Francoise, who shares the name (and a country of origin) with a favorite Kirkwood mom of mine, is a teacher who believes that it should not be that hard for me to get internet, really. I have not checked in with her lately, but last time I checked she had asked the computer man -- who is always happy, according to her…and also according to her, and I am inclined to agree, his overt, blatant, unclandestine happiness quite sets him apart from the average teacher at La Martin --- if it wouldn’t be too hard to extend the nurse connection (the nurses office is below me, yes I’ve been researching) into our dorms…he said it’d be actually really easy (!) – all we need is to drill a hole in the floor. The hard part, however, is getting some French mechanic to come and drill the hole. I admit, in the twilight hours when I’ve listened to everysinglesong in my itunes library for the 5th time, I have had dark thoughts of taking to that floor with my blunt butter knife, but I have resisted. Will Francoise cut the red tape and do the diplomacy dance to get internet (I believe it is a right, france believes it’s a nuisance/privilege? No way) to poor teaching assistants? We’ll see.
I am American! I am made to be intrepid and cross rough terrain and discover new things. My ancestors were revolutionaries! I think some of them were Puritans! They cut My people have a long legacy of cutting red tape! Though recently I’ll admit, we’ve been pretty good at creating a bit of the red tape ourselves, also ok, my ancestors did some pretty crappy things too, witch trials and slavery probably the most buzz worthy Ooopsies.
Still -- if the founding fathers could say peace out to a King, I can say, hey crazy French administration and bureaucracy, let’s get some internet in my dorm room that doesn’t even have a phone. So far I can talk the talk, but we’ll see about me walking the walk. I will try to be Ben Franklin and charm the French with my love of wine and song.
In case of the need for contingencies, Plan B is becoming friends with the nurses (should I develop a chronic some sort of illness?), and getting them on my side/getting them to give me the key to the internet.
-- ps I can sneak onto the 2nd floor, but sadly, the office with internet is locked. Ok, its not sad, b/c offices need to be locked, but I would like to check my email … I am an American! --
Plan C is to somehow steal a key to the nurses office and then sneak in there to use the internet and do terrible things like, talk to my mom! Its times like these where I really wish I did have the super spy skills I have always dreamed of aquiring.
Its amazing all the time I have to think since I don’t have internet. Most of it I use to think of ways to get the internet.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Hey there lonely girl
Cell phone loss = solitary weekend...it wasn't cool when I felt like I was sortof experiencing poverty first hand, but it was cool when I tried to pretend like I was abraham lincoln. Though I did have electricity.
I think karma was trying to tell me something the Friday b/c that’s when I left/lost my cell phone somewhere in Lyon. That sucked. What also sucked was that the next day there was a bus strike, so I couldn’t really get ANYWHERE, and was stuck on my ghetto, but more importantly – my not very vibrant hill for a whole day.
I think I read a LOT of Pillars of the Earth, which is a book I really didn’t like very much…sorry to friends and family that liked it, I will never get those 1000 pages worth of my life back! But it did offer me a nice distraction from cell phone loss panic and utter boredom. I probably could’ve profited more from practicing the guitar so I could move up the skill ladder to being mediocre, but I read that frickin book. By about page 600 or so I realized I sorta hated it for various reasons (the main one being that the characters were too one sided, and predictable…the other reason having something to do with way graphic gratuitous rape scenes, euw) – but you can’t very well quite 600 pages in! Anyway, I have since released it on bookcrossing.com on my birthday, but I think it died in the rain.
I think karma was trying to tell me something the Friday b/c that’s when I left/lost my cell phone somewhere in Lyon. That sucked. What also sucked was that the next day there was a bus strike, so I couldn’t really get ANYWHERE, and was stuck on my ghetto, but more importantly – my not very vibrant hill for a whole day.
I think I read a LOT of Pillars of the Earth, which is a book I really didn’t like very much…sorry to friends and family that liked it, I will never get those 1000 pages worth of my life back! But it did offer me a nice distraction from cell phone loss panic and utter boredom. I probably could’ve profited more from practicing the guitar so I could move up the skill ladder to being mediocre, but I read that frickin book. By about page 600 or so I realized I sorta hated it for various reasons (the main one being that the characters were too one sided, and predictable…the other reason having something to do with way graphic gratuitous rape scenes, euw) – but you can’t very well quite 600 pages in! Anyway, I have since released it on bookcrossing.com on my birthday, but I think it died in the rain.
Air Force water polo california dude and other Austrians for dinner
I came home from wherever I was on Friday evening to find doris’ 2 friends and their cool water polo player friend, who was from California! How exciting!
He’s some air force academy drop-out, who plays water polo but really wants to be a writer or something…I can dig it. I remember saying specifically that when I was talking to him, “I dig” I think is what I said – and Doris was like, what’s that mean? And I felt sortof lame/awesome for unconsciously using the verb “dig” in everyday conversation with another American. I use weird words. Anyway, we had some lovely noodles, and some lovely pink wine drinks, and we were off to see the light show.
I personally was like, wow to the lights, but I wasn't super impressed. Agnes, my awesome teacher friend (that's her official title), says 4,000 or something people come (maybe it was million, but thats crazay) to see the lights and that this year she wasn't so impressed. I just thought I wasn't european enough to appreciate them, but apparently they were just not that appreciable this year. This is good, b/c I felt bad not being impressed!
Fete des Lumieres - Festival of lights!
Good times with Holly, the Italian duo of silvia and Carl, who I found out went to washU, holla! Represent! I heard he wants to move back to new york = lame! But its home to him, so its ok.
As for the lights, they were cool, but they were a little bit eurotastic. So I figured that the fact that the light display with the techno music and bubble sounds on a super old fountain was pretty much just sorta neat to me was b/c I am American and vulgar and used to super special effects when it comes to light shows…that are usually, if not always, to the tune of great hairbands of the 80s, namely Aerosmith, or like, Bon Jovi. So to the cathedral in lights with techno sounds an monks chanting coming out of the speakers I was mostly just reminded of how awesome that laser light show about recycling was at the “new” St. Louis Science center.
Though the cathedral lights were cool, but I think I should’ve done some drugs or something to fully enjoy it, and unfortunately for the light show, I am not big on the drugs. Being high on life didn’t help either!
But the whole light theme was to thank Mary (as in Jesus' mom) for saving Lyon from "la peste" which, from my best guestimate, was the Plague! oooo, spooky. But well worth the gratitude, albeit gratitude in the form of crazy euro lightshows.
As for the lights, they were cool, but they were a little bit eurotastic. So I figured that the fact that the light display with the techno music and bubble sounds on a super old fountain was pretty much just sorta neat to me was b/c I am American and vulgar and used to super special effects when it comes to light shows…that are usually, if not always, to the tune of great hairbands of the 80s, namely Aerosmith, or like, Bon Jovi. So to the cathedral in lights with techno sounds an monks chanting coming out of the speakers I was mostly just reminded of how awesome that laser light show about recycling was at the “new” St. Louis Science center.
Though the cathedral lights were cool, but I think I should’ve done some drugs or something to fully enjoy it, and unfortunately for the light show, I am not big on the drugs. Being high on life didn’t help either!
But the whole light theme was to thank Mary (as in Jesus' mom) for saving Lyon from "la peste" which, from my best guestimate, was the Plague! oooo, spooky. But well worth the gratitude, albeit gratitude in the form of crazy euro lightshows.
Purpose?
I think I have found my purpose somewhere in between gonzo-pinko marketing and New Orleans. These sorts of thoughts aren’t for this blog, but its pretty exciting to have a purpose, more or less.
I just finished The Cluetrain Manifesto and Gonzo Marketing, and I gotta say, I am picking up what those cats are putting down!
Montbelliard - archeologists and dreamy prince people
Dear Montbelliard, France:
You and your Christmas market were sortof an interesting antidote to my hangover. Though I had to carry my laptop all through you, I thank you for bringing me and the Leather Pouch Prince together for brief eye contact. I sorta got lost in his big French eyes when I first saw him, it was a little shocking. He is probably the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in person (Emilie agrees), and now I own a leather pouch he made, and its super useful! He really did look like some sort of dark prince or something, but like, he would eventually meet a princess and they would have a festival, etc…but really he was just a leather man! When he called me mademoiselle, it was something truly special. I am really stumbling with expressing how cute this French dude was. Just imagine…he was like, fairy tale, hellooooooo. But he just made leather pouches (damn nice ones, ps, and at a reasonable price).
Montbelliard was home to a famous anthropologist, but I was more into their cool pizzas, and how the whole alsacian + French genepool concept had really done wonders for montbelliard, which would make me dare to call it the most attractive city in france, thus far. Everyone looked like princes! Even the old dudes eating interesting cheese sandwiches in the Christmas market tent.
I saw a statue I decided looked like Emilie’s dad, I got some cheese potatoes that were sorta gross, but sorta good, we talked to funny weird pizza makers who were very friendly and funny (yay, normal funny and friendly people) and we had some beer, b/c hey, Montbelliard is near Germany.
The singing Marseilles football hooligans was really just an added bonus, though I was a little overwhelmed by them when I was like, hungover and carrying the laptop and like, sorta angry in general at the air for being so hard to breathe, etc…..Still, Emilie and I decided that our pretty much fav thing about Europe that you really can’t find in the states is their propensity to sing whenever possible, and their stock of songs for most every (drinking) occasion. Sure, we’ve covered the xmas tune market, and the pop music, sure, but for old fashioned drinking songs (and the real embarrassment-free willingness, if not enthusiasm to sing them…) there’s not place like the Big E.
I heart you Montbelliard. If you’re out there leather pouch prince, I sortof heart you, too.
I need to write me some drinking songs to sing in the USA, dude. My buddy doris even knows a drinking song about her region…from what I know of it, it rules. I want a regional song to sing when I drink! The Missouri waltz could do…I should learn it.
You and your Christmas market were sortof an interesting antidote to my hangover. Though I had to carry my laptop all through you, I thank you for bringing me and the Leather Pouch Prince together for brief eye contact. I sorta got lost in his big French eyes when I first saw him, it was a little shocking. He is probably the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in person (Emilie agrees), and now I own a leather pouch he made, and its super useful! He really did look like some sort of dark prince or something, but like, he would eventually meet a princess and they would have a festival, etc…but really he was just a leather man! When he called me mademoiselle, it was something truly special. I am really stumbling with expressing how cute this French dude was. Just imagine…he was like, fairy tale, hellooooooo. But he just made leather pouches (damn nice ones, ps, and at a reasonable price).
Montbelliard was home to a famous anthropologist, but I was more into their cool pizzas, and how the whole alsacian + French genepool concept had really done wonders for montbelliard, which would make me dare to call it the most attractive city in france, thus far. Everyone looked like princes! Even the old dudes eating interesting cheese sandwiches in the Christmas market tent.
I saw a statue I decided looked like Emilie’s dad, I got some cheese potatoes that were sorta gross, but sorta good, we talked to funny weird pizza makers who were very friendly and funny (yay, normal funny and friendly people) and we had some beer, b/c hey, Montbelliard is near Germany.
The singing Marseilles football hooligans was really just an added bonus, though I was a little overwhelmed by them when I was like, hungover and carrying the laptop and like, sorta angry in general at the air for being so hard to breathe, etc…..Still, Emilie and I decided that our pretty much fav thing about Europe that you really can’t find in the states is their propensity to sing whenever possible, and their stock of songs for most every (drinking) occasion. Sure, we’ve covered the xmas tune market, and the pop music, sure, but for old fashioned drinking songs (and the real embarrassment-free willingness, if not enthusiasm to sing them…) there’s not place like the Big E.
I heart you Montbelliard. If you’re out there leather pouch prince, I sortof heart you, too.
I need to write me some drinking songs to sing in the USA, dude. My buddy doris even knows a drinking song about her region…from what I know of it, it rules. I want a regional song to sing when I drink! The Missouri waltz could do…I should learn it.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
I want this shirt
And a lot of others, too.
dirtycoast.com
I was worried about America today.
There's been too much drama going on in the states, and I hope we don't pass out from it all - that's all I've got to say to that. I would welcome some news updates from my homies...an email from a friend is way better than some creepy youtube video linked from a Slate.com article.
Mad shout out to the Violand's of Austria - who have internet access and have thus enabled me to talk to my sister and friends and family!
I salute you!
Gemutlicheit is my favorite german/austrian word ever, ps.
dirtycoast.com
I was worried about America today.
There's been too much drama going on in the states, and I hope we don't pass out from it all - that's all I've got to say to that. I would welcome some news updates from my homies...an email from a friend is way better than some creepy youtube video linked from a Slate.com article.
Mad shout out to the Violand's of Austria - who have internet access and have thus enabled me to talk to my sister and friends and family!
I salute you!
Gemutlicheit is my favorite german/austrian word ever, ps.
Morteau - land of watches and cows
And Emilie!
We had a lovely time in foggy Morteau! I arrived late thursday night, after I left early from the class that drew me a lovely picture.
Needless to say, another 10 minutes with those hooligans - 10 minutes that might make me late for a cheese drenched weekend in the french/swiss/german/alscace countryside - was really not on my to do list. So i left! And I got to Morteau in the fog and we went to the Terminus bar --- its called the Term if you are in the know like Miss Emilie. We chilled in the smoke-laden air, but before my contacts began to feel like Morteauciean sausages on my eyeballs, we met some locals!
Score!
They were nice dudes, and very encouraging of my not so perfect french, and keen to listen to emilie's pretty much perfect french.
The one guy who introduced himself awkwardly apologized for being of arab descent, which was a little weird b-c at first me and Em had no clue why he was apologizing and when we realized why he was apologizing....well, we still had no clue why he was apologizing.
A beer later we went back to Emilie's dorm and I passed out while she had to get up for class in the morning...yuck. But it was worth it, as now we had some local homeys.
After delicious morteauacien specialties with her buddy Ruven - "Groovy Ruvy" in some circles - we went to play board games like taboo and Uno with Emilie's teacher friend/colleagues. This one french dude kept on cussing like all the time in french and for that, I loved him. He was funny. What was his name Emilie? I tried some Pastis, and it looked like slime and tasted a little bit like licorice soap, but its something that I am not ashamed to say, I could enjoy from time to time with very little grimace.
The next day, we went for a walk? Did we? I can't remember, but it was a totally awesome walk. Hills and little houses, and random fountains and the obligatory WW1 memorial statue. And chickens, too!
We had a lovely time in foggy Morteau! I arrived late thursday night, after I left early from the class that drew me a lovely picture.
Needless to say, another 10 minutes with those hooligans - 10 minutes that might make me late for a cheese drenched weekend in the french/swiss/german/alscace countryside - was really not on my to do list. So i left! And I got to Morteau in the fog and we went to the Terminus bar --- its called the Term if you are in the know like Miss Emilie. We chilled in the smoke-laden air, but before my contacts began to feel like Morteauciean sausages on my eyeballs, we met some locals!
Score!
They were nice dudes, and very encouraging of my not so perfect french, and keen to listen to emilie's pretty much perfect french.
The one guy who introduced himself awkwardly apologized for being of arab descent, which was a little weird b-c at first me and Em had no clue why he was apologizing and when we realized why he was apologizing....well, we still had no clue why he was apologizing.
A beer later we went back to Emilie's dorm and I passed out while she had to get up for class in the morning...yuck. But it was worth it, as now we had some local homeys.
After delicious morteauacien specialties with her buddy Ruven - "Groovy Ruvy" in some circles - we went to play board games like taboo and Uno with Emilie's teacher friend/colleagues. This one french dude kept on cussing like all the time in french and for that, I loved him. He was funny. What was his name Emilie? I tried some Pastis, and it looked like slime and tasted a little bit like licorice soap, but its something that I am not ashamed to say, I could enjoy from time to time with very little grimace.
The next day, we went for a walk? Did we? I can't remember, but it was a totally awesome walk. Hills and little houses, and random fountains and the obligatory WW1 memorial statue. And chickens, too!
Monday, January 01, 2007
I´m Back
Does anyone get why that title is particularly resonant? I´ll tell you why! Bc Im in Austria! And guess who else is from Austria???
Arnold Schwartzennegger, dudes.
I spelled it wrong, but i am not going to google the governator just so make sure i spelled it right.
I´m bummed at myself for slacking on the updating...I hope you will be ok if I go out of chronological order. Blogs are better with the short and frequent posts, I know. If I were in america wondering what I was doing, I would be very mad at myself for not just taking some time to update!!!
I had so much to share before xmas time, and now Ive been in like a million places and seen a million things and definitely heard a million (or more) words that I totally did not understand.
Also, Im going to start using the map feature on my flickr account, get excited!!! This means that you will be able to see exactly where the picture was taken on a map! Internet!!!!!
Anyway, since we last talked Ive been to the countryside of france, where people are cuter, and its very quaint and full of cows, Ive travelled to Italy - Novarra, Milan, Verona, Venice... and now I am in Austria, Breggens to be exact and I had an old ladz get mad at me in german bc I walked too slow, and I spent new years eve in Innsbruck, Austria, which is really pretty and in the mountains and I got a cool Tyrolean Hat! I never knew what Tyrolean meant, but now I do!!! I also think that tyrolean hat wikipedia entry needs some TLC courtesy of me.
So yeah, Ill see you blog readers soon(mom, blythe, who else? If you feel like lettin´me know you read my blog, lay a lil' comment on down, I'll be able to tailor my entries to your whims more easily if I know who "you" are)!
Happy 2007!
Wooo! Best year ever!
Arnold Schwartzennegger, dudes.
I spelled it wrong, but i am not going to google the governator just so make sure i spelled it right.
I´m bummed at myself for slacking on the updating...I hope you will be ok if I go out of chronological order. Blogs are better with the short and frequent posts, I know. If I were in america wondering what I was doing, I would be very mad at myself for not just taking some time to update!!!
I had so much to share before xmas time, and now Ive been in like a million places and seen a million things and definitely heard a million (or more) words that I totally did not understand.
Also, Im going to start using the map feature on my flickr account, get excited!!! This means that you will be able to see exactly where the picture was taken on a map! Internet!!!!!
Anyway, since we last talked Ive been to the countryside of france, where people are cuter, and its very quaint and full of cows, Ive travelled to Italy - Novarra, Milan, Verona, Venice... and now I am in Austria, Breggens to be exact and I had an old ladz get mad at me in german bc I walked too slow, and I spent new years eve in Innsbruck, Austria, which is really pretty and in the mountains and I got a cool Tyrolean Hat! I never knew what Tyrolean meant, but now I do!!! I also think that tyrolean hat wikipedia entry needs some TLC courtesy of me.
So yeah, Ill see you blog readers soon(mom, blythe, who else? If you feel like lettin´me know you read my blog, lay a lil' comment on down, I'll be able to tailor my entries to your whims more easily if I know who "you" are)!
Happy 2007!
Wooo! Best year ever!
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Internet fun
Ok, I think that blogs that devolve into lists of links are sortof on the lamer side,but I want those who want to know to...um, know what I know. As far as websites are concerned.
So, in lieu of actually posting about some of the shenanigans I've been up to (not too much, but I have been to see some cool french mountains/people) ...here are some fun websites i've been lookin' at of late.
http://stlschools.org
this is neat. Forces of good are good!
http://www.threadless.com/product/383/The_Communist_Party
also neat, fun shirts galore on this site, and I think they're a force for good somehow, though I havn't figured out HOW specifically. Props, though!
http://wikilou.com/wiki/index.php/Highway_44
I'm pretty proud of this.
http://www.zappos.com/n/p/dp/19284384/c/88882.html
Dream Boots
http://www.myspace.com/jasonmraz
I love Jason Mraz's cover of Winter Wonderland
http://www.like.com
helped me to find my beat up target boots only higher quality, though I think the price is too high -- I would show you pictures but the computer says, No. I tried uploading fun screen captures to flickr, but until my computer and I take a field trip to one of 2 nice internet cafes (wah wah, europe is not like America...duh, its just annoying sometimes), no dice, homeslice. Poet! Anyway, go on like.com, its pretty fun actually.
I would like to link them all here : http://ma.gnolia.com/ but that could prove hard, and I don't know if my computer (I.E. the only computer in all of this high school with the ability to process a USB port, I.E. the only computer I know of with MicrosoftXP - i kid you not) can take it, really.
Ok, 'tis all for now! More soon.
So, in lieu of actually posting about some of the shenanigans I've been up to (not too much, but I have been to see some cool french mountains/people) ...here are some fun websites i've been lookin' at of late.
http://stlschools.org
this is neat. Forces of good are good!
http://www.threadless.com/product/383/The_Communist_Party
also neat, fun shirts galore on this site, and I think they're a force for good somehow, though I havn't figured out HOW specifically. Props, though!
http://wikilou.com/wiki/index.php/Highway_44
I'm pretty proud of this.
http://www.zappos.com/n/p/dp/19284384/c/88882.html
Dream Boots
http://www.myspace.com/jasonmraz
I love Jason Mraz's cover of Winter Wonderland
http://www.like.com
helped me to find my beat up target boots only higher quality, though I think the price is too high -- I would show you pictures but the computer says, No. I tried uploading fun screen captures to flickr, but until my computer and I take a field trip to one of 2 nice internet cafes (wah wah, europe is not like America...duh, its just annoying sometimes), no dice, homeslice. Poet! Anyway, go on like.com, its pretty fun actually.
I would like to link them all here : http://ma.gnolia.com/ but that could prove hard, and I don't know if my computer (I.E. the only computer in all of this high school with the ability to process a USB port, I.E. the only computer I know of with MicrosoftXP - i kid you not) can take it, really.
Ok, 'tis all for now! More soon.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Pepe Le Pew - suprisingly accurate portrayal?
Oh french people - you do not really act like Pepe LePew - the influence that led to my studying french... speedy Gonzales just was not as charismatic as Pepe, face it (though he was speedier) -- , but sometimes when you sortof do(especially you creeper french dudes), its makes all fans of WB cartoons pretty stoked.
The 6th one seems to be a quite accurate scripting of many a creeper french dude's inner monologue.
“You are my peanut, I am your brittle!”
“Where are you, my little gumbo of chicken ? Your French fried shrimp is sizzling for you.”
“Permit me to introduce myself, I am your new lover.”
“Where are you, my little object of art? I am here to collect you.”
“Is it possible to be too attractive?”
“You know, most men would get discouraged by now fortunately for you, I am not most men!”
“You stop resisting me, bebe, and I’ll stop resisting you.”
“You are the corned beef, and I am the cabbage. The corned beef is nothing without the cabbage.”
“The game of love is never called on account of darkness, my little midnight snack."
“You may call me Streetcar, because of my desire for you.”
Remember how cool Pepe was? Did he ever capture that cat/capture her heart?
The 6th one seems to be a quite accurate scripting of many a creeper french dude's inner monologue.
“You are my peanut, I am your brittle!”
“Where are you, my little gumbo of chicken ? Your French fried shrimp is sizzling for you.”
“Permit me to introduce myself, I am your new lover.”
“Where are you, my little object of art? I am here to collect you.”
“Is it possible to be too attractive?”
“You know, most men would get discouraged by now fortunately for you, I am not most men!”
“You stop resisting me, bebe, and I’ll stop resisting you.”
“You are the corned beef, and I am the cabbage. The corned beef is nothing without the cabbage.”
“The game of love is never called on account of darkness, my little midnight snack."
“You may call me Streetcar, because of my desire for you.”
Remember how cool Pepe was? Did he ever capture that cat/capture her heart?
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
The Croix Rousse -
Its really a big hill! Lots of fun European steps – I’d like to chill here more often.
Doris and I spent some time singing and whining about what a yucky day it is today (it was totally raining like, all day) so we decided hey, museum! We decide upon the Contemporary art museum up by the parc. I totally hated this museum. It was all cliché pictures of downtrodden urban folk, and then the very best part was anime watercolors in graphic sexual scenarios with vulgar captions! I did like the giant room of thread with lots of mirrors, and I didn’t mind the giant anime skyscraper room where all the buildings had faces of anime girls. That was ok. The pee wee’s playhouse esque display that was mocking art’s descent into the banal was sorta cool, but like, duh. It was just old kitchy things all thrown into a room. Pee Wee did it way better. And the rest of the muse, I hated a lot. So Doris and I decide to go to a movie, since it was right next door, and still raining.
We saw scoop, it was a delicious morsel of Woody Allen (someone who, Emilie and I decided, is on the list of “People not allowed to Die”….b/c he’s just too cool). Scarlett Johannsen, I know the Woodster loves her and thinks she’s all sensual and stuff, but I really don’t see the wow factor. She’s pretty, and she seems to fit with the Allen dialogue stuff and is a good straight man for classic Woody neurosis, so ok. Hugh Jackman was smoldering, and I particularly liked how they had like, ghosts and mystery, and the Grim reaper and stuff incorporated in the whole film. It was funny, and it definitely awoke in me my life long dream of being a crime solving sleuth. So I was happy, when I saw that I’d left my hat in the theatre and was locked out, to have the opportunity to sleuth it out. I found it, and I was so proud.
Anyway, then Doris and I decided, since it was no longer raining, to just walk. And walk we did! We walked down the Rhone, and up the croix rousse. Check out these stairs, man. We walked around there, I made some notes about some places I’d like to return, and we eventually ended up at the original Martiniere, which is much more centrally located, and a building that inspired this lovely picture – whose background goes too far into the non-PC side of life (a much more fun side of life) for me to go into detail upon it.
Anyway, this walk inspired Doris and I to discover Lyon on the weekdays and to peace outta there on the weekends. May this blog soon become the guide to Europe it was meant to do. No longer will I feel bogged down by my lack of internet and uncentrally located place of residence! France is as centrally located as is necessary.
I’m excited for upcoming itineraries.
I have to cancel two classes tomorrow b/c I have to go to the French Official doctor to make sure I’m healthy enough to remain in this great country.
I now have to plan a lesson or two.
I leave you with a quote about the France from “What Makes the French so French - 50 Million Frenchmen Can’t Be Wrong” – maybe it will enlighten you as to the origins to my complaints/compliments… and maybe it will enlighten me! It looks like fun cultural studies/ethnography stuff that I really like:
“ Imagine a country where people work 35 hout weeks, take seven weeks of paid holiday a year, take an hour and a half for lunch, have the longest life expectancy in the world, and eat the richest food on the planet. A people who keep alive their local shopkeepers, who love nothing better than going to the public market on Sundays, and who finance the best health-care system in the world. A people whose companies are the least unionized and most productive among modern countries, and whose post-industrial consumer society ranks among the most prosperous in the world.
You are now in France.
Now imagine a country whose citizens have so little civic sense that it never crosses their mind to pick up after their dogs or to give to charity. Where people expect the State to do everything because they pay so much in taxes. Where service is rude. Where the State is among the most centralized and pervasive in the world, and where the civil-servant class amounts to no less than a quarter of the working population. Where citizens tolerate no form of initiative of self-rule, where unions are so pervasive that they virtually dictate the course of government and even run French ministries.
You are still in France.”
It would all seem so much more quaint if I were connected to the internet or had a land line and got to actually speak to my loved-ones more than once a month, though.
In other news, I still get really mad whenever I see BORAT posters. I just really hate him for that whole Throw the Jew in the Well business. It was just wrong on so many levels. I suppose those who like the sortof “omg I am so uncomfortable with these sad people” that produced such US hits like Napoleon Dynamite will really like it. I’m not hating, I’m just hating Borat. If you like him, laugh out loud and clear, but I really just don’t think he’s good for business.
PS everyone over here thinks Borat’s American, and that he’s like and American critiquing his own country. He’s English!
PPS I’m really tired of defending my country to everyone. I won’t tell people I’m Canadian, I will represent, but I really really really am tired of telling RANDOM PEOPLE that I meet on the street that yes, I have friends who vote Republican, and no I will not tell them that they are an asshole as you have requested, French-person-with-no-manners (b/c they’re my grandmother, and other such lovely and civic-minded people). I’m really at the point where I’ll just tell’em I’m a Republican and have them just deal with me being a good person nonetheless. Hey Republican friends, I represent for you. You are good people. Should I just refuse to talk politics? This book I’m reading talks about how France can’t be defined on any terms but it’s own – I think its safe to say that the same goes for the US of A, God bless it.
PPSS I’m going to try to wake up earlier from here on out so look for me on the I-net at around 11pm-12am and later your time, central time zoners.
PPPSS I think I’m going to go to Scotland for my birthday! !!!! yayyyy!
PSA – don’t drink more than one Carlsburg if you want to stay out more than an hour
Attention enterprising party people :
Carlsburg beer has 2+times the alcohol of normal beers, and if you try to be very legit and drink it like you’d drink normal beers, you will be sorry. I give you props for being hard core and considering doing such. You are truly legit to even think of it. But -- have one and you’re ahead of the game, sure. Have two, and it’s not going to be you having a Carlsburg, but rather it will be Carlsburg having you.
You will not know how you got so tipsy on 2 beers and you will be very angry. Just bear this in mind, and consume Carlsburg in moderation. I care about you, I don’t want you to have to learn the hard way about Carlsburg and the possible implications Carlsburg abuse could have on your social life.
Carlsburg beer has 2+times the alcohol of normal beers, and if you try to be very legit and drink it like you’d drink normal beers, you will be sorry. I give you props for being hard core and considering doing such. You are truly legit to even think of it. But -- have one and you’re ahead of the game, sure. Have two, and it’s not going to be you having a Carlsburg, but rather it will be Carlsburg having you.
You will not know how you got so tipsy on 2 beers and you will be very angry. Just bear this in mind, and consume Carlsburg in moderation. I care about you, I don’t want you to have to learn the hard way about Carlsburg and the possible implications Carlsburg abuse could have on your social life.
Thanks where thanks is due
It’s around that time where we all give thanks for that with which we are blessed, and I wanted to get in on the action. I got to thinking about those I left behind, and felt the need to express my thanks for a certain something that’s been there for me since high school, and that doesn't usually get the thank you when we make the rounds on the T-Day table.
Dear white vintage pumps,
I remember the day we met at the vintage haberdashery – I was so young. I was really excited to find vintage shoes in my size, and in such a versatile color at that! I wore you to friendship dance Junior year, but that was really only the beginning. You go with everything, and the fact that we always receive such glowing compliments when we are together only further strengthens my belief that we were truly meant to be together. With you, I can truly be myself. What we have is real.
I left you in St. Louis so that you would not be over-used and destroyed by European cobblestones. You are too precious to me, and your composition too delicate, to accompany me on such a dangerous sojourn. I could not live with myself if you were to come to harm on the rough streets of the Old World – but I wanted you to know that I still love you though I am far away, and plan on spending many more well-dressed days and nights with you.
Don’t forget me while I am gone.
Yours always,
Lori
Dear white vintage pumps,
I remember the day we met at the vintage haberdashery – I was so young. I was really excited to find vintage shoes in my size, and in such a versatile color at that! I wore you to friendship dance Junior year, but that was really only the beginning. You go with everything, and the fact that we always receive such glowing compliments when we are together only further strengthens my belief that we were truly meant to be together. With you, I can truly be myself. What we have is real.
I left you in St. Louis so that you would not be over-used and destroyed by European cobblestones. You are too precious to me, and your composition too delicate, to accompany me on such a dangerous sojourn. I could not live with myself if you were to come to harm on the rough streets of the Old World – but I wanted you to know that I still love you though I am far away, and plan on spending many more well-dressed days and nights with you.
Don’t forget me while I am gone.
Yours always,
Lori
Friday night wine parties and Hunting
Holly’s friends had a Friday night wine party, and we really brought it – literally and figuratively:
- I played baguette ball to honor STL’s world series play
- teaching doris (that's her on the right, there) all the words to Penn's excellent drinking song "drink a highball" and she taught me something in austrian
- making my shoes cuss (b/c they’re broken – the sole is detached, so I can make them talk, and I taught myself a lot of French cuss words…combine these two facts, and its comedy magic)
- weird jammers playing like, the Charleston (the guitar dude was plumber) and other such hits from the 1920s
- telling daria to only speak to me in Italian
- 3 bottles of wine somehow
- meeting the crass girl and Hensley at Flemmings (ugh Long Island)
- trying to get a taxi, being too aggressive, losing taxi to un-gallant French boys --- FYI in america, we walk in the middle of the street and no one gives a shit except us if we get hit by a car
Saturday: hangover
went to Macdo (they have beer on tap), had crepes and tea at Savannah in Vieux Lyon
( I had the Davy Crocket, it was good -- its ham, cheese, and eggs, yes!)
As we were headed to the bus, I crossed the street, almost got run over by a motorcyclist, and met some French dudes who asked me if I hunted (or so I thought, I really had NO IDEA what they said, but I’m almost certain they were speaking to me), and I mentioned Louisiana (I was wearing my Marc Broussard Tshirt, heyo!), my name, Lorie the pop star, my age, and that I am older than Lorie, and I had her name first, but his accent was like, incomprehensible, but he was cuteness and sophisticated worthiness…nice shoes, too. The only way to tell if it’s a creeper or not, I have to look at the shoes.
Boys are different everywhere, have you noticed this? OMG!
US guys would not stand up to my shoe test, but I can see behind the eyes of US boys better – frenchies its like, hm. One can never play hard to get with enough zeal in FR, considering what a commitment it can be to give anyone your number. It’s practically asking for a week-long of stalking if you give out the number....but not always...my number is in the phones of some lovely French, don’t get me wrong! But its all quite fun, b/c you really can try out those coy ice princess type moves here. I digress.
Anyway, the boys didn’t get our number, but they did say they’d see us later, and who knows if you take that literally in France. I told them, I don't hunt, but bye!
Gotta love weird awkward moments where no one’s creepy or mean -- its like falling down on the ski slope as long as you don’t get hurt or lose a ski – its just so free and funny, I love it!
Being lost in translation is sortof hilarious.
Somebody cut the red tape!
My encounter at the Prefecture -- the French equivalent of the DMV -- was actually pleasant, well planned out, and the lady that helped me actually laughed and was cheerful enough so as to not make me feel bad for being alive. I did accidentally happen upon where I think you have to go if you're an immigrant and you want papers, or something, and it wasn't too pleasant, and it was like, outside...and it seemed sortof DMV-torture-esque. Still, I give my experience, thanks to the French Dept. of Education, two American thumbs up !
Not so excited that I have to wait until the 22nd of December to get my Carte de Sejour, but hey, life’s a give and take.
La Commedia Italiana
Silvia, our Guinness-loving Italian, keeps it real when her new roommate Missouri Michael asks her if b/c she is Italian, is she therefore Communist???
“Yes Michael, I will make you red pasta, and I only drink red wine.”
She's a funny lady.
Some other points:
French guy took off his clothes in Johnny Walsh’s – the French way apparently, is to remove your clothes at any moment where it would seem gratuitous…at least that’s what Emma’s undressing soccer player friend said when she asked him why he was changing for soccer practice in front of her…. “it’s the French way!”
?
Mexican food in lyon – is that Swiss cheese on my burrito?
STL thought of the moment : How cool would a Shuttle system be for St. Louis?
Holly got eaten by a spider, we went to the Pharmacist, and she is now ok.
There was an old lady who swallowed a fly, I don’t know why she swallowed a fly – I guess she’ll die.
French people doing things I don’t understand moment:
They will not stop making out
- Especially weird when they come up for air, this one the girl starts singing “I’m your Venus” relatively loudly. Hmm?
- there's this one girl who rides my bus occasionally and she wears a rat. A LIVE one. Now, I'm all for people being able to express themselves through fashion, even if they choose bizzare ways. To those who overly judge the popped collar and the "legging" I say - hey, leave the people alone, maybe it works for them. Rats, however, I cannot condone, b/c really live rats are the one trend that I would be in danger of wearing AS WELL were such a fashion victim to pass me by and the rat to jump on me. When people with leggings walk by me, there is not chance that in that moment (though at other moments I have chosen the legging, with no shame) I too will instantaneously be sporting the legging. With rats, there is a chance.
Therefore, I do not support the wearing of rats as accessories.
“Yes Michael, I will make you red pasta, and I only drink red wine.”
She's a funny lady.
Some other points:
French guy took off his clothes in Johnny Walsh’s – the French way apparently, is to remove your clothes at any moment where it would seem gratuitous…at least that’s what Emma’s undressing soccer player friend said when she asked him why he was changing for soccer practice in front of her…. “it’s the French way!”
?
Mexican food in lyon – is that Swiss cheese on my burrito?
STL thought of the moment : How cool would a Shuttle system be for St. Louis?
Holly got eaten by a spider, we went to the Pharmacist, and she is now ok.
There was an old lady who swallowed a fly, I don’t know why she swallowed a fly – I guess she’ll die.
French people doing things I don’t understand moment:
They will not stop making out
- Especially weird when they come up for air, this one the girl starts singing “I’m your Venus” relatively loudly. Hmm?
- there's this one girl who rides my bus occasionally and she wears a rat. A LIVE one. Now, I'm all for people being able to express themselves through fashion, even if they choose bizzare ways. To those who overly judge the popped collar and the "legging" I say - hey, leave the people alone, maybe it works for them. Rats, however, I cannot condone, b/c really live rats are the one trend that I would be in danger of wearing AS WELL were such a fashion victim to pass me by and the rat to jump on me. When people with leggings walk by me, there is not chance that in that moment (though at other moments I have chosen the legging, with no shame) I too will instantaneously be sporting the legging. With rats, there is a chance.
Therefore, I do not support the wearing of rats as accessories.
Some more Points of Interest (POIs for the uninitiated)
I feel like teaching my kids strange movie monologues from Waiting for Guffmann (Saving silverman’d be next). I’ll let you know how it goes. I guess its sortof like how my parents dressed me up like a detective when I was a baby. Make it funny/fun or its sortof torture.
La Stage : our lovely introductory meeting.
It sucked, and the former assistant they chose to speak to us about her experiences was a girl from the most chic school in Lyon.
She was like, well if your kids misbehave, just tell them to stop. Yeah, ok. What a vapid-tastic answer.
Completely unhelpful, and useless meeting.
There wasn’t even free coffee and donughts at the beginning. It’s the little things you miss about the USA. We’re like, you cannot call an early meeting of any official capacity and NOT have free coffee and doughnuts (dunkin doughnuts, anyone?). Its just unheard of. I was offended (and uncaffinated).
The Bellecour city guide festival! It was called the Lancement du Petit Paume --- how does this translate? They had this giant festival in the largest square in Europe to hand out free copies of the cool Petit Paume city guide…it doesn’t have shopping, but it has a lot, and the Lyonais listen. Still, I visited Petit Paume’s website, and they don’t have a blog!?! 52nd city anyone? Though their festival is the shit, their website is sortof shit. Pardon my French! Ha. Bummer, though. Someone needs some silicon valley help.
On the subject of them not listing shopping - are there 2nd hand shops in this country? Must I be satisfied with my batman rollerskates as my sole 2nd hand purchase? I still try to believe that Lyon, like St. Louis, requires of its pioneering visitors a little effort, snooping and research before it can be fully judged as a sortof lame city without any 2nd hand stores and only 2 legit Wifi cafes. I wait before I decide the verdict.
Case not closed.
I think I'm going to go to paris this weekend.
La Stage : our lovely introductory meeting.
It sucked, and the former assistant they chose to speak to us about her experiences was a girl from the most chic school in Lyon.
She was like, well if your kids misbehave, just tell them to stop. Yeah, ok. What a vapid-tastic answer.
Completely unhelpful, and useless meeting.
There wasn’t even free coffee and donughts at the beginning. It’s the little things you miss about the USA. We’re like, you cannot call an early meeting of any official capacity and NOT have free coffee and doughnuts (dunkin doughnuts, anyone?). Its just unheard of. I was offended (and uncaffinated).
The Bellecour city guide festival! It was called the Lancement du Petit Paume --- how does this translate? They had this giant festival in the largest square in Europe to hand out free copies of the cool Petit Paume city guide…it doesn’t have shopping, but it has a lot, and the Lyonais listen. Still, I visited Petit Paume’s website, and they don’t have a blog!?! 52nd city anyone? Though their festival is the shit, their website is sortof shit. Pardon my French! Ha. Bummer, though. Someone needs some silicon valley help.
On the subject of them not listing shopping - are there 2nd hand shops in this country? Must I be satisfied with my batman rollerskates as my sole 2nd hand purchase? I still try to believe that Lyon, like St. Louis, requires of its pioneering visitors a little effort, snooping and research before it can be fully judged as a sortof lame city without any 2nd hand stores and only 2 legit Wifi cafes. I wait before I decide the verdict.
Case not closed.
I think I'm going to go to paris this weekend.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Madrid – a return to coherence,
and to authenticity!
*note the similarity between me and that bottle dude on the upper right .. hey-o!*
and to discount food and drink consumption!
(and eventually to Lyon!)
I manage to grouch the hostel breakfast fascist into giving us 2 croissants though we were 3 minutes late to breakfast. Take that! I have lived in France, I can grouch my way to what I want with the best of em. I used to nice my way…but I have learned that when in Rome…give the facists enough attitude that they’ll give you a frickin’ croissant! (that reminds me, there’s a student in my class who’s last name is Croissant. Someday he’s gointg to be Mr. Croissant! Can we just think about that?)
Then we go to Placa Del Sol, the main placa in Madrid. Madrid is, by the way, not on a grid system, so its really anyone’s best guess how to get one place to the other. We pretty much stuck to our neighborhood, and a lovely neighborhood it was! And we didn’t do so bad getting’ around, having somewhat navigated the streets of Old City in philly. We tried to go to Placa Real, the big old palace in Madrid…also known as Placa Real(ly Boring and really expensive to go inside), so we took some pictures outside and then wandered to elusive Chatas, a bar recommended by Claudia, but it was closed. So we get little toasty things somewhere else. I specifically asked for tap water, but I actually thought I saw a sea monkey in it. Whatever! Emilie really liked “salomorejo” that was on one of our toasts.
We then wandered to Placa Santa Ana, which I believe is where Hemmingway used to chill. We had beer, and I ate some olives (and they were SO GOOD). We sat next to some guys that Emilie decided were from the Netherlands, or they were Flemish. Emilie’s better at those kooky northern European Nordic languages. I was like,.. ?
Next up was fun with the Hapsburgs at the Prado. Emilie’s history teacher in high school was apt enough to point out that all the Hapsburgs were sortof pasty inbred mutant lookin’ people(come to think about it, did my history teacher mention this? I feel like he would’ve), and there were Hapsburgs to spare at the Prado – and the Hapbsburgs did not disappoint. Also saw the painting that Picasso re-did a million times called, something I forgot. There was a baby Hapsburg prominently featured! In a weird and rather unimpressive twist of fate we saw an old frat guy we both knew from Penn. It was unimpressive b/c he was not and is not awesome, so we were like, hey, fancy meeting you, yeah, peace out creeper. Anyone else we would’ve been like, hey, come jump on our magic carpet ride!
When we left the Prado it was rainin’, but that was ok, b/c bad guys don’t like rain! And we took Huertas back and we found the famed Sanabresa restaurant on the Via Del l’amor di dio or something - recommended by Claudia. We went home, had a beer, I wore the same thing and went to Sanabresa for a meal for 2 including a bottle of house wine for all of 19 euros (I tipped like, 3 euros, too – b/c at 17 euros for 2, I can afford to be a baller!)
Here’s what we had (all of which was delicious, btw):
Lori:
Paella Valencia (there were little baby crabs in it! ?)
Veal and French fries
Tarte helado (ice cream tarte, hey-o!)
Em.
Fried aubergines (eggplants)
Garlic chicken with French fries
Flan with cool little thick sweet whipped cream scoops on either side
We talked, we took our time, we drank our wine, it was just pretty much totally lovely.
We leave and we wander. We take a left. We take another left. We’re probably on huertas. It’s raining. My instincts told me to go to this little place in the middle of a somewhat deserted street, next to a Spanish tailor (I think) storefront.
Turns out this place is awesome, and by far my favorite place of the whole trip pretty much. Its sortof a bull fighting theme, but its not intentionally themed, just looks like the owners like bullfighting, and cool barfronts….unassuming, but cool. Oh I was so loving it! I made Emilie, who was anxious about her outsider status only briefly, order us up some beers. We ended up drinking a couple more sangrias (that they made up in front of us – wine, whiskey, orange juice and some fruity fruits…intense, man) and we soaked up the ambiance. I spotted some Zara-clad lady just kickin’ it with some impromptu flamenco and I knew I had found a good bar.
Though it was mostly a stand around and chill bar, there were dudes busting some virile flamenco moves in between sangrias, and drunker guys just sitting at the bar broodingly clapping to what I imagine was a flamenco rhythm (I KNOW the music was flamenco, but thats about it), though I have yet to understand how that time signature works. Who cares!?
I perfected what I like to call the “Spanish I-have-a-boyfriend face” and only had to use it a couple times and always to good result. Emilie ended up making friends with the two bartenders who loved her, just as I’d promised her when she was worried about our outsider status...what’s not to love about a blonde sweedey sweede who speaks Spanish and her not Spanish (nor Spanish speaking, but I did have a cool hat) friend just inconscpicuously chillin’ all incognito-like? There is no choice but to love that. The drinks were so CHEAP.
It was just really cool.
We wandered away before the place closed, and found the hostel, where Emilie had creepy dreams about the creepers in Goya’s painting of people renouncing Jesus. That painting, and others at the Prado, were fodder for some creepy nightmares, so it was bound to happen.
Ok, so its Friday and we were going to be leaving on a plane for Geneva in the mid afternoon so we wandered to Pull and Bear (like a Spanish urban outfitters) an other places.
Some highlights from English phrases on Spanish shirts include, “Life is short – Live it – Love it – Make it Worth,” “ Retro Explotion” and “Hair New Sound Imagine.” You gotta love that. After this linguistic adventure through the back doors of fashion, we tried to go to Chatas, only to find that it was closed AGAIN. When do Spanish people frickin’ eat lunch? It’s a mystery, it really is.
So instead we went to Taverna de Tirso Demolina…it was a challenge, but it was open, and after some debate amongst our hangry selves (hungry+angry=hangry) --- and after the waitress continuing to speak to me in super speedy Spanish even after Emilie was like, she does not speak Spanish, nada (in Spanish), and I was like, saying god knows what in Fritalian -- we decided on some seriously delicious dishes - ground chorizo peccadillo in some delicious spicy oil something, some fries with an egg on them, and some way good mushrooms in a delish salty oil sauce. Mmm. Hearty, and really the first excellent hangover food I’ve had since arriving on this, the fine continent of my ancestors.
We get back to the hostel, and head for the plane. It took some doing to get to the right gate, but we got there, and we were on the plane! I had tomato juice! Instead of taking 22 hours on a bus/train – it took us 2 hours to get to Geneva, and then only about 1 more hour from Geneva straight to Lyon.
One more night out in Lyon found us drinking extremely alcoholic beers and watching Texas play Baylor in football, meeting some crazy swiss germans, Emilie being adorably but completely wasted at Flemming’s – a place I love b/c the beer is SO COLD, its like wow, Emilie rallying after having consumed 1,000 glasses of water and after having sung some songs of the 80s classics and of the obscure Swedish band persuasion, meeting Hensley and Caroline – best friend friends ever, went to some party where we drank some more wine and danced around vintage Lori-Emilie style, went to French people sing-along/jamming and rock-out time at “Atmosphere” and then bonding with Caroline b/c she was really excited I was sortof southern (! – I love caro, she’s super cool) at “Le Bec de Jazz” – some sortof jazz club where they play Ray Charles and other ray charles-esque artists…where was Otis, I ask?, telling 2 french guys to stop talking shit IN FRENCH (arête de dire tes conneries – so gratifying, even if not altogether grammatically sound)…they got the point/were shocked (one was like, she just said that ?!?) into shutting up about how George Bush this and Iraq that…seriously make it stop, Em had some french DJ named Clement – who felt the need to tell her that he respected women for some reason -- fall in love with her, and somehow Em and I disappeared out the door, wandered into a cab with relative ease (that never happens), made it home safe and we sang a song Emilie wrote about Carlos and Emilie passed out on my floor with her cell phone in her hand.
A night well spent!
What a vacation.
*note the similarity between me and that bottle dude on the upper right .. hey-o!*
and to discount food and drink consumption!
(and eventually to Lyon!)
I manage to grouch the hostel breakfast fascist into giving us 2 croissants though we were 3 minutes late to breakfast. Take that! I have lived in France, I can grouch my way to what I want with the best of em. I used to nice my way…but I have learned that when in Rome…give the facists enough attitude that they’ll give you a frickin’ croissant! (that reminds me, there’s a student in my class who’s last name is Croissant. Someday he’s gointg to be Mr. Croissant! Can we just think about that?)
Then we go to Placa Del Sol, the main placa in Madrid. Madrid is, by the way, not on a grid system, so its really anyone’s best guess how to get one place to the other. We pretty much stuck to our neighborhood, and a lovely neighborhood it was! And we didn’t do so bad getting’ around, having somewhat navigated the streets of Old City in philly. We tried to go to Placa Real, the big old palace in Madrid…also known as Placa Real(ly Boring and really expensive to go inside), so we took some pictures outside and then wandered to elusive Chatas, a bar recommended by Claudia, but it was closed. So we get little toasty things somewhere else. I specifically asked for tap water, but I actually thought I saw a sea monkey in it. Whatever! Emilie really liked “salomorejo” that was on one of our toasts.
We then wandered to Placa Santa Ana, which I believe is where Hemmingway used to chill. We had beer, and I ate some olives (and they were SO GOOD). We sat next to some guys that Emilie decided were from the Netherlands, or they were Flemish. Emilie’s better at those kooky northern European Nordic languages. I was like,.. ?
Next up was fun with the Hapsburgs at the Prado. Emilie’s history teacher in high school was apt enough to point out that all the Hapsburgs were sortof pasty inbred mutant lookin’ people(come to think about it, did my history teacher mention this? I feel like he would’ve), and there were Hapsburgs to spare at the Prado – and the Hapbsburgs did not disappoint. Also saw the painting that Picasso re-did a million times called, something I forgot. There was a baby Hapsburg prominently featured! In a weird and rather unimpressive twist of fate we saw an old frat guy we both knew from Penn. It was unimpressive b/c he was not and is not awesome, so we were like, hey, fancy meeting you, yeah, peace out creeper. Anyone else we would’ve been like, hey, come jump on our magic carpet ride!
When we left the Prado it was rainin’, but that was ok, b/c bad guys don’t like rain! And we took Huertas back and we found the famed Sanabresa restaurant on the Via Del l’amor di dio or something - recommended by Claudia. We went home, had a beer, I wore the same thing and went to Sanabresa for a meal for 2 including a bottle of house wine for all of 19 euros (I tipped like, 3 euros, too – b/c at 17 euros for 2, I can afford to be a baller!)
Here’s what we had (all of which was delicious, btw):
Lori:
Paella Valencia (there were little baby crabs in it! ?)
Veal and French fries
Tarte helado (ice cream tarte, hey-o!)
Em.
Fried aubergines (eggplants)
Garlic chicken with French fries
Flan with cool little thick sweet whipped cream scoops on either side
We talked, we took our time, we drank our wine, it was just pretty much totally lovely.
We leave and we wander. We take a left. We take another left. We’re probably on huertas. It’s raining. My instincts told me to go to this little place in the middle of a somewhat deserted street, next to a Spanish tailor (I think) storefront.
Turns out this place is awesome, and by far my favorite place of the whole trip pretty much. Its sortof a bull fighting theme, but its not intentionally themed, just looks like the owners like bullfighting, and cool barfronts….unassuming, but cool. Oh I was so loving it! I made Emilie, who was anxious about her outsider status only briefly, order us up some beers. We ended up drinking a couple more sangrias (that they made up in front of us – wine, whiskey, orange juice and some fruity fruits…intense, man) and we soaked up the ambiance. I spotted some Zara-clad lady just kickin’ it with some impromptu flamenco and I knew I had found a good bar.
Though it was mostly a stand around and chill bar, there were dudes busting some virile flamenco moves in between sangrias, and drunker guys just sitting at the bar broodingly clapping to what I imagine was a flamenco rhythm (I KNOW the music was flamenco, but thats about it), though I have yet to understand how that time signature works. Who cares!?
I perfected what I like to call the “Spanish I-have-a-boyfriend face” and only had to use it a couple times and always to good result. Emilie ended up making friends with the two bartenders who loved her, just as I’d promised her when she was worried about our outsider status...what’s not to love about a blonde sweedey sweede who speaks Spanish and her not Spanish (nor Spanish speaking, but I did have a cool hat) friend just inconscpicuously chillin’ all incognito-like? There is no choice but to love that. The drinks were so CHEAP.
It was just really cool.
We wandered away before the place closed, and found the hostel, where Emilie had creepy dreams about the creepers in Goya’s painting of people renouncing Jesus. That painting, and others at the Prado, were fodder for some creepy nightmares, so it was bound to happen.
Ok, so its Friday and we were going to be leaving on a plane for Geneva in the mid afternoon so we wandered to Pull and Bear (like a Spanish urban outfitters) an other places.
Some highlights from English phrases on Spanish shirts include, “Life is short – Live it – Love it – Make it Worth,” “ Retro Explotion” and “Hair New Sound Imagine.” You gotta love that. After this linguistic adventure through the back doors of fashion, we tried to go to Chatas, only to find that it was closed AGAIN. When do Spanish people frickin’ eat lunch? It’s a mystery, it really is.
So instead we went to Taverna de Tirso Demolina…it was a challenge, but it was open, and after some debate amongst our hangry selves (hungry+angry=hangry) --- and after the waitress continuing to speak to me in super speedy Spanish even after Emilie was like, she does not speak Spanish, nada (in Spanish), and I was like, saying god knows what in Fritalian -- we decided on some seriously delicious dishes - ground chorizo peccadillo in some delicious spicy oil something, some fries with an egg on them, and some way good mushrooms in a delish salty oil sauce. Mmm. Hearty, and really the first excellent hangover food I’ve had since arriving on this, the fine continent of my ancestors.
We get back to the hostel, and head for the plane. It took some doing to get to the right gate, but we got there, and we were on the plane! I had tomato juice! Instead of taking 22 hours on a bus/train – it took us 2 hours to get to Geneva, and then only about 1 more hour from Geneva straight to Lyon.
One more night out in Lyon found us drinking extremely alcoholic beers and watching Texas play Baylor in football, meeting some crazy swiss germans, Emilie being adorably but completely wasted at Flemming’s – a place I love b/c the beer is SO COLD, its like wow, Emilie rallying after having consumed 1,000 glasses of water and after having sung some songs of the 80s classics and of the obscure Swedish band persuasion, meeting Hensley and Caroline – best friend friends ever, went to some party where we drank some more wine and danced around vintage Lori-Emilie style, went to French people sing-along/jamming and rock-out time at “Atmosphere” and then bonding with Caroline b/c she was really excited I was sortof southern (! – I love caro, she’s super cool) at “Le Bec de Jazz” – some sortof jazz club where they play Ray Charles and other ray charles-esque artists…where was Otis, I ask?, telling 2 french guys to stop talking shit IN FRENCH (arête de dire tes conneries – so gratifying, even if not altogether grammatically sound)…they got the point/were shocked (one was like, she just said that ?!?) into shutting up about how George Bush this and Iraq that…seriously make it stop, Em had some french DJ named Clement – who felt the need to tell her that he respected women for some reason -- fall in love with her, and somehow Em and I disappeared out the door, wandered into a cab with relative ease (that never happens), made it home safe and we sang a song Emilie wrote about Carlos and Emilie passed out on my floor with her cell phone in her hand.
A night well spent!
What a vacation.
Halloween and the morning after aftermath
Emilie and I chose to return to our ancestral roots – she was a Viking, and I was a Founding Father (more specifically Thomas Jefferson, though I do not believe I am related to him, but I have American revolutionary war connections, so hey, what’s up now?).
We met some girls from Fairfield county who knew Leigh and Lauren (my mom’s best friend from high school’s daughters who also reside in Fairfield county) and they also knew some of Emilie’s friends since they were all from the Conn.
The Fairfield Ladies were dressed as smurfs.
We went out with the oregoonies briefly with their slutty canadiennes and Australians this time around (who were in truly slutty costumes. I think they were dressed as sluts? Nurses? I was like, yeah, not gonna dress up like a slut on a street where I had, a couple nights before, seen actual prostitutes). We tried to get silent brazilian Barbara to wear Halloween sunglasses, but the concept of Halloween was lost on her. She looked like Viola from the incredibles. Emilie meowed in the street on her hands and knees once b/c she said, “mine.” She faced her sentence like a trooper, duh, and I think the oregoonies were quite taken aback and puzzled by her abundance of A game, once again. It was boring, and we weren’t going to bars and Emilie and I got so angry that we decided to
purchase a bottle of Jack and just split it. Which we did.
We wandered in an out of the hostel, talked to some smurfs, met a guy named Kenny who talked in Spanish like he was some sort of Mexican caricature. We told him that, and he may’ve been a little taken aback/confused by our frankness.
The night ended with us being rounded up and herded back into the hostel – after some wandering, and some exchanging of laughs and some Dane Cook jokes with a boy smurf on the street – by one of what we think was an employee of the hostel who was dressed like a pimp.
We found the Oregoonies – who we’d lost – at the hostel, and em and me discussed irish topics with the irish dude (who looked sortof like the KG from tenacious D, but wasn’t as funny/cool/skilled at the acoustic guitar, I would imagine, and was a redneck for Halloween….no points from me….especially not when he asked if I had any southern in me, to which I responded yes, to which he responded anyway, “well how’d you like some southern IN you tonight?!?” ugh. I think I told him not to talk to any Southern Lady like that, and I sortof killed our friendship with my poor reception of he poor taste in jokes. But then he went around yelling in some bastardized southern accent all about how he liked to bomb iraq or some crap. Oh Europe, where are you getting this crap?). Anyway, Irish got all the dates wrong (even I knew that…I can imagine Emilie was like, hello I’m a history major) and I told him that I thought the Irish Civil war had to be a lot like the American one. I think I had a bit of a drawl at this point in the evening, as sometimes happens. We ran in to some French dude in the hall who would have no part of our revelry. I got angry b/c the Oregoonies were monopolizing Emilie in their hostel room doing god knows what (it ends up they were just passed out)…so after talking to the Fairfield Smurfettes in the bathroom, Lori and Em pass the heck out, our bloodstreams most likely 50% whiskey at this point.
The next day’s breakfast was easy enough, and I should’ve known it was too good to be true. We made it to the bus station with little difficulty…
off to Madrid we went!
On the bus ride to Madrid, I’ll just say we met some creepy canadiennes who creeped the crap out of us, and I will also mention that my stomach got VERY ANGRY from all the mountain movement motion sickness and air pressure changes and omg it was terrible, not to discount the fact that there was whiskey somewhere in there, too – though I had no way of seeing any of that coming, unfortunately. It was one of the longer 7 hours of my life, and probably made the 7 hours last a little longer for those on the bus with me.
I tried to think of Don Quixote fighting windmills (would you believe me if I told you I almost put down treadmills instead of windmills?) whenever I felt like any dream was an impossible dream.
It really was a crazy landscape. Very Arizona. Spain, what a concept!
In the meantime, Emilie, the Sancho to my Don Quixote (or maybe it was the other way around) went on an enviously day-long chorizo binge.
After some feeling like we were going to die in many senses (b/c of the creepy canadiennes and their belief that they were being followed by creepy catalunian thieves, and b/c I, stripped of many electrolytes, was like, peace out coherence), we, thanks to Emilie’s metro skillz, made it to the hostel which used to be a cool villa. There we met Joanne the cool polish Californian who had been wandering Europe for 4 months alone, and we wandered together all about until we found a really cool restaurant where we ate some chorizo and a lot of grilled meat (chicken and kabobs, wow). It was almost like BBQ and it was also almost like heaven.
MEAT paradise. Wow. The restaurant’s subtitle was something like, “eat with no restrictions.” OK!
We wandered around the somewhat deserted streets of where it was sortof really scary, and then went back to the hostel where Romanians tried to talk to us but they could speak no language except Romanian (problem…it was also a problem that they were not cute), and I was like, leave me alone I am sick. Then we met some other girls who liked to tell us all about how they’d been attacked by crazy men in Europe and so had all their friends, but how they were ok now and now they just know they must try to be safer and take more cabs. WTF. What were they doing before to get such attacks? See the creepiness?
We had a late night on the hostel internet, and were generally angry b/c of our long bus ride so it was definitely time to pass the heck out in our Spanish villa hostel.
We met some girls from Fairfield county who knew Leigh and Lauren (my mom’s best friend from high school’s daughters who also reside in Fairfield county) and they also knew some of Emilie’s friends since they were all from the Conn.
The Fairfield Ladies were dressed as smurfs.
We went out with the oregoonies briefly with their slutty canadiennes and Australians this time around (who were in truly slutty costumes. I think they were dressed as sluts? Nurses? I was like, yeah, not gonna dress up like a slut on a street where I had, a couple nights before, seen actual prostitutes). We tried to get silent brazilian Barbara to wear Halloween sunglasses, but the concept of Halloween was lost on her. She looked like Viola from the incredibles. Emilie meowed in the street on her hands and knees once b/c she said, “mine.” She faced her sentence like a trooper, duh, and I think the oregoonies were quite taken aback and puzzled by her abundance of A game, once again. It was boring, and we weren’t going to bars and Emilie and I got so angry that we decided to
purchase a bottle of Jack and just split it. Which we did.
We wandered in an out of the hostel, talked to some smurfs, met a guy named Kenny who talked in Spanish like he was some sort of Mexican caricature. We told him that, and he may’ve been a little taken aback/confused by our frankness.
The night ended with us being rounded up and herded back into the hostel – after some wandering, and some exchanging of laughs and some Dane Cook jokes with a boy smurf on the street – by one of what we think was an employee of the hostel who was dressed like a pimp.
We found the Oregoonies – who we’d lost – at the hostel, and em and me discussed irish topics with the irish dude (who looked sortof like the KG from tenacious D, but wasn’t as funny/cool/skilled at the acoustic guitar, I would imagine, and was a redneck for Halloween….no points from me….especially not when he asked if I had any southern in me, to which I responded yes, to which he responded anyway, “well how’d you like some southern IN you tonight?!?” ugh. I think I told him not to talk to any Southern Lady like that, and I sortof killed our friendship with my poor reception of he poor taste in jokes. But then he went around yelling in some bastardized southern accent all about how he liked to bomb iraq or some crap. Oh Europe, where are you getting this crap?). Anyway, Irish got all the dates wrong (even I knew that…I can imagine Emilie was like, hello I’m a history major) and I told him that I thought the Irish Civil war had to be a lot like the American one. I think I had a bit of a drawl at this point in the evening, as sometimes happens. We ran in to some French dude in the hall who would have no part of our revelry. I got angry b/c the Oregoonies were monopolizing Emilie in their hostel room doing god knows what (it ends up they were just passed out)…so after talking to the Fairfield Smurfettes in the bathroom, Lori and Em pass the heck out, our bloodstreams most likely 50% whiskey at this point.
The next day’s breakfast was easy enough, and I should’ve known it was too good to be true. We made it to the bus station with little difficulty…
off to Madrid we went!
On the bus ride to Madrid, I’ll just say we met some creepy canadiennes who creeped the crap out of us, and I will also mention that my stomach got VERY ANGRY from all the mountain movement motion sickness and air pressure changes and omg it was terrible, not to discount the fact that there was whiskey somewhere in there, too – though I had no way of seeing any of that coming, unfortunately. It was one of the longer 7 hours of my life, and probably made the 7 hours last a little longer for those on the bus with me.
I tried to think of Don Quixote fighting windmills (would you believe me if I told you I almost put down treadmills instead of windmills?) whenever I felt like any dream was an impossible dream.
It really was a crazy landscape. Very Arizona. Spain, what a concept!
In the meantime, Emilie, the Sancho to my Don Quixote (or maybe it was the other way around) went on an enviously day-long chorizo binge.
After some feeling like we were going to die in many senses (b/c of the creepy canadiennes and their belief that they were being followed by creepy catalunian thieves, and b/c I, stripped of many electrolytes, was like, peace out coherence), we, thanks to Emilie’s metro skillz, made it to the hostel which used to be a cool villa. There we met Joanne the cool polish Californian who had been wandering Europe for 4 months alone, and we wandered together all about until we found a really cool restaurant where we ate some chorizo and a lot of grilled meat (chicken and kabobs, wow). It was almost like BBQ and it was also almost like heaven.
MEAT paradise. Wow. The restaurant’s subtitle was something like, “eat with no restrictions.” OK!
We wandered around the somewhat deserted streets of where it was sortof really scary, and then went back to the hostel where Romanians tried to talk to us but they could speak no language except Romanian (problem…it was also a problem that they were not cute), and I was like, leave me alone I am sick. Then we met some other girls who liked to tell us all about how they’d been attacked by crazy men in Europe and so had all their friends, but how they were ok now and now they just know they must try to be safer and take more cabs. WTF. What were they doing before to get such attacks? See the creepiness?
We had a late night on the hostel internet, and were generally angry b/c of our long bus ride so it was definitely time to pass the heck out in our Spanish villa hostel.
Sagrada Famiglia - you are the bomb
Ok, no hangover Tuesday!
We went to see the Sagrada Famiglia, and it was just so frickin’ beautiful.
I was like, emotional looking at it. I mean, I am a lover of beauty, I am -- but very rarely does beauty make me sorta get all teary eyed. Maybe it was the religious, aspect and that it wasn’t done. It just seemed like what cathedrals are supposed to be – they make you feel so small, but connected to all the other small people. They also make you feel awesome because you are there. All the hangovers of Barcelona were worth seeing the Sagrada Famiglia. The church is so PRETTY! And cool!
And it sortof had a sense of humor, too. Gotta love high art that laughs with you.
There’s a little puzzle on the back that the sculptor just put there b/c he thought people’d like to see it and try to figure it out. There were workers still working on it. It must be the coolest thing ever for artists in this age to be able to work on a cathedral. I think it is wonderful that it is being built. It’s really just being built just because. How great is that! We spent some time there – I wish someone would write/find me a super detailed book about this place, as I would just love to know all about the architecture b/c it was just soooo cool. I got nothin’ but love for the sagrada famiglia.
Maybe I do wanna be a chicken!
We went to see the Sagrada Famiglia, and it was just so frickin’ beautiful.
I was like, emotional looking at it. I mean, I am a lover of beauty, I am -- but very rarely does beauty make me sorta get all teary eyed. Maybe it was the religious, aspect and that it wasn’t done. It just seemed like what cathedrals are supposed to be – they make you feel so small, but connected to all the other small people. They also make you feel awesome because you are there. All the hangovers of Barcelona were worth seeing the Sagrada Famiglia. The church is so PRETTY! And cool!
And it sortof had a sense of humor, too. Gotta love high art that laughs with you.
There’s a little puzzle on the back that the sculptor just put there b/c he thought people’d like to see it and try to figure it out. There were workers still working on it. It must be the coolest thing ever for artists in this age to be able to work on a cathedral. I think it is wonderful that it is being built. It’s really just being built just because. How great is that! We spent some time there – I wish someone would write/find me a super detailed book about this place, as I would just love to know all about the architecture b/c it was just soooo cool. I got nothin’ but love for the sagrada famiglia.
Maybe I do wanna be a chicken!
You can't spell Barcelona without....
Later that evening, we were to experience the spectrum of charm to creeptasticness that makes up the rainbow of culture that is the Barca, for better or for worse. (dare I say you cannot spell Barcelona without BAR?)
Before heading home, we went to the Mayor’s square, where I’d read that people dance in the streets in some sort of Catalan dance. I was right! There were all these old people in white shoes dancing in a circle doing some sort of tappy toe tappy toe step step step jump and be awesome dance.
The dance was forbidden in the Franco years, and you could just tell that these older people were rocking their feet off to this dainty little dance, repping their Catalunianness. The music was super cool (there was a full band in the square as well, and I gave’em a Euro…represent international civic-mindedness!) and I was happy to see some young people doing the dance as well. Things like that I just hope go on forever. If I were a Catalunian family, I’d be like, ok family, time to go dance in the square! It’s rep your heritage through vernacular dance time! And the children would rejoice, as they had grown to associate dancing with love. And I would even make my 13 year old son do it, b/c one must learn to represent one’s people through the art of dance at a young, even pubescent age!
Anyway, it was just so charming. I loved the sassy jumping old ladies. I seriously loved them. I could just feel how proud they were to be sassily jumping and tappy toe-ing! Dancing!
Made me wish that people did the St. Louis Shag in the street.
They probably used to.
Vow to myself to have authentic street dancing children? Made.
Anyway, after some napping, we went out to an excellent tapas restaurant called Taller de Tapas, where we got free champagne, the best tapas ever, felt very fancy, and had a wonderful waiter who used to live in Santa Fe (he recommends a visit…duly noted!) and who spoke English with the inflection of a game show host. How cool is that.
One bottle of wine later we went to Jamboree, the hip hop club just below our hostel. We met Colin, our favorite ginger kid, just trekkin’ his way around, as well as Kofi the American businessman who works in London, and his friend from Chicago. I celebrated as much as possible the victory of the Cardinals (or was I just dancing so that they might be infused with my good will as they were on their way to victory? I don’t know, at some point, I’d drunkenly discovered that the Cardinals had won) with every Nelly song that played…there were 2, and the dj even played Kanye for me…though most people had left for the other room by then. Met some Irish Bartender and he invited me and Emilie for a “party” (his friend and some Mexican girls and me and Emilie…interesting definition of party) and after making it through the mean streets – yeah there were prostitutes on Las Ramblas…that was a first -- we made it to the “party” and he told us all about how Sunday Bloody Sunday should be Ireland’s national anthem. Yeah, ok.
I think I made Emilie pledge that she would never pronounce Missouri the wrong way (no I don’t mean miz-ur-uh, and of course not miz-ur-ee…I mean Miss-ooohuur-aaauh and Miss-oooohurrr-eee. Sacrilege!) , and we of course had to defend our country against European public opinion that Americans are all of the breeding that produces the “stars” of the hit TV series, COPS or Prison Break, Desperate Housewives, and every Michael Moore movie known to movie screens. Don’t get me started on Borat. All my French students think Sascha Baron Cohen is American. French newspapers think he is a british comedian in the vein of Monty Python.
I think Borat is partly funny, and mostly very very impolite.
Returning to barca, in short, I said I wanted to leave the party so naturally there was passing out on the couches at the party for the night, and then we wander the morning/afternoon streets of barca back to our hostel so we can get ready to go to the beach. I’m a little hungover/angry, but we go to the sea, and I totally fell asleep on the Barcelona Mediterranean shore, as well as got a bit of a tan, despite my anger/hangovertasticness. Emilie went swimming b/c of some sort of “always swim” pledge she made with herself – but she’s Swedish, and her Viking blood, and lack of anger (unlike myself) helped her to enjoy the frigid Mediterranean waters….though it was quite hot outside at the end of October in Spain. Upon my return to the hostel, I pass out and Emilie meets our Oregon friends, who really had the potential to be awesome, but actually were not all that fun, but they were good to throw around.
Ok, we had crappy paella, but got to make our own awesome tomato bread by rubbing pink garlic (best garlic ever, seriously it is AWESOME) and tomatoes on a piece of toast. We discussed many things including how, geez, Barcelona was kicking the crap out of us. Seemed like every time we were like, no, tonight we will be calm and get in at a sensible but still late enough hour as to not be too Puritanical, we ended up just like, not coming home at all and walk-of-shaming through the afternoon streets of Barca. So before we set out for the beer drinking room of the hostel we decided to go for some reverse psychology and pledged to each other that we would attempt to become impregnated by the end of that evening.
We made it back to the hostel for some drinking games the likes of Beer goggles, one frog, Hoe Down (with the Billy Ray) and other such, if you say “mine” you have to do 5 star jumps (Jump up and say, “I’m a STAR!”) and the repeat game where if someone repeats what you say, you get to flick them in the head…all with the Oregoonies and some dutch girls and slutty Canadiennes. Emilie got to flick the one cool Oregoonie in the head b/c he repeated “I’m not an ambiturner.” I have a feeling the boys were not ready for 2 girls who could giggle and bring their A game to drinking time and actually compete. Everyone kept on being like, hey, she’s smart, she went to UPenn…she was a HisSTORY major, hahah. Ok? Anyway, Emilie lost some bet, or must have, b/c she had to spoon with the irish dude later on. I was chaperoning, no worries. We actually went to sleep (not passed out) that night, so that was nice.
Take that Barca! Score -- reverse psychology :1 Barca: 3-5
Before heading home, we went to the Mayor’s square, where I’d read that people dance in the streets in some sort of Catalan dance. I was right! There were all these old people in white shoes dancing in a circle doing some sort of tappy toe tappy toe step step step jump and be awesome dance.
The dance was forbidden in the Franco years, and you could just tell that these older people were rocking their feet off to this dainty little dance, repping their Catalunianness. The music was super cool (there was a full band in the square as well, and I gave’em a Euro…represent international civic-mindedness!) and I was happy to see some young people doing the dance as well. Things like that I just hope go on forever. If I were a Catalunian family, I’d be like, ok family, time to go dance in the square! It’s rep your heritage through vernacular dance time! And the children would rejoice, as they had grown to associate dancing with love. And I would even make my 13 year old son do it, b/c one must learn to represent one’s people through the art of dance at a young, even pubescent age!
Anyway, it was just so charming. I loved the sassy jumping old ladies. I seriously loved them. I could just feel how proud they were to be sassily jumping and tappy toe-ing! Dancing!
Made me wish that people did the St. Louis Shag in the street.
They probably used to.
Vow to myself to have authentic street dancing children? Made.
Anyway, after some napping, we went out to an excellent tapas restaurant called Taller de Tapas, where we got free champagne, the best tapas ever, felt very fancy, and had a wonderful waiter who used to live in Santa Fe (he recommends a visit…duly noted!) and who spoke English with the inflection of a game show host. How cool is that.
One bottle of wine later we went to Jamboree, the hip hop club just below our hostel. We met Colin, our favorite ginger kid, just trekkin’ his way around, as well as Kofi the American businessman who works in London, and his friend from Chicago. I celebrated as much as possible the victory of the Cardinals (or was I just dancing so that they might be infused with my good will as they were on their way to victory? I don’t know, at some point, I’d drunkenly discovered that the Cardinals had won) with every Nelly song that played…there were 2, and the dj even played Kanye for me…though most people had left for the other room by then. Met some Irish Bartender and he invited me and Emilie for a “party” (his friend and some Mexican girls and me and Emilie…interesting definition of party) and after making it through the mean streets – yeah there were prostitutes on Las Ramblas…that was a first -- we made it to the “party” and he told us all about how Sunday Bloody Sunday should be Ireland’s national anthem. Yeah, ok.
I think I made Emilie pledge that she would never pronounce Missouri the wrong way (no I don’t mean miz-ur-uh, and of course not miz-ur-ee…I mean Miss-ooohuur-aaauh and Miss-oooohurrr-eee. Sacrilege!) , and we of course had to defend our country against European public opinion that Americans are all of the breeding that produces the “stars” of the hit TV series, COPS or Prison Break, Desperate Housewives, and every Michael Moore movie known to movie screens. Don’t get me started on Borat. All my French students think Sascha Baron Cohen is American. French newspapers think he is a british comedian in the vein of Monty Python.
I think Borat is partly funny, and mostly very very impolite.
Returning to barca, in short, I said I wanted to leave the party so naturally there was passing out on the couches at the party for the night, and then we wander the morning/afternoon streets of barca back to our hostel so we can get ready to go to the beach. I’m a little hungover/angry, but we go to the sea, and I totally fell asleep on the Barcelona Mediterranean shore, as well as got a bit of a tan, despite my anger/hangovertasticness. Emilie went swimming b/c of some sort of “always swim” pledge she made with herself – but she’s Swedish, and her Viking blood, and lack of anger (unlike myself) helped her to enjoy the frigid Mediterranean waters….though it was quite hot outside at the end of October in Spain. Upon my return to the hostel, I pass out and Emilie meets our Oregon friends, who really had the potential to be awesome, but actually were not all that fun, but they were good to throw around.
Ok, we had crappy paella, but got to make our own awesome tomato bread by rubbing pink garlic (best garlic ever, seriously it is AWESOME) and tomatoes on a piece of toast. We discussed many things including how, geez, Barcelona was kicking the crap out of us. Seemed like every time we were like, no, tonight we will be calm and get in at a sensible but still late enough hour as to not be too Puritanical, we ended up just like, not coming home at all and walk-of-shaming through the afternoon streets of Barca. So before we set out for the beer drinking room of the hostel we decided to go for some reverse psychology and pledged to each other that we would attempt to become impregnated by the end of that evening.
We made it back to the hostel for some drinking games the likes of Beer goggles, one frog, Hoe Down (with the Billy Ray) and other such, if you say “mine” you have to do 5 star jumps (Jump up and say, “I’m a STAR!”) and the repeat game where if someone repeats what you say, you get to flick them in the head…all with the Oregoonies and some dutch girls and slutty Canadiennes. Emilie got to flick the one cool Oregoonie in the head b/c he repeated “I’m not an ambiturner.” I have a feeling the boys were not ready for 2 girls who could giggle and bring their A game to drinking time and actually compete. Everyone kept on being like, hey, she’s smart, she went to UPenn…she was a HisSTORY major, hahah. Ok? Anyway, Emilie lost some bet, or must have, b/c she had to spoon with the irish dude later on. I was chaperoning, no worries. We actually went to sleep (not passed out) that night, so that was nice.
Take that Barca! Score -- reverse psychology :1 Barca: 3-5
MUSE in Spain, but not in spanish -- and aftermath
Before heading to MUSE, I used my shoe radar to find Emilie some green fake nike tennis shoes, we went home, changed and got a super gourmet kebab and some delicious sangria, and sipped on our Fanta-vodka cocktails until we arrived at the MUSE concert…where outside of the line the ground was LITERALLY covered with about a foot of trash – empty bottles, full bottles, plastic, glass, what-have-you.
These Europeans sure know how to litter.
Muse was lovely. That guy sure can play the piano. Emilie and I safely rocked our faces off to his lovely lead vocals. I mentioned that he must eat a lot of Power Bars to have so much energy on stage, and yet he must burn it all off – for his is oh so thin! Emilie mentioned he may just be on speed. I will consider this possibility.
I even spoke Spanish at the concert “dos!” to the beer lady right before the band went on. It was at this concert that emilie met her mechanical engineer, one Carlos Casanovas (yes that was his name) – and I will take credit for finding her such a lovely dance partner and escort for the evening, as I told her he was cute when she couldn’t see him. We met Carlos’ sister, Anne, a totally cool Spanish girl, (who he had lost at the concert, which was why he was standing near us) and after dropping her off at a birthday party we went to some crazy multi level dance club that only played like, Franz Ferdinand b-sides, and bands that I would classify as Junior Varsity The Strokes and the like. It was sortof awesome. There were movie screens. There were dudes dancing on blocks. I was like, where is Kanye once again, but I guess the European people aren’t so rhythmically picky.
We drove back, I passed out in the hostel, and Emilie and Carlos took a little Spanish stroll where he told her she “wouldn’t need a hotel” next time she comes to Barcelona, and other such Spanish-english gems like, “I’m so haeeeppy I lost my seee-stir.” All of which Emilie did an excellent job of imitating...I may not remember Carlos sounding like Speedy Gonzales, but I did not go on a Spanish love stroll with him so I cannot pretend to know.
I woke up the next morn to Emilie talking to a couple of juniors from the Alma Mater who she recognized from their Wharton shirts. They’d seen my Penn flip flops, but in true Penn fashion, they chose not to investigate. As Emilie and I are U of P girls (I like call UPenn U of P, b/c its more old-school and the title represents what I (and grandpas who wear plaid newsboy caps, I would imagine) would like to think/remember about dear old Pennsylvania), we stick our necks out for our comanches, be they young, old, not really all that cool, or super awesome. Benjie Frank would be so proud – U of P has taken the globe over indeed. In a nice, community serving way – at least on my part. I’d like to start a Junto when I get back in America and move back to STL or Memphis or NOLA...charleston is too tame. I would like to give stl a shot for a bit and take this Testimo thing to fun places. Hell, who knows.
I digress!
I am very dumb to have forgotten that T’estimo is a catalan word, and I have since found out that my boss’ husband’s family owns a cheese business in Barca! I could’ve been feasting on cheese. Sigh! I did get to see some sights he recommended. Excellent guidance, Xavier.
So right, Sun day Emilie was sortof hangover dead and everything was making her angry, but that did not stop us from wandering around EVERYWHERE until we’d walked off her hangover and had and ice cream (its really good and plentiful in the Barca!) and had found a super authentic bar place where I had seafood stuffed Avocados (magical avocados, I love them) and Emilie had Barcelona sausage that may or may not have been slightly raw. But it was pretty much awesome, and there were people in all their Catalunyan glory, eating strange looking salads, anchovies and of course olives. We tried to be authentic, but the waiter (who didn’t ever usher us to leave, not even 4 hours into some sort of conversation about something – Emilie and I always manage to have something to say to each other) gave us an English menu, so we couldn’t order the mysterious Catalan menu. Maybe it was for the better. It was authentic, so I was happy. There was even a crazy vagrant lady across the street wearing leg-warmers for shoes who would buzz like a bee at passers by. Excellent. We somehow managed to wander to the mayor’s square that we somehow always managed to happen upon at least 2 times a day
Next up, Gaudi park. Emilie got a fanta, and she was happy, though slightly dead.
It was a pretty cool park – one rooftop nearby said something like, “if its tourist season, why can’t we shoot them?” I was like, hey, not cool. I just ate a stuffed artichoke very peacefully at an authentic bar. Don’t hate the tourists. It furthered the creepy vibes of spain in general.
But whatever!
These Europeans sure know how to litter.
Muse was lovely. That guy sure can play the piano. Emilie and I safely rocked our faces off to his lovely lead vocals. I mentioned that he must eat a lot of Power Bars to have so much energy on stage, and yet he must burn it all off – for his is oh so thin! Emilie mentioned he may just be on speed. I will consider this possibility.
I even spoke Spanish at the concert “dos!” to the beer lady right before the band went on. It was at this concert that emilie met her mechanical engineer, one Carlos Casanovas (yes that was his name) – and I will take credit for finding her such a lovely dance partner and escort for the evening, as I told her he was cute when she couldn’t see him. We met Carlos’ sister, Anne, a totally cool Spanish girl, (who he had lost at the concert, which was why he was standing near us) and after dropping her off at a birthday party we went to some crazy multi level dance club that only played like, Franz Ferdinand b-sides, and bands that I would classify as Junior Varsity The Strokes and the like. It was sortof awesome. There were movie screens. There were dudes dancing on blocks. I was like, where is Kanye once again, but I guess the European people aren’t so rhythmically picky.
We drove back, I passed out in the hostel, and Emilie and Carlos took a little Spanish stroll where he told her she “wouldn’t need a hotel” next time she comes to Barcelona, and other such Spanish-english gems like, “I’m so haeeeppy I lost my seee-stir.” All of which Emilie did an excellent job of imitating...I may not remember Carlos sounding like Speedy Gonzales, but I did not go on a Spanish love stroll with him so I cannot pretend to know.
I woke up the next morn to Emilie talking to a couple of juniors from the Alma Mater who she recognized from their Wharton shirts. They’d seen my Penn flip flops, but in true Penn fashion, they chose not to investigate. As Emilie and I are U of P girls (I like call UPenn U of P, b/c its more old-school and the title represents what I (and grandpas who wear plaid newsboy caps, I would imagine) would like to think/remember about dear old Pennsylvania), we stick our necks out for our comanches, be they young, old, not really all that cool, or super awesome. Benjie Frank would be so proud – U of P has taken the globe over indeed. In a nice, community serving way – at least on my part. I’d like to start a Junto when I get back in America and move back to STL or Memphis or NOLA...charleston is too tame. I would like to give stl a shot for a bit and take this Testimo thing to fun places. Hell, who knows.
I digress!
I am very dumb to have forgotten that T’estimo is a catalan word, and I have since found out that my boss’ husband’s family owns a cheese business in Barca! I could’ve been feasting on cheese. Sigh! I did get to see some sights he recommended. Excellent guidance, Xavier.
So right, Sun day Emilie was sortof hangover dead and everything was making her angry, but that did not stop us from wandering around EVERYWHERE until we’d walked off her hangover and had and ice cream (its really good and plentiful in the Barca!) and had found a super authentic bar place where I had seafood stuffed Avocados (magical avocados, I love them) and Emilie had Barcelona sausage that may or may not have been slightly raw. But it was pretty much awesome, and there were people in all their Catalunyan glory, eating strange looking salads, anchovies and of course olives. We tried to be authentic, but the waiter (who didn’t ever usher us to leave, not even 4 hours into some sort of conversation about something – Emilie and I always manage to have something to say to each other) gave us an English menu, so we couldn’t order the mysterious Catalan menu. Maybe it was for the better. It was authentic, so I was happy. There was even a crazy vagrant lady across the street wearing leg-warmers for shoes who would buzz like a bee at passers by. Excellent. We somehow managed to wander to the mayor’s square that we somehow always managed to happen upon at least 2 times a day
Next up, Gaudi park. Emilie got a fanta, and she was happy, though slightly dead.
It was a pretty cool park – one rooftop nearby said something like, “if its tourist season, why can’t we shoot them?” I was like, hey, not cool. I just ate a stuffed artichoke very peacefully at an authentic bar. Don’t hate the tourists. It furthered the creepy vibes of spain in general.
But whatever!
Bus to Barcelona
Spain. The Extended Version.
We arrived there by bus… all 11 hours of it. It was a lovely ride, with a fair share of creepy people, and cute kids making rhymes in French. Emilie and I caught up, drew pictures, played blind pig, and I tried not to laugh too loudly so as not to draw attention from the creepers whose presences you can just FEEL when you’re in Spain. Which is a shame, b/c it’s a pretty cool country, and in retrospect I think I had my creeper radar on too high a setting, being such a savvy lady as I am. But you can never be too careful.
Anyway.
We got into Barcelona at the bus station, Emilie used her mad Spanish skillz to hail a cab, and we hopped in. Our cabbie proceeded to – out of goodwill, I’m certain – scare the living daylights out of us with is tales of delinquents who loiter near our hostel, located just off of Las Ramblas, one I would later not hesitate to call one of the more seedy streets I’ve EVER visited. But it ended up we were scared for nothing, as it was just like, party people and probably the occasional creeper, but Emilie and I had bought hats at H&M in order to give us a true don’t-mess-with-me edge.
We get into our 20-person room, I pass out on a mattress on the floor and Emilie is kept awake by sounds of drunken revelry within the room, as well as by a young gent outside who took it upon himself apparently to serenade the entire square with an acappella version of “(ooo wooo woo) I Wanna be Like You” from the classic Disney Cartoon musical (one that I could never watch too much b/c I thought the end was too sad) THE JUNGLE BOOK.
Maybe I do wanna walk like you, talk like you do.
In brief, we woke up the next day, got an ice cream (top notch in the Barca) and proceeded to get lost in the winding labyrinthine streets of Barcelona’s Barrio Gotika trying to find the Picasso museum. It was very Auberge Espagnole (that movie did a good job of capturing the Barca vibe…walking around I was like, yes – I feel it. Not the same for like, when I visited Boston and tried to be in my own version of Good Will Hunting…though don’t get me wrong, good will hunting is an excellent movie). We eventually met some baby art students outside the Picasso Museum, and we proceeded to spend about an hour or two longer than them inside this Picasso museum. We are art students of life!
I only sortof understand how Picasso went from Point A to Point B, but I get cubism now for the most part, and it’s cool! Emilie and I liked his bajillion versions of some painting from the Prado (one that we SAW in person later….we also saw an old slutty frat boy from our U of P days in the same museum – on a weekend sojurn from some fancy NY-See-how-important-I-am finance job to visit his lady on her semester abroad in Madrid … how ‘bout them apples!?).
Emilie opened my eyes to one particular red dude that Pablo had painted, and we thought we were pretty funny the rest of the trip when we were trying to recreate live in person how Picasso painted him. Live Cubism! Example 1:
Example 2:
So yeah, Picasso was a little bit of a slut (his prostitute pictures were like, who Master P, you are a perv), but he was a funny guy. Some of his sketches – particularly of dogs – were just funny. Him an his friends had a real fun thing going at the 3 Cats Café, where they’d all hang outs and think of new and pervy ways to be funny and talented. V. excusable, even encouragable! Girls didn’t seem to be invited though to his fun cafe time – ‘cept as girlfriends – so like, no fun.
Enough about Senor P.
We arrived there by bus… all 11 hours of it. It was a lovely ride, with a fair share of creepy people, and cute kids making rhymes in French. Emilie and I caught up, drew pictures, played blind pig, and I tried not to laugh too loudly so as not to draw attention from the creepers whose presences you can just FEEL when you’re in Spain. Which is a shame, b/c it’s a pretty cool country, and in retrospect I think I had my creeper radar on too high a setting, being such a savvy lady as I am. But you can never be too careful.
Anyway.
We got into Barcelona at the bus station, Emilie used her mad Spanish skillz to hail a cab, and we hopped in. Our cabbie proceeded to – out of goodwill, I’m certain – scare the living daylights out of us with is tales of delinquents who loiter near our hostel, located just off of Las Ramblas, one I would later not hesitate to call one of the more seedy streets I’ve EVER visited. But it ended up we were scared for nothing, as it was just like, party people and probably the occasional creeper, but Emilie and I had bought hats at H&M in order to give us a true don’t-mess-with-me edge.
We get into our 20-person room, I pass out on a mattress on the floor and Emilie is kept awake by sounds of drunken revelry within the room, as well as by a young gent outside who took it upon himself apparently to serenade the entire square with an acappella version of “(ooo wooo woo) I Wanna be Like You” from the classic Disney Cartoon musical (one that I could never watch too much b/c I thought the end was too sad) THE JUNGLE BOOK.
Maybe I do wanna walk like you, talk like you do.
In brief, we woke up the next day, got an ice cream (top notch in the Barca) and proceeded to get lost in the winding labyrinthine streets of Barcelona’s Barrio Gotika trying to find the Picasso museum. It was very Auberge Espagnole (that movie did a good job of capturing the Barca vibe…walking around I was like, yes – I feel it. Not the same for like, when I visited Boston and tried to be in my own version of Good Will Hunting…though don’t get me wrong, good will hunting is an excellent movie). We eventually met some baby art students outside the Picasso Museum, and we proceeded to spend about an hour or two longer than them inside this Picasso museum. We are art students of life!
I only sortof understand how Picasso went from Point A to Point B, but I get cubism now for the most part, and it’s cool! Emilie and I liked his bajillion versions of some painting from the Prado (one that we SAW in person later….we also saw an old slutty frat boy from our U of P days in the same museum – on a weekend sojurn from some fancy NY-See-how-important-I-am finance job to visit his lady on her semester abroad in Madrid … how ‘bout them apples!?).
Emilie opened my eyes to one particular red dude that Pablo had painted, and we thought we were pretty funny the rest of the trip when we were trying to recreate live in person how Picasso painted him. Live Cubism! Example 1:
Example 2:
So yeah, Picasso was a little bit of a slut (his prostitute pictures were like, who Master P, you are a perv), but he was a funny guy. Some of his sketches – particularly of dogs – were just funny. Him an his friends had a real fun thing going at the 3 Cats Café, where they’d all hang outs and think of new and pervy ways to be funny and talented. V. excusable, even encouragable! Girls didn’t seem to be invited though to his fun cafe time – ‘cept as girlfriends – so like, no fun.
Enough about Senor P.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Spain - where even dudes like flamenco
subtitle: The rain in Spain stays mainly in Madrid.
I congratulate myself for sneaking around in Html land so that I was able to find out how to post photos from Flickr! There has to be an easier way, but the way I figured out ain't so hard. Gotta brush up the blogging skillz!
I'm on feedburner, too - and no I don't really know what that is yet, but hey. Soon I will.
ANYWAY: At last, the time has come for me to regale you with stories of my time in Spain! Spain:
Barcelona - party-crazed tourists
Madrid - flamenco dancing Spanish dudes sipping sangria in between passionate claps
Guess which one I liked more?
But its not important.
Ok, more to come...
I congratulate myself for sneaking around in Html land so that I was able to find out how to post photos from Flickr! There has to be an easier way, but the way I figured out ain't so hard. Gotta brush up the blogging skillz!
I'm on feedburner, too - and no I don't really know what that is yet, but hey. Soon I will.
ANYWAY: At last, the time has come for me to regale you with stories of my time in Spain! Spain:
Barcelona - party-crazed tourists
Madrid - flamenco dancing Spanish dudes sipping sangria in between passionate claps
Guess which one I liked more?
But its not important.
Ok, more to come...
So much dairy, and so much time
In the time its taking me to upload my photos and pledge to write to you about the great country of spain, I've been eating a lot of cheese lately, and I'm drinking so much milk you'd think I was in my "prevent osteoperosis" phase that I went through when I was 13.
In some/most villages in france, cows outnumber people (goats must count in there, too...lots of goat milk stuff here), and the water here is weird (look at my pictures, I my hair has french-water-induced weirdness) - so milk is where it is at.
In some/most villages in france, cows outnumber people (goats must count in there, too...lots of goat milk stuff here), and the water here is weird (look at my pictures, I my hair has french-water-induced weirdness) - so milk is where it is at.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
America votes - Nov. 7th.
*this post is from November 6th (blogger is being weird), and I'm happy that my cries of "tout va changer" were not in vain!*
I am sorry that I am not around for the ridiculous non-presidential elections that are going on. I am not sorry, however, that my sister is totally clued in. I hope those who need to are keeping it classy enough so as to bring to light those that are in no way keeping it classy (much less keeping it unsacreligious), and that everyone goes out to vote tomorrow and that you all continue to use youre machetes to cut through red tape and the like.
And so the blog will turn to more european discussions, as there is much to recount!
I am sorry that I am not around for the ridiculous non-presidential elections that are going on. I am not sorry, however, that my sister is totally clued in. I hope those who need to are keeping it classy enough so as to bring to light those that are in no way keeping it classy (much less keeping it unsacreligious), and that everyone goes out to vote tomorrow and that you all continue to use youre machetes to cut through red tape and the like.
And so the blog will turn to more european discussions, as there is much to recount!
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Some things worth noting:
Though I've fallen behind the running commentary of Europe and Europeans through the eyes of Lori, in addition to promising to not fall behind no mo', I thought I'd put some snippets of what I've noted en lieu of an actual post.
Promises that an actual post is coming soon.
In other news, the Rebeccas are going to see Marc Broussard tonight! Wow.
I remember when I first saw him, a year ago yesterday. Sigh.
I remember emailing my friends to tell them that my life had been changed for the better by sweet soul music. Lives are usually changed by little else. Since then my life has been pretty exciting and changed, come to think of it -- trials and tribulations included!
May they take many a video, and possible get a signed forearm out of it!
In case you are puzzled, that's Mr. Broussard's signature on the right, and Chuck Berry's on the left.
Promises that an actual post is coming soon.
- Berrachon – best chocolate in
- Yes, I called the Royale to ask what kind of whiskey was in a Senator. Yes I was in
I tried to make a wireless network through concrete walls of my 60's era school building and across a courtyard with a wireless router and some detarmination. Apparently I sorta broke the computer for a day, and many french teachers were mad. Though they did not know I did it b/c it was night! And now the computer is fixed, though I have no wireless still. Sorry I broke your computer, french people, but my American comanches invented it (with a swede, i think), so I was only doing my patriotic duty by fighing for my rights by sneaking around at night, Boston Tea Party Style. Internet is v. important, ps, and everynight when I must leave it I die a little. - I have gone on a "Notebook" binge. Its the only movie I brought to France, and I think I've watched the director's commentary so many times I secretly think me and Nick Cassavettes are friends. It feels like it!
- European websites are struggling. By struggling, I mean they are bad. Very bad. Completely unnavigatable. Maybe not all of them, but the important ones (trains) are.
- Cool flea markets in Lyon : I mistakenly thought they were called "Villes de Grenouilles" - which means "Frog Cities" ( I mean, crazier names have happened)...but they're actually called "Vide Greniers" which means something like, Empty the Attic! I'm glad someone emptied their attic, b/c check out what I got for 10 euros:
Batman Rollerskates!
- merde, sadly, Raconte-moi La Terre, my wifi hotspot of choice tonight (out of like 5 in the whole friggin' city...what gives) is closing, so I'll check back later with ya. Flip side!
In other news, the Rebeccas are going to see Marc Broussard tonight! Wow.
I remember when I first saw him, a year ago yesterday. Sigh.
I remember emailing my friends to tell them that my life had been changed for the better by sweet soul music. Lives are usually changed by little else. Since then my life has been pretty exciting and changed, come to think of it -- trials and tribulations included!
May they take many a video, and possible get a signed forearm out of it!
In case you are puzzled, that's Mr. Broussard's signature on the right, and Chuck Berry's on the left.
Monday, October 23, 2006
The Grapes Couldn't Protect Scott from being Awesome
AHHH!
Scott's aim is true.
Even an ocean away, and 8 or so years past my purchase of his seminal first album, my heart goes on for one Mr. EC. If he didn't exist, someone would try to invent him, holla!
Scott is a daring papparazzi-type-hero-of-mine!
It was enough when I made him dress us as Mr. Costello as a condition for getting to escort me when I was on the Winter Dance Court senior year of high school...or so I thought! Though Lindsay Lockhart won, and she is lovely, I feel as though Scott and I are well on our way to winning the Winter Dance Court of life, as chance encounters with bad-ass rock&roll pioneers could only indicate.
Scott's aim is true.
Even an ocean away, and 8 or so years past my purchase of his seminal first album, my heart goes on for one Mr. EC. If he didn't exist, someone would try to invent him, holla!
Scott is a daring papparazzi-type-hero-of-mine!
It was enough when I made him dress us as Mr. Costello as a condition for getting to escort me when I was on the Winter Dance Court senior year of high school...or so I thought! Though Lindsay Lockhart won, and she is lovely, I feel as though Scott and I are well on our way to winning the Winter Dance Court of life, as chance encounters with bad-ass rock&roll pioneers could only indicate.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
4 Continents!
Just got news today that, thanks to Jennie -- my suprisingly bilingual friend, currently tangoing her way through all the garages of Lima, Peru -- Fleur de Lori now boasts a 4 continent readership! Sure, I think whoever read it in Australia only stayed on the site for 2 seconds, but just the same! Its exciting, people!
Just another way the internet is awesome.
Speaking of worldliness and awesomeness, perhaps you'd like to send me a letter?
N'hesitez pas! as they say in froggish.
Lori White - Assistante d'anglais
La Martiniere Duchere
300 Avenue A. Sakharov - CP 417
69338 Lyon CEDEX 09
FRANCE
Tag on a little "airmail/par avion" to ensure its speedy delivery.
Just another way the internet is awesome.
Speaking of worldliness and awesomeness, perhaps you'd like to send me a letter?
N'hesitez pas! as they say in froggish.
Lori White - Assistante d'anglais
La Martiniere Duchere
300 Avenue A. Sakharov - CP 417
69338 Lyon CEDEX 09
FRANCE
Tag on a little "airmail/par avion" to ensure its speedy delivery.
Monday, October 16, 2006
The "Spirits" of Cherokee -- a BYOB solution?
Sometimes I'm tired of thinking in croissant and frog-leg, and -- due to substantial drinking or excessive blog reading (I have yet to combine both) my mind floats across the pond.
Having some thoughts in France about this whole Cherokee Street Situation.
Mr. The Royale should just make his little place that he clearly wants to start up on Cherokee a BYOB until the aldermen stop the silly close-mindedness and have it be a bar full of excellent mixers (juice, duh?), and the civic-minded citizens bring the booze themselves! Brilliant!
It could be suuuuper fun, and quite glamorous. Cost effective; too?
I already want to go to this bar.
I used to live in Philly, where they overcome creepy Quaker Society of Friends (sober ones) drinking laws with the BYOB option. I don't know, it just sounds cool - and all this alcohol availability over in the EU seems to result in very little of the apocalypse predicted by a certain alderman... and the "residential character and the neighborhood serving commercial business" seem only to benefit from a few classy watering holes...well hey.
One such watering hole here in Lyon even has WIFI - a very enterprising and kind man from Valencia runs it, and thank GOD for him b/c WIFI is something I need, and france needs more of. (not as bad as france needs to learn how to make websites ... check out http://www.petitpaume.com hello! there's no blog, and the website is incomprehensible, even if you speak french...and guess who does? me. and Lyon, France. and we both need that website and its city guide goodness. STL could use the city guide festival - and the festival attendance - ... that all was amazing.)
A wise man travels to learn about himself...did someone say that? I'd like to learn about myself, but for Missouri (and elsewhere).
sidenote: I wonder if I could talk to the irish catholics I know about this alderman business - i know I'm like, only 3 degrees away from the policeman who worked the Cherokee Street Beat (and hated it and told his daughter never ever ever to go there because she would die in nasty ways). I suppose I have little cred, being barely irish and totally Methodist. If 95 theses couldn't convince'em, how do I stand a chance!?
Somehow I managed - through the generous and zen disciplinary spirit of one Ms. White, mom-extraordinaire - to go down to the "fun" (I believe it's sometimes called) part of Cherokee street at least once a week starting when I was like, 16...chaperoned only by The Blue Wonder- my swell car, and the genial owners and patrons of the corner of iowa and cherokee, more specifically of Casa Loma Ballroom... to survive quite well on that side of Jefferson.
And look at me now!
Could there be a way to rally support of pre-patrons for a new cherokee street bar through the wonders of http://www.barjax.com or even MySpace ?
These are things I think about when I'm in France. I also think about the typewriter cafe that's happening on Cherokee. I wanna go there!
French things have been happening, too -- expect to hear about those soon, too.
Having some thoughts in France about this whole Cherokee Street Situation.
Mr. The Royale should just make his little place that he clearly wants to start up on Cherokee a BYOB until the aldermen stop the silly close-mindedness and have it be a bar full of excellent mixers (juice, duh?), and the civic-minded citizens bring the booze themselves! Brilliant!
It could be suuuuper fun, and quite glamorous. Cost effective; too?
I already want to go to this bar.
I used to live in Philly, where they overcome creepy Quaker Society of Friends (sober ones) drinking laws with the BYOB option. I don't know, it just sounds cool - and all this alcohol availability over in the EU seems to result in very little of the apocalypse predicted by a certain alderman... and the "residential character and the neighborhood serving commercial business" seem only to benefit from a few classy watering holes...well hey.
One such watering hole here in Lyon even has WIFI - a very enterprising and kind man from Valencia runs it, and thank GOD for him b/c WIFI is something I need, and france needs more of. (not as bad as france needs to learn how to make websites ... check out http://www.petitpaume.com hello! there's no blog, and the website is incomprehensible, even if you speak french...and guess who does? me. and Lyon, France. and we both need that website and its city guide goodness. STL could use the city guide festival - and the festival attendance - ... that all was amazing.)
A wise man travels to learn about himself...did someone say that? I'd like to learn about myself, but for Missouri (and elsewhere).
sidenote: I wonder if I could talk to the irish catholics I know about this alderman business - i know I'm like, only 3 degrees away from the policeman who worked the Cherokee Street Beat (and hated it and told his daughter never ever ever to go there because she would die in nasty ways). I suppose I have little cred, being barely irish and totally Methodist. If 95 theses couldn't convince'em, how do I stand a chance!?
Somehow I managed - through the generous and zen disciplinary spirit of one Ms. White, mom-extraordinaire - to go down to the "fun" (I believe it's sometimes called) part of Cherokee street at least once a week starting when I was like, 16...chaperoned only by The Blue Wonder- my swell car, and the genial owners and patrons of the corner of iowa and cherokee, more specifically of Casa Loma Ballroom... to survive quite well on that side of Jefferson.
And look at me now!
Could there be a way to rally support of pre-patrons for a new cherokee street bar through the wonders of http://www.barjax.com or even MySpace ?
These are things I think about when I'm in France. I also think about the typewriter cafe that's happening on Cherokee. I wanna go there!
French things have been happening, too -- expect to hear about those soon, too.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Dance off
Yeah, I had a dance off with a french. These are things you need to know.
Yeah, I pretty much won, too...and he got my number. Alas, I checked my phone at the door, so I cannot send him a "texto."
He was rather impressive, v. Justin Timberlake-esque in his dance moves, and he slightly ressembled Noah Calhoun (the notebook, anyone?) so that is not bad.
The gold chain necklace however, that was bad.
Miss Rebecca, who is kickin' it bad-ass style at White Flag Projects in the STL these days, comments:
And you had a dance-off??! I HAVE to hear more about that. I picture it aslike the quintessential Lori in France moment. You, with yourragtime-inspired, soulful American moves and the frog with like Euro-fied pop and locking moves.
What a showdown it must have been.
Indeed. 'Twas. Though I was impressed, I'll say it again.
Yeah, I pretty much won, too...and he got my number. Alas, I checked my phone at the door, so I cannot send him a "texto."
He was rather impressive, v. Justin Timberlake-esque in his dance moves, and he slightly ressembled Noah Calhoun (the notebook, anyone?) so that is not bad.
The gold chain necklace however, that was bad.
Miss Rebecca, who is kickin' it bad-ass style at White Flag Projects in the STL these days, comments:
And you had a dance-off??! I HAVE to hear more about that. I picture it aslike the quintessential Lori in France moment. You, with yourragtime-inspired, soulful American moves and the frog with like Euro-fied pop and locking moves.
What a showdown it must have been.
Indeed. 'Twas. Though I was impressed, I'll say it again.
You guys LOOOVE scarves.
This is what I tell the french children when they as the difference between american and french fashion. Difference between french food and american? Yogurt. You guys love you some Dairy, I say.
I've also been talking a little bit about politics, which is nice. Props to Meredith for working for the good guys!
I just got this quote about the little war that could on terrorism emailed to me, courtesy of Jonny Stewart (Jon without an H, you will always be my guy, hehehe) and the Daily Show news desk:
"Let's pretend this plug is 'Iraq' and you're trying to connect it to the 'war on terror,' which is this avocado. You can do it... but here's the problem: THE AVOCADO STILL DOESN'T TURN ON. And now your plug is covered in guacamole."
Ha.
This is sorta what I thought when it all started - though now its like, weelllll? When the frenchies ask me if I prefer American or French politics, I of course remind them that their last election was between a liar (Chirac), and a neo-Nazi (Le Pen), and then say hey, maybe I prefer America's way, blah blha, and this is how THIS american feels about this and that. I'm not afraid to represent, and I did have the occasional friend who lost family in 9-11 so maybe french kids need to know about that. And maybe if they have relatives who partied after 9-11 (just another CRAZY, and hopefully exaggerated rumor circulated among the expats), maybe they can see that I did not party, no no, not at all.
I had someone ask me what I thought of the patriot act today - way to be on the ball, french girl! This is all coming on the news yesterday that N. Korea verified that they'd had a nuclear test.
Um, )&%*&%_*()#?!?!
Yikes. So needless to say, I was like, wellll, when it first happened, I was like, "not cool" - but now, I'm like spy on me all you want, just let's not have a nuclear winter.
May the magic karma of The Constitution get us through this one, right?
Yesterday I did the Old Lyon Pub Crawl, and I drank 7 buds in 3 hours and got up this morning fresh as a daisy at 8am. It was a blast. In order to catch our buss at midnight, much in the way Cinderella would have to behave were she on a pub crawl - Holly, Silvia and I speeeded through the crawl and won some major street cred with all the Scottish dudes we totally beat. UPenn, you have prepared me for so many things, not the least of them drinking late and rising early.
I got a t shirt!
I must say I was saddened to not see "St. Louis" emblazoned somewhere on my bottles of Bud. I mean, can't Bud rep its birthplace even if its brewed elsewhere?!?!? It felt somehow wrong to be drinking a bud that was so ashamed of its heritage as to not REPRESENT.
Schalfly would represent. They support the arts!
Oh, i read an article on the RFT blog about O'Fallon brewery -- they're trying to be legit or something. It reminded me of the time that Blythe and I went to the Chocolate Bar had an Ofallon summer brew and subsequently called the number to tell them that their beer tasted like White Rain Almond Shampoo. Since I see now that they're sortof legit, I think to myself, "I bet someone got that message."
I wonder if they thought it was constructive. Maybe they acted accordingly!
Anyway, its getting to be time to go to lunch.
Thanks for emailing me, and join my wiki!! (Can you tell I'm excited!)
I've also been talking a little bit about politics, which is nice. Props to Meredith for working for the good guys!
I just got this quote about the little war that could on terrorism emailed to me, courtesy of Jonny Stewart (Jon without an H, you will always be my guy, hehehe) and the Daily Show news desk:
"Let's pretend this plug is 'Iraq' and you're trying to connect it to the 'war on terror,' which is this avocado. You can do it... but here's the problem: THE AVOCADO STILL DOESN'T TURN ON. And now your plug is covered in guacamole."
Ha.
This is sorta what I thought when it all started - though now its like, weelllll? When the frenchies ask me if I prefer American or French politics, I of course remind them that their last election was between a liar (Chirac), and a neo-Nazi (Le Pen), and then say hey, maybe I prefer America's way, blah blha, and this is how THIS american feels about this and that. I'm not afraid to represent, and I did have the occasional friend who lost family in 9-11 so maybe french kids need to know about that. And maybe if they have relatives who partied after 9-11 (just another CRAZY, and hopefully exaggerated rumor circulated among the expats), maybe they can see that I did not party, no no, not at all.
I had someone ask me what I thought of the patriot act today - way to be on the ball, french girl! This is all coming on the news yesterday that N. Korea verified that they'd had a nuclear test.
Um, )&%*&%_*()#?!?!
Yikes. So needless to say, I was like, wellll, when it first happened, I was like, "not cool" - but now, I'm like spy on me all you want, just let's not have a nuclear winter.
May the magic karma of The Constitution get us through this one, right?
Yesterday I did the Old Lyon Pub Crawl, and I drank 7 buds in 3 hours and got up this morning fresh as a daisy at 8am. It was a blast. In order to catch our buss at midnight, much in the way Cinderella would have to behave were she on a pub crawl - Holly, Silvia and I speeeded through the crawl and won some major street cred with all the Scottish dudes we totally beat. UPenn, you have prepared me for so many things, not the least of them drinking late and rising early.
I got a t shirt!
I must say I was saddened to not see "St. Louis" emblazoned somewhere on my bottles of Bud. I mean, can't Bud rep its birthplace even if its brewed elsewhere?!?!? It felt somehow wrong to be drinking a bud that was so ashamed of its heritage as to not REPRESENT.
Schalfly would represent. They support the arts!
Oh, i read an article on the RFT blog about O'Fallon brewery -- they're trying to be legit or something. It reminded me of the time that Blythe and I went to the Chocolate Bar had an Ofallon summer brew and subsequently called the number to tell them that their beer tasted like White Rain Almond Shampoo. Since I see now that they're sortof legit, I think to myself, "I bet someone got that message."
I wonder if they thought it was constructive. Maybe they acted accordingly!
Anyway, its getting to be time to go to lunch.
Thanks for emailing me, and join my wiki!! (Can you tell I'm excited!)
Monday, October 09, 2006
I have a Wiki! Its so cool!
If I havn't invited you to my wiki - found at http://lolololori.pbwiki.com - ask me!
It hasn't really taken shape yet, but I'm going to use it to plan my Barcelona trip with Emilie, 1/3 of the Lampshade Choir .... and I'm gonna post links and whatnot, and when you post on it (the password's "boogie" - if you're savvy and know how to sign in) I'll be able to get your savvy advice 24/7, and you'll be able to see the crazy planning, not to mention the fact that I will get to give you e-props! Dudes, the internet is awesome.
I'm at the Black Lion in Vieux Lyon on their internet. One coffee get's ya all the wifi you need.
English pub crawl tonight, 9am class tomorrow. UPenn style = no prob.
More posts soon - I'm going to put a link to my wiki asap on the blog!
It hasn't really taken shape yet, but I'm going to use it to plan my Barcelona trip with Emilie, 1/3 of the Lampshade Choir .... and I'm gonna post links and whatnot, and when you post on it (the password's "boogie" - if you're savvy and know how to sign in) I'll be able to get your savvy advice 24/7, and you'll be able to see the crazy planning, not to mention the fact that I will get to give you e-props! Dudes, the internet is awesome.
I'm at the Black Lion in Vieux Lyon on their internet. One coffee get's ya all the wifi you need.
English pub crawl tonight, 9am class tomorrow. UPenn style = no prob.
More posts soon - I'm going to put a link to my wiki asap on the blog!
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Le Fish
Well, me and the ladies all tried to go to "Le Fish" at the reccomendation of lovely Becky from California. Well, "Le Fish" doesn't exist anymore, but we did have a lovely time drinking Emma's tequila and various other sundries as l'aperatif. Gonna have to opt out of the aperatif food, b/c its like, bacon flavored cheetos, as the tradition goes.
Emma has introduced me to putting chilli pepper on the lime when you're takin the tequilla.
V. wise! I have a new preference.
May I introduce you to my international clique? From left to right is Silvia (Italy), Me (Missouri - USA...everyone calls it "The States"), Holly (UK), Emma (Mexico), Doris (Austria). We are fun ladies, and we are tough.
Anyway, I'm off to find out if swing dancing is legit here in Lyon.
Check out my Flickr button over there to the right! How cool it that? It's so flashy and glamorous!
Friday, October 06, 2006
On peut voir les alpes! - Agnes
Much ado, much ado - not a lot of time to blog! Good sign. Though its a lot of busy work, schmoozing, maintaining the Lyon hub.
My excellent teacher-friend Agnes called today to tell me that i can see the alpes "On peut voir les alpes!" from my school b/c she's cool like that. Seriously, she is cool. I was on the bus when I got her call - which means a rooster starts crowing from my purse. But I'm standing in the middle of this accordion long-bus thing...it was like being on a really not fun carnival ride - me and the old french lady were like, j'ai peur! = I'm scared! and I really could just not answer, as I was trying to balance I giant Tower Grove Market bag (that I bought from a guy who knew Mr. McCallie! Points to him/the market) full of wine and little bacon flavored cheetos that you're supposed to have before dinner if you're french for "l'aperatif." Anyway, I got to school after there were millions of scary, debatably sanitary - but full of potential nonetheless... ganas! I channel my inner Jaime Escalante, always - schoolchildren running in and out of the bus (I wouldn't be suprised if some were underneath it) and there they were - ALPES! V. exciting for this lady. So I texted Agnes, "j'ai vu les ALPES - HOURRAH" minus any exclamation point, not because I wasn't exclaiming, but because my phone doesn't have exclamation point capability. Its cool though. Guess where I learned "hourrah"??
Bridget Jones in french of course! I'm pausing on Bridge for a bit though to finish The Rise of the Creative Class by Richard Florida. I'm particularly inspired to read this book b/c france's educational system is so contrary to this book, whose concepts sing a lovely song of love to my heart and mind pretty much. Anyway, the Australian teacher here who teaches english agrees. He was like, yeah, I went to school for engineering, was a banker, then I went to get a degree in music, did composition at a school in paris, taught music there and now I'm an english teacher. I was like, hold on - I need a minutem b/c you are too cool for me to absorb all at once, mate! French kids can check out to secretary school at like 13 years old and there's no turning back -- that's the thing dudes. So if you're struggling with your useless degree - at least you could actually get to do whatever it is (outside of atomic physics/brain surgery, yuk yuk yuk) you want to do if you just like, get an internship.
Oh the french school system. A place for everything and everything in its place. Is that good? Don't fence me in - that's what I say.
So I've been talking about organic/free-trade farming vs. whatever else there is. I actually brought up the phrase "happy chickens" today in class. I like to imagine that these children are benefitting from my quirky-urban-farmgirl-mississippi-river-east-coast-intellectual-pom-pon perspective (and that maybe they can learn that it is possible to live in many dimensions?)...but the teacher said they were hungover and they are after all, in something like DeVry over france. Not to hate, but I am keeping it real for now. These kids (the post BAC kids at least -- meaning they've graduated and are technical training kids) have checked OUT - or france did the checking out for them? I think even the kids still in high school don't even have like, AP-takin' kids to look up to/hate/compare themselves to/talk about behind their backs.
On the one hand, if you are a genius magoo, you get to go to private-school level school for free I think, but if you take one year to slack off, suddenly you're on a track to become a lab technician the rest of your life. Not that that's not good. And you DEF cannot get a CompLit degree and then go into cool branding/Marketing like I wanna do. Oh it shocks them, my interdisciplenariness. I hope they think it is VERY american.
Speaking of americannness my friend Becky and I are in the beginning stages of shooting a mocumentary here in lyon. Its going to be funnyyyy, and if we are fo-real, it might just get entered in Cannes. I'm going to attempt to write it, but unfortunately for me I was not involved with SCTV, much less Eugene Levy - like Christopher Guest - so I'm a little behind. And I'm not thinking its going ot be improved, though we did meet a totally flaming french dude who's a member of an acting troupe. Do you do improvised satire, french actors? Rather not take a chance. We'll see.
I'm posting comments to my flickr pictures, get excited! I see the pictures, they are lovely and then I see all the graffiti - there's waaaaaaay more, and uglier than in that picture -- rowr...I will remember to take a photo of the graffiti that I think says, "The vikings vacation in the winter." b/c even I can appreciate the absurdity of its pretty cursive silly message.
I gotta attempt to find something to love in merit-less graffiti that has no street value whatsoever. I'd rather it were easier, like if graffiti were legit. This is a city of murals, hellooo! Someone needs to get Lyon a tag-wall, and some proper manners, stat. Even the riverside's tagging is in no way artful (not counting the vikings). And it would be COOL if it were like St. Louis' tag wall, that I think got shut down, but whatever! (wish I could find some better pictures of it - its cool! represent. )
Anyway, after our aperatif tonight, Me and the ladies (pictures coming of all the ladies, soon) will be going to "Le Fish" - which is some dance boat free for ladies before 11. Yeah, we'll just see!
Did I mention I hung out w 17 year old bakers (boulangers, and they were proud) last tuesday or so? And that soem guy grabbed my mexican friend - she is so awesomely firey...why not meeee? -- and she told him something bad about his mother in spanish and then my other friend screamed somethign totally scary and german while I just drifted into the background, west-philly street-smarts style. That boy was up to no good, for sure.
Anyway, french people distracted drunk grabber man by saying, "what is this!?" a lot and then DGM peed in some doorway and peaced out, but not without a bit of yelling.
It was exciting, and luckily I had trained the girls with meredith's lifeguard training to call for help specifically - "hey yellow shirt!help!" to avoid sad, altrusiticless crowd mentality.
Anyway, said bar where we met was called "WALLACE" (where they have a lot of whisky - anyone feel like researching just what the heck kind of whiskey is in a Senator? Which senaor, you ask? well, its not a joke. not really...hehehe. Though now that I'm thinking of it, i wonde what kind of whiskey can be found in what senator's well-fed belly? Hm. Tabletop book anyone?) I always think this bar is called, "WHISKEY" and that's probably just b/c I'm a tough broad and the like. Anyway, there's a pub crawl going on there on monday, and my friends from "La Martin" are all gonna go - though only a few dare to buy the 7 drinks it takes to get a t-shirt, and yes I am one who dares. That could be my indian name. One-who-dares. My buddy EbConn back in school (all of a year ago) nicknames me "girl who leans" -- as a result of a comedienne who said everyone their first week of college gets an indian name.
Its true, think about it.
I'm going to get that tshirt. Yes, yes I am. Even if my friends have to swear in multiple languages to get it for my 7-drink "plein comme un oeuf" (means "stewed to the eyeballs" which means, drunk) self.
Ok, this was really only meant to be a "hey, I'm commenting on my pictures" announcement! But like so many things, its turned into something else entirely.
I'm going to start reading "A year in the Merde" - if you'd like to join my book-club, I'm starting it soon! We can discuss the book, and then you can all tell me how much I am/am not like Oprah.
Peace.
p.s. I'm going to Barcelona with Emilie at the end of this month, yay!
My excellent teacher-friend Agnes called today to tell me that i can see the alpes "On peut voir les alpes!" from my school b/c she's cool like that. Seriously, she is cool. I was on the bus when I got her call - which means a rooster starts crowing from my purse. But I'm standing in the middle of this accordion long-bus thing...it was like being on a really not fun carnival ride - me and the old french lady were like, j'ai peur! = I'm scared! and I really could just not answer, as I was trying to balance I giant Tower Grove Market bag (that I bought from a guy who knew Mr. McCallie! Points to him/the market) full of wine and little bacon flavored cheetos that you're supposed to have before dinner if you're french for "l'aperatif." Anyway, I got to school after there were millions of scary, debatably sanitary - but full of potential nonetheless... ganas! I channel my inner Jaime Escalante, always - schoolchildren running in and out of the bus (I wouldn't be suprised if some were underneath it) and there they were - ALPES! V. exciting for this lady. So I texted Agnes, "j'ai vu les ALPES - HOURRAH" minus any exclamation point, not because I wasn't exclaiming, but because my phone doesn't have exclamation point capability. Its cool though. Guess where I learned "hourrah"??
Bridget Jones in french of course! I'm pausing on Bridge for a bit though to finish The Rise of the Creative Class by Richard Florida. I'm particularly inspired to read this book b/c france's educational system is so contrary to this book, whose concepts sing a lovely song of love to my heart and mind pretty much. Anyway, the Australian teacher here who teaches english agrees. He was like, yeah, I went to school for engineering, was a banker, then I went to get a degree in music, did composition at a school in paris, taught music there and now I'm an english teacher. I was like, hold on - I need a minutem b/c you are too cool for me to absorb all at once, mate! French kids can check out to secretary school at like 13 years old and there's no turning back -- that's the thing dudes. So if you're struggling with your useless degree - at least you could actually get to do whatever it is (outside of atomic physics/brain surgery, yuk yuk yuk) you want to do if you just like, get an internship.
Oh the french school system. A place for everything and everything in its place. Is that good? Don't fence me in - that's what I say.
So I've been talking about organic/free-trade farming vs. whatever else there is. I actually brought up the phrase "happy chickens" today in class. I like to imagine that these children are benefitting from my quirky-urban-farmgirl-mississippi-river-east-coast-intellectual-pom-pon perspective (and that maybe they can learn that it is possible to live in many dimensions?)...but the teacher said they were hungover and they are after all, in something like DeVry over france. Not to hate, but I am keeping it real for now. These kids (the post BAC kids at least -- meaning they've graduated and are technical training kids) have checked OUT - or france did the checking out for them? I think even the kids still in high school don't even have like, AP-takin' kids to look up to/hate/compare themselves to/talk about behind their backs.
On the one hand, if you are a genius magoo, you get to go to private-school level school for free I think, but if you take one year to slack off, suddenly you're on a track to become a lab technician the rest of your life. Not that that's not good. And you DEF cannot get a CompLit degree and then go into cool branding/Marketing like I wanna do. Oh it shocks them, my interdisciplenariness. I hope they think it is VERY american.
Speaking of americannness my friend Becky and I are in the beginning stages of shooting a mocumentary here in lyon. Its going to be funnyyyy, and if we are fo-real, it might just get entered in Cannes. I'm going to attempt to write it, but unfortunately for me I was not involved with SCTV, much less Eugene Levy - like Christopher Guest - so I'm a little behind. And I'm not thinking its going ot be improved, though we did meet a totally flaming french dude who's a member of an acting troupe. Do you do improvised satire, french actors? Rather not take a chance. We'll see.
I'm posting comments to my flickr pictures, get excited! I see the pictures, they are lovely and then I see all the graffiti - there's waaaaaaay more, and uglier than in that picture -- rowr...I will remember to take a photo of the graffiti that I think says, "The vikings vacation in the winter." b/c even I can appreciate the absurdity of its pretty cursive silly message.
I gotta attempt to find something to love in merit-less graffiti that has no street value whatsoever. I'd rather it were easier, like if graffiti were legit. This is a city of murals, hellooo! Someone needs to get Lyon a tag-wall, and some proper manners, stat. Even the riverside's tagging is in no way artful (not counting the vikings). And it would be COOL if it were like St. Louis' tag wall, that I think got shut down, but whatever! (wish I could find some better pictures of it - its cool! represent. )
Anyway, after our aperatif tonight, Me and the ladies (pictures coming of all the ladies, soon) will be going to "Le Fish" - which is some dance boat free for ladies before 11. Yeah, we'll just see!
Did I mention I hung out w 17 year old bakers (boulangers, and they were proud) last tuesday or so? And that soem guy grabbed my mexican friend - she is so awesomely firey...why not meeee? -- and she told him something bad about his mother in spanish and then my other friend screamed somethign totally scary and german while I just drifted into the background, west-philly street-smarts style. That boy was up to no good, for sure.
Anyway, french people distracted drunk grabber man by saying, "what is this!?" a lot and then DGM peed in some doorway and peaced out, but not without a bit of yelling.
It was exciting, and luckily I had trained the girls with meredith's lifeguard training to call for help specifically - "hey yellow shirt!help!" to avoid sad, altrusiticless crowd mentality.
Anyway, said bar where we met was called "WALLACE" (where they have a lot of whisky - anyone feel like researching just what the heck kind of whiskey is in a Senator? Which senaor, you ask? well, its not a joke. not really...hehehe. Though now that I'm thinking of it, i wonde what kind of whiskey can be found in what senator's well-fed belly? Hm. Tabletop book anyone?) I always think this bar is called, "WHISKEY" and that's probably just b/c I'm a tough broad and the like. Anyway, there's a pub crawl going on there on monday, and my friends from "La Martin" are all gonna go - though only a few dare to buy the 7 drinks it takes to get a t-shirt, and yes I am one who dares. That could be my indian name. One-who-dares. My buddy EbConn back in school (all of a year ago) nicknames me "girl who leans" -- as a result of a comedienne who said everyone their first week of college gets an indian name.
Its true, think about it.
I'm going to get that tshirt. Yes, yes I am. Even if my friends have to swear in multiple languages to get it for my 7-drink "plein comme un oeuf" (means "stewed to the eyeballs" which means, drunk) self.
Ok, this was really only meant to be a "hey, I'm commenting on my pictures" announcement! But like so many things, its turned into something else entirely.
I'm going to start reading "A year in the Merde" - if you'd like to join my book-club, I'm starting it soon! We can discuss the book, and then you can all tell me how much I am/am not like Oprah.
Peace.
p.s. I'm going to Barcelona with Emilie at the end of this month, yay!
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Familiar (looking) places, no familiar faces
Its a bridge in Lyon! How lovely!
Check it out, I think I can upload pictures today! Flickr, here I come soon - though Flickr is a big coming out, so I'm toing to have to really take in the full weight of that decision. Flickr is a force for good, and I like joining those forces! But if you wanna talk about Yahoo, I must represent and say, hey yahoo - not cool what you're doing with China. Not cool, man.
So my friend and I were testing out our french cusswords on the river the other night, and some french dudes came over to us and were like, Hey ladies, you seem charming, how about sharing a glass with us? And we were like, hmmm. ok? Fortunatly, for the sake of cinderella-esque drama, our bus arrived just in time for a dramatic exit. Anyway, we're meeting them tonight - all 5 of us girls, so we will be v. safe, and I will throw down if necessary.
I'm losing energy talking about myself to all the french classes - I talked about how I felt about organic farming vs fair trade and how Starbucks is such a good example of corporate responsibility/force for goodness, and I'm wondering, do you care french children? Does anyone really care ever? I feel like I would, but I'm a nerd.
Anyway, my new flickr account is here :
http://www.flickr.com/photos/lolololori/
No, I don't have photos up yet, but I hope to be very legit sometime soon...with tags and blog links and everything! I've taken some lovely graffiti-meets-renaissance architecture pics, as well as some other excellent postcardy ones. We'll see if I can't make some artsy pics, too!
Right now, I'm just hungry I think, so doing anything, especially a charming blog is just not happening.
I do have some ideas for more posts, and my non-internet computer time should prove fruitful (especially now that I've watched The Notebook about 4 times -- Nick Cassavetes is one cool dude, ps - we could totally chill. I like the way he talks like he's in Guys and Dolls or something b/c he's from brooklyn/an old-fashioned fella. Anyway...)
Hope you're keeping it real - all you kids out there driving on the information superhighway ---with the top down, no doubt --- you 'll hear more from me soon!
Check out the picture below of Les Lyonnais Cafe... Look familiar to anyone?
Check it out, I think I can upload pictures today! Flickr, here I come soon - though Flickr is a big coming out, so I'm toing to have to really take in the full weight of that decision. Flickr is a force for good, and I like joining those forces! But if you wanna talk about Yahoo, I must represent and say, hey yahoo - not cool what you're doing with China. Not cool, man.So my friend and I were testing out our french cusswords on the river the other night, and some french dudes came over to us and were like, Hey ladies, you seem charming, how about sharing a glass with us? And we were like, hmmm. ok? Fortunatly, for the sake of cinderella-esque drama, our bus arrived just in time for a dramatic exit. Anyway, we're meeting them tonight - all 5 of us girls, so we will be v. safe, and I will throw down if necessary.
I'm losing energy talking about myself to all the french classes - I talked about how I felt about organic farming vs fair trade and how Starbucks is such a good example of corporate responsibility/force for goodness, and I'm wondering, do you care french children? Does anyone really care ever? I feel like I would, but I'm a nerd.
Anyway, my new flickr account is here :
http://www.flickr.com/photos/lolololori/
No, I don't have photos up yet, but I hope to be very legit sometime soon...with tags and blog links and everything! I've taken some lovely graffiti-meets-renaissance architecture pics, as well as some other excellent postcardy ones. We'll see if I can't make some artsy pics, too!
Right now, I'm just hungry I think, so doing anything, especially a charming blog is just not happening.
I do have some ideas for more posts, and my non-internet computer time should prove fruitful (especially now that I've watched The Notebook about 4 times -- Nick Cassavetes is one cool dude, ps - we could totally chill. I like the way he talks like he's in Guys and Dolls or something b/c he's from brooklyn/an old-fashioned fella. Anyway...)
Hope you're keeping it real - all you kids out there driving on the information superhighway ---with the top down, no doubt --- you 'll hear more from me soon!
Monday, October 02, 2006
STL, I will scrap for you.
Yeah, so I had my first drunk french person getting mad at me for being american (strangely enough it was not b/c I was looking like/acting like an imperialist pig, unless you count staying in the bathroom for more than a minute imperialist and piggish.
Whatever, I totally called him/his mother a whore (I think) and when he tried to touch my stl shirt he got a nice american freedom slap.
I have since brushed up on my french cuss words. I am going to be a swearer in french.
I'm a little afraid to be an american, gotta admit. People are telling me not to act american where I teach b/c its not safe. I do not know what this means, but it sortof hurts my feelings.
Still, drunken (and short, i might add) french boys aside, people are nice, and so far the only trouble I get in the Duchere is some seriously weird looks. But they're not rioting anymore, so its cool, right?
It reminds me of Kathy Griffin.
I'm sorry, but this computer doesn't seem to want to let me upload photos. Flickr account coming soon.
More later, gotta go to the walmart of france.
Whatever, I totally called him/his mother a whore (I think) and when he tried to touch my stl shirt he got a nice american freedom slap.
I have since brushed up on my french cuss words. I am going to be a swearer in french.
I'm a little afraid to be an american, gotta admit. People are telling me not to act american where I teach b/c its not safe. I do not know what this means, but it sortof hurts my feelings.
Still, drunken (and short, i might add) french boys aside, people are nice, and so far the only trouble I get in the Duchere is some seriously weird looks. But they're not rioting anymore, so its cool, right?
It reminds me of Kathy Griffin.
I'm sorry, but this computer doesn't seem to want to let me upload photos. Flickr account coming soon.
More later, gotta go to the walmart of france.
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