sites and pose as legitimate medical labs?
When I requested coppery-red highlights and the hairdresser ignored this and gave me pale white-blond ones instead which obviously look like middleaged woman masking the gray with a side of Cruella DeVille thrown in (in other words, utter crap) and then informed me that she found them "jolies." I mean, after all, that's what counts, isn't it?
Thank you, Parisians, for annoying the hell out of me on a daily basis. I'm sure that to some small extent, I'd miss all your surreal conneries if I ever lived somewhere normal and judging from the Americans I know who no longer live here, apparently, if you ever leave Paris, you seem to become a brainwashed nostalgia zombie, and Paris becomes nothing but the expensive taxpayer-subsidized glittering lights of the Eiffel Tower, and la vie en rose and you even long for the rudeness of French waiters and the arrogance of French hair dressers.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
"Welcome...
To the new America," was a quote I read in today's Washington Post online edition from someone who attended the inauguration today and braved the cold to see the new president and snatch a piece of history.
At the beginning of this decade, I lived in Washington, DC and throughout all the international press coverage of "l'investiture d'Obama" that I've followed recently from 3,000 miles and multiple time zones away, I've been thinking: that could have been me in the crowd, during the inauguration today and the U2/ Springsteen concert at the Lincoln Memorial yesterday.
You are the choices you make, and I don't regret no longer living in DC, Oakland or in the US, but, well, optimism, resilience and capacity for social change are all aspects of American culture that I miss immensely.
Sometimes you have to remind yourself that creating change you can believe in is not exculsively reserved for your favorite polticians or those still living in America watching Obama in person today, but something you can also accomplish on a small and modest scale in your own life.
At the beginning of this decade, I lived in Washington, DC and throughout all the international press coverage of "l'investiture d'Obama" that I've followed recently from 3,000 miles and multiple time zones away, I've been thinking: that could have been me in the crowd, during the inauguration today and the U2/ Springsteen concert at the Lincoln Memorial yesterday.
You are the choices you make, and I don't regret no longer living in DC, Oakland or in the US, but, well, optimism, resilience and capacity for social change are all aspects of American culture that I miss immensely.
Sometimes you have to remind yourself that creating change you can believe in is not exculsively reserved for your favorite polticians or those still living in America watching Obama in person today, but something you can also accomplish on a small and modest scale in your own life.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Surreal Moments of Late at the Workplace
-When my kids asked me what they had to do to pass their semester.
-You mean what skills and work habits do you need to succeed in my class next semester, I asked.
-No, how do we know if we passed this term? Do we have to pass all our classes each semester to have credit for the year? No one ever told us.
-When one group revealed that they thought that phonetics and multimedia were the same class because they had the same teacher for these 2 (obviously different) courses.
-The umpteenth time that a student came looking for me because they forgot when their exam was (yesterday) and wanted to make it up at a time that was more convenient for them. Here's a good time: the examens de rattrapage in the first 2 weeks of September.
-Each time a student walked into a classroom while I was giving an exam (a little busy there!)because they needed to ask an Urgent Question that they would already have the answer to if they ever attended class, like what will be on the final exam.
-When I discovered that the HR Rep and department head who explained my incomprehensible job contract to me in 2007 were misinformed about minor details like how many hours I actually need to work each year.
-When you realise that the entire administrative organisation (a term I use loosely) of your workplace relies exclusively on the use of post-it notes. In some ways, this is almost reassuring-- at least they try to follow some kind of principle of organisation, but post-its do, unfortunately, fall off.
-When you, as an American teacher, finish reading 35 compositions that argue that higher education should be free and accessible to everyone (ok, fine) and universities shouldn't "discriminate unfairly" by taking only the best students. Wow, no correlation to make at all between being a good student and going to uni, eh?
And sometimes, the kiddies just feel like chatting after class about Irish music or the decline of family values in modern society, or flattering you so that you'll write a recommendation for them (there can't be ANY connection between that and their sudden appreciation of your greats teachings skills, can there?), or sometimes they just impress you with an excellent composition about Egypt and then despite all the ridiculousness you suffer daily, for a brief second before reality sets in again, it's actually not so bad to be a teacher.
-You mean what skills and work habits do you need to succeed in my class next semester, I asked.
-No, how do we know if we passed this term? Do we have to pass all our classes each semester to have credit for the year? No one ever told us.
-When one group revealed that they thought that phonetics and multimedia were the same class because they had the same teacher for these 2 (obviously different) courses.
-The umpteenth time that a student came looking for me because they forgot when their exam was (yesterday) and wanted to make it up at a time that was more convenient for them. Here's a good time: the examens de rattrapage in the first 2 weeks of September.
-Each time a student walked into a classroom while I was giving an exam (a little busy there!)because they needed to ask an Urgent Question that they would already have the answer to if they ever attended class, like what will be on the final exam.
-When I discovered that the HR Rep and department head who explained my incomprehensible job contract to me in 2007 were misinformed about minor details like how many hours I actually need to work each year.
-When you realise that the entire administrative organisation (a term I use loosely) of your workplace relies exclusively on the use of post-it notes. In some ways, this is almost reassuring-- at least they try to follow some kind of principle of organisation, but post-its do, unfortunately, fall off.
-When you, as an American teacher, finish reading 35 compositions that argue that higher education should be free and accessible to everyone (ok, fine) and universities shouldn't "discriminate unfairly" by taking only the best students. Wow, no correlation to make at all between being a good student and going to uni, eh?
And sometimes, the kiddies just feel like chatting after class about Irish music or the decline of family values in modern society, or flattering you so that you'll write a recommendation for them (there can't be ANY connection between that and their sudden appreciation of your greats teachings skills, can there?), or sometimes they just impress you with an excellent composition about Egypt and then despite all the ridiculousness you suffer daily, for a brief second before reality sets in again, it's actually not so bad to be a teacher.
Saturday, January 03, 2009
The Art of Losing
Maybe it's my age, or living far away from my family, but so far 2009 is making me think of all the people who I used to be close to who I now no longer speak to-- either because we fought, broke up or just drifted apart or now find that we live on different continents with a 9-hour time difference and never skype at the same time. If you're anything like me (for your sake, I hope not, though!), ex-best friends from college, people you've dated, former housemates in multiple cities, etc. have been floating through your head yesterday and today.
But before you worry too much about all the people you once knew who you've since lost, keep in mind that you'll (hopefully, most likely) acquire new friends this year and it's an endless cycle, some kind of social flux that we can't really entirely control.
Here's a funny poem that I've always liked to try to help exorcise all these missing, forgotten souls who we've lost over the years. Here is Elisabeth Bishop's attempt to master the art of losing and even if it's actually a fairly tragic poem, it's certainly an example of mastering the art of writing a villanelle, one of the hardest poetic forms out there.
One Art
by Elizabeth Bishop
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
But before you worry too much about all the people you once knew who you've since lost, keep in mind that you'll (hopefully, most likely) acquire new friends this year and it's an endless cycle, some kind of social flux that we can't really entirely control.
Here's a funny poem that I've always liked to try to help exorcise all these missing, forgotten souls who we've lost over the years. Here is Elisabeth Bishop's attempt to master the art of losing and even if it's actually a fairly tragic poem, it's certainly an example of mastering the art of writing a villanelle, one of the hardest poetic forms out there.
One Art
by Elizabeth Bishop
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
T.S. Eliot et le reveillon du nouvel an
For last year’s words belong to last year’s language
And next year’s words await another voice.--T.S. Eliot (Little Gidding, 4 Quartets)
As you're all no doubt aware, today is the last day of 2008. Make it count and may you accomplish all you hope to and then some in 2009.
Que vous trouviez votre voix et votre voie en 2009.
And next year’s words await another voice.--T.S. Eliot (Little Gidding, 4 Quartets)
As you're all no doubt aware, today is the last day of 2008. Make it count and may you accomplish all you hope to and then some in 2009.
Que vous trouviez votre voix et votre voie en 2009.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
New Year's Resolutions
I know it's kind of early-- I have a few more days to make the list definitive-- but it's never a bad thing to want to improve your life. Here are some fairly predictable new year's resolutions, in no particular order.
1. Exercise more-- start running again, do some races, like the Paris-Versailles one in September and hit the abdos-tailles (abs and waist) classes to lose belly roll which I can camoflauge, but I know that it's there. Mainly, after my hyper sporty California life, I know that only rigorous exercise (or an adoring boyfriend, but soyons realistes, ils ne tombent pas du ciel) can make me feel attractive and good about my body.
2. Eat well-- cooking fresh vegetables is worth the time it takes to stir fry-- and learn to make curry. Yum.
3. Be more positive and less cynical than I have been in the past-- create your own happiness, become the change you want to see, etc. Yes, we can!
4. Limit alcohol and caffine intake. Eat clementines instead.
5. Find new hobbies, like the ex-pat meet up group and the Attrape-Choeur singing group, as current hobbies can be summarized as wine-tasting (see resolution 4) and getting my legs waxed (these 2 activities are not practiced simultaneously).
6. Refuse to date anyone who informs me early on that he is unable to commit to a serious relationship. Not looking for a "cinq-a-sept," as they say, not taking any crap about it and men don't get to make the relationship rules. Be demanding and devastating.
7. Learn a foreign language-- either German or Spanish because I'd like to visit either or both of these countries this year. Tunisia and the Czech Republic are on the list, as well, but at the risk of sounding like a selfish traveller, not about to learn Czech and Arabic-- French should be fine in Tunisia, anyway.
8. Find the ideal teaching situation-- I've decided to make this my career, after all (France finds me qualified for it and I've got about 3 years of experience in it now). To that end, I will explore different classroom situations, like teaching business English to adults, continuing education students, private lessons, possibility of being a vacataire at a private university, etc.
9. Find a legal apartment rental when I have to move in May. This will be more expensive the the illegal sublets that everyone does, but it will be worth it not to have to move each year and to be in full control of my own space, like making my own decorating decisions and finally once again paying bills in my own name. At age 30, it's becoming important to put down my own roots here instead of temporarily taking over someone else's situation.
10. I'm not really sure what this one should be, I just wanted to have 10 instead of 9. Do some kind of volunteer work? As a former volunteer coordinator, this is an important value that I haven't been putting into practice lately-- lately referring to the past 3 years... In France, you sometimes need specific training to volunteer, so it should probably be something related to my various past and present careers, like education, translation (?) or-- I think I'm finally ready to let it back into my life-- animal welfare.
1. Exercise more-- start running again, do some races, like the Paris-Versailles one in September and hit the abdos-tailles (abs and waist) classes to lose belly roll which I can camoflauge, but I know that it's there. Mainly, after my hyper sporty California life, I know that only rigorous exercise (or an adoring boyfriend, but soyons realistes, ils ne tombent pas du ciel) can make me feel attractive and good about my body.
2. Eat well-- cooking fresh vegetables is worth the time it takes to stir fry-- and learn to make curry. Yum.
3. Be more positive and less cynical than I have been in the past-- create your own happiness, become the change you want to see, etc. Yes, we can!
4. Limit alcohol and caffine intake. Eat clementines instead.
5. Find new hobbies, like the ex-pat meet up group and the Attrape-Choeur singing group, as current hobbies can be summarized as wine-tasting (see resolution 4) and getting my legs waxed (these 2 activities are not practiced simultaneously).
6. Refuse to date anyone who informs me early on that he is unable to commit to a serious relationship. Not looking for a "cinq-a-sept," as they say, not taking any crap about it and men don't get to make the relationship rules. Be demanding and devastating.
7. Learn a foreign language-- either German or Spanish because I'd like to visit either or both of these countries this year. Tunisia and the Czech Republic are on the list, as well, but at the risk of sounding like a selfish traveller, not about to learn Czech and Arabic-- French should be fine in Tunisia, anyway.
8. Find the ideal teaching situation-- I've decided to make this my career, after all (France finds me qualified for it and I've got about 3 years of experience in it now). To that end, I will explore different classroom situations, like teaching business English to adults, continuing education students, private lessons, possibility of being a vacataire at a private university, etc.
9. Find a legal apartment rental when I have to move in May. This will be more expensive the the illegal sublets that everyone does, but it will be worth it not to have to move each year and to be in full control of my own space, like making my own decorating decisions and finally once again paying bills in my own name. At age 30, it's becoming important to put down my own roots here instead of temporarily taking over someone else's situation.
10. I'm not really sure what this one should be, I just wanted to have 10 instead of 9. Do some kind of volunteer work? As a former volunteer coordinator, this is an important value that I haven't been putting into practice lately-- lately referring to the past 3 years... In France, you sometimes need specific training to volunteer, so it should probably be something related to my various past and present careers, like education, translation (?) or-- I think I'm finally ready to let it back into my life-- animal welfare.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
"I said what about Breakfast at Tiffany's"--Deep Blue Something
Remind me the next time I start to whine about my life, thankless job, hateful rudeness of the average person in this city, inability of any Frenchman to commit to anything even resembling a relationship, etc., that I have amazing friends in Paris.
As Bridget Jones once wrote (although probably not when she was sober), love the lovely friends with whom I had a fabulous holiday dinner on Friday at my favorite Indian restaurant.
And love the lovely impromptu and free winetastings. My last degustation was perhaps of the less elegant variety, since it was a plastic cup of the new beaujolais in the RER station. However, yesterday I wandered into 2 winetastings and a champagne tasting at the magical place that is Bon Marche. My beloved Jessica and I are of the opinion that Breakfast at Tiffany's should be remade in French and titled "Petit dej au Bon Marche" and Audrey Hepburn could taste champagne, go to the exhibit about Toyko and admire the light fixtures.
As Bridget Jones once wrote (although probably not when she was sober), love the lovely friends with whom I had a fabulous holiday dinner on Friday at my favorite Indian restaurant.
And love the lovely impromptu and free winetastings. My last degustation was perhaps of the less elegant variety, since it was a plastic cup of the new beaujolais in the RER station. However, yesterday I wandered into 2 winetastings and a champagne tasting at the magical place that is Bon Marche. My beloved Jessica and I are of the opinion that Breakfast at Tiffany's should be remade in French and titled "Petit dej au Bon Marche" and Audrey Hepburn could taste champagne, go to the exhibit about Toyko and admire the light fixtures.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Inspiring Words From My Past Life Transmitted Via Facebook (What else, George Clooney?)
"Ha! That's awesome, I had no idea! Listen, whenever those dark, awful nights of endless grading are upon you just remember your old friend Clancy and these inspiring words: it's better to be an English professor slave in France than a Philosophy professor slave in Pittsburgh. Because? Really? Paris? Yes. Paris is good. Best of luck this end of semester!"
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
What Do Job Descriptions Look Like?
I was watching an older woman walk her small sweater-wearing dog this morning and as she, like every other dog owner in this city, ignored the little pile of goodness her well-dressed fashion poodle left on the trottoir, I joked to my friend Amanda that only in France was dog clothing mandatory while picking up dog shit was considered the optional and frivolous part of dog ownership. Yes, she agreed, it's not in their job description as French people. Don't get me wrong, if I lost my mind and ever owned a small dog, I'm sure dressing it up would be the highlight of my entire life and it would have tons of inexpensive yet stylish raincoats, and maybe even matching boots.
I liked her observation a lot about the French job description and hard work they must do to maintain cultural stereotypes, because as far as I can tell, no one in France really has a concrete job description-- my contract doesn't explain vital pieces of infomation like my salary or how many hours I really have to teach each semester (hence the reason I accepted all the hours I was scheduled for and did a ton of overtime without realizing it last year). Being in the throes of negotiating the right not to have to work any extra hours next semester and exceed my contract requirements, I'm definitely experiencing some fun surprise revelations regarding my job description, all of which were mysteriously not the case last year but are all, of course, highly convenient and all to my employer's advantage.
As I am fond of saying to other anglophones, it's no coincidence that Beckett wrote in French because everything is arbitrarily cloaked in mystery and the French administration only reveals little tidbits about your job, life, tax declaration, etc. one by one, much like a treasure hunt or a slow tantalizing striptease over the years and you, of course, never have all the information you need when you need it. The French bureaucratic universe really doesn't make any sense and seems mainly to be comprised of Rules That I Just Made Up. I once went to my bank 3 times within a 2 week period to make cash withdraws in person while I was waiting for a new ATM card and every single time, there was a different process to follow to make my withdraw. Psychotic, non?
On my way home today, I tried to imagine our linguistics professor's job. Who knows if she understands her contract or not, but when she takes the metro, she must always be on professional red alert. A large part of her class-- and I enjoy it a lot-- seems to be spotting metro ads with complicated linguistic puns that she can then make her students analyze and classify phonetically and phonemically. I like this because it is also about decoding a foreign system and often also includes new spelling rules that someone just made up. The ads are often way easier to understand than job contracts and French bureaucracy and at least the professor is there to explain them. Universities everywhere would probably have to stop teaching linguistics classes if advertising were suddenly banned from the metro. And there would probably be some convenient new line added to someone's job description to justify it.
I liked her observation a lot about the French job description and hard work they must do to maintain cultural stereotypes, because as far as I can tell, no one in France really has a concrete job description-- my contract doesn't explain vital pieces of infomation like my salary or how many hours I really have to teach each semester (hence the reason I accepted all the hours I was scheduled for and did a ton of overtime without realizing it last year). Being in the throes of negotiating the right not to have to work any extra hours next semester and exceed my contract requirements, I'm definitely experiencing some fun surprise revelations regarding my job description, all of which were mysteriously not the case last year but are all, of course, highly convenient and all to my employer's advantage.
As I am fond of saying to other anglophones, it's no coincidence that Beckett wrote in French because everything is arbitrarily cloaked in mystery and the French administration only reveals little tidbits about your job, life, tax declaration, etc. one by one, much like a treasure hunt or a slow tantalizing striptease over the years and you, of course, never have all the information you need when you need it. The French bureaucratic universe really doesn't make any sense and seems mainly to be comprised of Rules That I Just Made Up. I once went to my bank 3 times within a 2 week period to make cash withdraws in person while I was waiting for a new ATM card and every single time, there was a different process to follow to make my withdraw. Psychotic, non?
On my way home today, I tried to imagine our linguistics professor's job. Who knows if she understands her contract or not, but when she takes the metro, she must always be on professional red alert. A large part of her class-- and I enjoy it a lot-- seems to be spotting metro ads with complicated linguistic puns that she can then make her students analyze and classify phonetically and phonemically. I like this because it is also about decoding a foreign system and often also includes new spelling rules that someone just made up. The ads are often way easier to understand than job contracts and French bureaucracy and at least the professor is there to explain them. Universities everywhere would probably have to stop teaching linguistics classes if advertising were suddenly banned from the metro. And there would probably be some convenient new line added to someone's job description to justify it.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Coffee Flavored Contradictions
I flipflop back in forth and lose myself in contradictions of the bittersweet espresso variety. Life in Paris is a coffee-flavored dream come true and I really have nothing to complain about-- only 12 hours of teaching at the university, which I must admit, is not the most demanding of jobs; I now no longer comprehend how people can stand to be away from home 8 hours a day, 5 days a week; I have the leisure time to take a linguistics class that I like, I have friends of all different nationalities and extracurricular activities like going to Picasso or Impressionist pastel exhibits and seeing any of 600 movies playing in town.
However, this semi-charmed kind of life takes its toll-- I miss an office and seeing coworkers regularly instead of students and having more of a raison d'etre than deciding who gets to pass my class and who doesn't. Despite only 12 hours of teaching per week, I'm constantly preparing my classes, constantly behind on grading and consistently unproductive 2 days out of the week and then trying to finish everything wednesdays before my Thursday-Friday "workweek" starts. I feel idle and embarassed that I don't have a job to go to every day yet, also stressed and rushed because my supposedly minimal workload is always more that I thought it would be, and always draining at the end of the day but also highly unrewarding for me. Despite being lucky enough to have a part-time job that I can support myself with, I don't appreciate it. I look forward to the end of my contract because it's one of the least satisfying jobs I've ever had and teaching will never be my vocation, like I once hoped it would be, although, unfortunately, it seems to be the only job that France has decided I am qualified to do.
I often feel like my life has evolved a lot over the years, and yet I also feel like nothing's changed. Just like when I was a 22-year old college grad 8 years ago, I'm still looking for the perfect job, the perfect apartment and the perfect boyfriend. Instead of these things, what I've found, with all its coffee and contradictions, is Paris.
However, this semi-charmed kind of life takes its toll-- I miss an office and seeing coworkers regularly instead of students and having more of a raison d'etre than deciding who gets to pass my class and who doesn't. Despite only 12 hours of teaching per week, I'm constantly preparing my classes, constantly behind on grading and consistently unproductive 2 days out of the week and then trying to finish everything wednesdays before my Thursday-Friday "workweek" starts. I feel idle and embarassed that I don't have a job to go to every day yet, also stressed and rushed because my supposedly minimal workload is always more that I thought it would be, and always draining at the end of the day but also highly unrewarding for me. Despite being lucky enough to have a part-time job that I can support myself with, I don't appreciate it. I look forward to the end of my contract because it's one of the least satisfying jobs I've ever had and teaching will never be my vocation, like I once hoped it would be, although, unfortunately, it seems to be the only job that France has decided I am qualified to do.
I often feel like my life has evolved a lot over the years, and yet I also feel like nothing's changed. Just like when I was a 22-year old college grad 8 years ago, I'm still looking for the perfect job, the perfect apartment and the perfect boyfriend. Instead of these things, what I've found, with all its coffee and contradictions, is Paris.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Random Acts of Kindness
I've become somewhat cynical-- ok, extremely cynical-- about human nature after living in Paris for 2 years. I often joke that if I were to design a video game about living here, the object of the game would be to be as rude as possible to others in public places. For example, you'd get points for each time you bumped into someone on the sidewalk-- especially if there was plenty of room on either side of them and you could have easily avoided a gratuitous elbow jab. You'd get points each time you pushed someone on the metro, each time you sighed in frustration (there's a lot of melodramatic huffing and puffing to express general annoyance in Paris) and each time you said "pardon" in the rudest tone of voice possible and stalked past a group of confused elderly tourists stopped in the middle of the metro platform just to make sure they understood that you find them the most obnoxious creatures known to man, regardless of how much foreign money they pump into your local economy.
If you were a waiter, you'd get bonus points for each time you refused to bring clients the (free) carafe d'eau they ordered or refused to let them come in and just have a coffee between 12 and 1 pm at your restaurant because all the empty tables at that time are reserved only for imaginary hypothetical people who have not yet arrived, but there's a possibility that they might and they would order the whole overpriced brunch, which is often around 20 euros and you would therefore make more than 3 euros on these clients. It's kind of an all-or-nothing gamble of a business strategy and honestly, only Parisians would pay so much money for so little food. 20 euro brunch in Paris is essentially a glass of orange juice, coffee and yogurt and maybe a croissant, if you're lucky.
However, you'd get even more bonus points for random acts of kindness which are rare and miraculous in any capital city, but especially this one. I recently witnessed 2 and I now treasure these small considerate gestures in a city where the public sphere is often exasperating. On the RER last week-- and bare in mind that everyone is especially hateful towards others on public transit-- a foreign woman asked a French guy which stop Chatelet was. He said he thought it was in 2 stops, but then he got up and went downstairs to check the map and confirm. He then told her the names of all the stops before Chatelet and that he'd tell her when they were at Chatelet so that she knew when to get off.
I, of course, assumed that he would then ask for her phone number, or get off with her at Chatelet to follow and harass her and demand sexual favors in return. French men have an overdeveloped sense of entitlement when it comes to women and sex. For example, making eye contact or-- heaven help you-- smiling at a French guy will often result in extreme harassment and the assumption that after such provocative behavior, you clearly owe them some kind of sexual experience. However, RER Guy did not follow the tourist or ask which hotel she was staying at or even ask her phone number. Instead, he politely indicated which stop was Chatelet and wished her a good day when she got off. Wow, I thought, there's at least one decent guy on this train. Maybe there are even others, if he has brothers.
I was the direct recipient of the second recent random act of kindness, making it all the more extraordinary. I went to the Picasso exhibit at the Grand Palais Monday night with a friend and her coworker. Marion had a free pass that was good for 2 people, but since there were 3 of us, Marion and her friend were going to go in and buy her friend's ticket and then we would try to enter all together. However, the guy behind me in line has the same pass and no guest with him, so he offered to let me go in with him for free. He was really nice and he'd already seen the exhibit and told me which paintings were his favorites. He didn't hit on me, or imply that I owed him anything in return and after we entered together, we amicably went our seperate ways. After such rare and noble behaviour in a French man, I was actually somewhat disappointed that he hadn't asked for my phone number. I decided later that I should have offered to take him out for coffee to thank him.
I'd like to say to the stranger at the museum, thank you again and sorry I wasn't bold enough to offer you a coffee. I've resolved that if a stranger is ever nice to me again in Paris, I will not hesitate to propose a cafe de remerciement because positive reinforcement is the only way to encourage and reward desirable behavior, as any of the dog trainers from my last job would tell you. I also promptly decided that I wanted to get that same pass (a carte sesame, I think it's called) and that I like to think that I too would enable strangers to see world renowned exhibits for free when I didn't already have a guest with me. The ruder and more hostile your urban environment is, the more important it is to pay it forward. And that would be the only way to win my video game.
If you were a waiter, you'd get bonus points for each time you refused to bring clients the (free) carafe d'eau they ordered or refused to let them come in and just have a coffee between 12 and 1 pm at your restaurant because all the empty tables at that time are reserved only for imaginary hypothetical people who have not yet arrived, but there's a possibility that they might and they would order the whole overpriced brunch, which is often around 20 euros and you would therefore make more than 3 euros on these clients. It's kind of an all-or-nothing gamble of a business strategy and honestly, only Parisians would pay so much money for so little food. 20 euro brunch in Paris is essentially a glass of orange juice, coffee and yogurt and maybe a croissant, if you're lucky.
However, you'd get even more bonus points for random acts of kindness which are rare and miraculous in any capital city, but especially this one. I recently witnessed 2 and I now treasure these small considerate gestures in a city where the public sphere is often exasperating. On the RER last week-- and bare in mind that everyone is especially hateful towards others on public transit-- a foreign woman asked a French guy which stop Chatelet was. He said he thought it was in 2 stops, but then he got up and went downstairs to check the map and confirm. He then told her the names of all the stops before Chatelet and that he'd tell her when they were at Chatelet so that she knew when to get off.
I, of course, assumed that he would then ask for her phone number, or get off with her at Chatelet to follow and harass her and demand sexual favors in return. French men have an overdeveloped sense of entitlement when it comes to women and sex. For example, making eye contact or-- heaven help you-- smiling at a French guy will often result in extreme harassment and the assumption that after such provocative behavior, you clearly owe them some kind of sexual experience. However, RER Guy did not follow the tourist or ask which hotel she was staying at or even ask her phone number. Instead, he politely indicated which stop was Chatelet and wished her a good day when she got off. Wow, I thought, there's at least one decent guy on this train. Maybe there are even others, if he has brothers.
I was the direct recipient of the second recent random act of kindness, making it all the more extraordinary. I went to the Picasso exhibit at the Grand Palais Monday night with a friend and her coworker. Marion had a free pass that was good for 2 people, but since there were 3 of us, Marion and her friend were going to go in and buy her friend's ticket and then we would try to enter all together. However, the guy behind me in line has the same pass and no guest with him, so he offered to let me go in with him for free. He was really nice and he'd already seen the exhibit and told me which paintings were his favorites. He didn't hit on me, or imply that I owed him anything in return and after we entered together, we amicably went our seperate ways. After such rare and noble behaviour in a French man, I was actually somewhat disappointed that he hadn't asked for my phone number. I decided later that I should have offered to take him out for coffee to thank him.
I'd like to say to the stranger at the museum, thank you again and sorry I wasn't bold enough to offer you a coffee. I've resolved that if a stranger is ever nice to me again in Paris, I will not hesitate to propose a cafe de remerciement because positive reinforcement is the only way to encourage and reward desirable behavior, as any of the dog trainers from my last job would tell you. I also promptly decided that I wanted to get that same pass (a carte sesame, I think it's called) and that I like to think that I too would enable strangers to see world renowned exhibits for free when I didn't already have a guest with me. The ruder and more hostile your urban environment is, the more important it is to pay it forward. And that would be the only way to win my video game.
Monday, December 08, 2008
Goodbyes and bad love songs
I've been listening to this crooner James Blunt song called "Goodbye, my lover"-- I'm really not a fan, he's just somehow wildly popular in France-- but I suddenly find it achingly and heartbreakingly beautiful because of its use of the present perfect tense. It changes everything to say "you have been the one for me" instead of "you were". It implies that the singer is still in love with his ex because as any one of my students will tell you, we use the present perfect to describe experience and things that began in the past but continue into the present.
Unfortunately, the present is rarely perfect and sometimes you just have to change tenses.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wVyggTKDcOE
Unfortunately, the present is rarely perfect and sometimes you just have to change tenses.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wVyggTKDcOE
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