Have any of you seen Addam's Family Values? Wednesday and Pugsly get sent to a WASP overnight camp somewhere in Vermont for a month or two over the summer so an evil woman can marry and murder their dear Uncle Fester. And the theatrical production of the summer is a musical interpretation of The First Thanksgiving, in which Wednesday plays Pocohantas, and Pugsly is the turkey. And they dance around and pretend to be truly involved for the first five minutes or so, until they set the set on fire, and wreak general havoc.
It's a true American classic.
But right now I have the image in my head of that silly little boy in a turkey costume, dancing around all these lighted buildings, and it's making me laugh.
I'd set fire to something if I could.
Except that I hate fire.
But you know what I mean.
At the moment, I would kill for some quality mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce. What is the country thinking? Who on earth doesn't want to celebrate the settlement of America? What are they DOING over here???
I have elected not to imitate the holiday for my family, because making turkey all alone seems so sad. And it wouldn't be the same. And I suddenly know why everyone hates to be away around the holidays.
But, still, it's a beautiful day today. Honestly, it's crisp and sunny and clear, the kind that makes your cheeks rosy and your ears cold and the sun gleams, a true glow, the kind people write sonnets about, metaphors for someone's toothy smile or the birhgtness of the future. Today is an inspiring day.
And last night I watched Love Actually, and that movie is so good. It's just so good.
And the night before that I watched Shakespeare in Love. Which is even better.
But right now, I hope that you are warm and well-fed and happy and home, safe, tucked in tight under the covers, and sipping hot chocolate as the first chirstmas decorations are drawn from the closets, dusty and musty, and ready for a new year.
I'm ready for a new year.
I miss you.
Until Next Time,
- Into the night we shine
Lighting the way we glide by
Catch me if I get too high
When I come down
I'll be coming home next year
I'm in the sky tonight
There I can keep by your side
Watching the whole world wind around and round
I'll be coming home next year -
:: Foo Fighters
COUNTDOWN to return: 188 days
26 November 2004
21 November 2004
GIP: Paris
Enfin. The Pictures from Paris.
Where are we? Oh right, PARIS!
Claire, Pierre, Phillipe, and I in front of the Eiffel Tower
And later, at night, while the tower was scintillating...
Mounting Montmartre to Sacre Coeur
The view from the steps of Sacre Coeur
The family (Pierre, Annie, Me, Phillipe) from Sacre Coeur
Yes, that WOULD be Moulin Rouge
And look at that. L'Arc de Triomphe.
And the Louvre!
And the Musee D'Orsay! (I love the shadows behind the glass. I wrote about them. Something I might post later.)
The Baths of Apollo at Versailles, my favorite thing.
So, that was Paris.
I hope you enjoyed yourself.
I miss you.
Until Next Time, "When the wind finds you, it fights you. It will wrestle its way into your eyes, your guts, your bones; it wants to freeze you into a delicate shell, to shatter, and scatter, to the city of lights, impervious below."
COUNTDOWN to return: 192 days
Where are we? Oh right, PARIS!
Claire, Pierre, Phillipe, and I in front of the Eiffel Tower
And later, at night, while the tower was scintillating...
Mounting Montmartre to Sacre Coeur
The view from the steps of Sacre Coeur
The family (Pierre, Annie, Me, Phillipe) from Sacre Coeur
Yes, that WOULD be Moulin Rouge
And look at that. L'Arc de Triomphe.
And the Louvre!
And the Musee D'Orsay! (I love the shadows behind the glass. I wrote about them. Something I might post later.)
The Baths of Apollo at Versailles, my favorite thing.
So, that was Paris.
I hope you enjoyed yourself.
I miss you.
Until Next Time, "When the wind finds you, it fights you. It will wrestle its way into your eyes, your guts, your bones; it wants to freeze you into a delicate shell, to shatter, and scatter, to the city of lights, impervious below."
COUNTDOWN to return: 192 days
17 November 2004
BERLIN, BABY!
So, let's talk about the COOLEST part of recent developments:
I.G.T.B.
- or -
*pause for dramatic effect*
I'm Going To Berlin!!!!
AAAAAAHHHHHHHH.
So, a full detailed description? Yes. The conference in Berlin is being held by Americans for Informed Democracy (http://www.aidemocracy.org), which is the cool little place where the Ohio-an Republicans are being tortured and malnourished for their crimes against the state.
I jest.
But they hold two "summits" every year for college students studying in Europe, and have started inviting SYA students to apply, cuz we're cool, and so basically half of my school applied, and I got in, but here's the thing... I'm going. There it is. There's the thing. Five other girls from school are going too, we're all flying together and what not. And they're all really cool and nice and human and I like them all and so AWESOME. And Berlin. And seeing more of Europe. And LEARNING HOW TO FIX AMERICA.
So all that's basically gotten me PUMPED.
I think I'm the luckiest girl alive. If I believed in God, I'd thank him. But since I'm still shaky on that, I'll thank the real people who made this possible. Thank you, you are wonderful, this is amazing. I can't believe it's really happening.
Now, onto other things that require fewer exclamation points.
The cat of the house, Mina, is a very fat, black and white, indoor/outdoor kitty who has sharp claws and does not like to be touched anywhere near her tail. She enjoys sitting on the armchair in front of the fireplace, and becoming blissfully toasty, while staring intently into the flames. The cat has an obsession with this chair, and this ritual. This morning, around 7h30, she was sitting there, watching the people eat their breakfast, waiting for one of them to allume the feu. Sadly enough, she had to wait a few more hours. But this cat is something of a mystery to me. What does she see in this fire? What could possibly draw her so close? Today, Annie moved the hard orange armchair to the oter corner of the room. So Mina curled up on the stone of the fireplace to stare as the embers fizzled out and gave up. Claire said we'd have to drag in a cushion for her, since the chair was MIA. Phillipe said the cushion would catch on fire.
I said nothing, as speaking french is not my strong point.
But the point of the story is that this cat has more appreciation for basic and neccessary convience than I ever had or over will. The cat is happy to be warm, and entertained by dangerous, orange burning. Is it a sign of intelligence that this isn't enough for us? That I can't stare into that big stone hole in the wall for more than thirty seconds without my mind wandering? That I'm afraid of being even half as close as Mina gets on her cooler days?
Sadly, I think it is something along the lines of counter-evolution that has led me away from the fire and into my sweatshirt to keep warm.
We're going back to fur, people.
Completely different topic, I'm reading David Sedaris' Me Talk Pretty One Day, and feeling silly for not having known earlier that A) he's homosexual and B) he lived for over a year in Paris with his parner, struggling to learn French. If anyone has read the book, the title anecdote, and a few others that follow it -- "Jesus Shaves" "The Tapeworm Is In" "Make That A Double" -- are EXACTLY what this year is like. He takes a french class while in France with a bunch of other aging foreigners, and I have everyone one of those characters he describes in my class right now. He's a good man, that David Sedaris. I'd like to meet him one day.
Alright, I hope you're as giddy as I am right now.
I miss you all, very very much.
Until Next Time, "There are, I have noticed, two basic types of French spoken by Americans staying in Paris: the Hard Kind and the Easy Kind. The Hard Kind involves the conjugation of wily verbs and the science of placing them alongside various other words in order to form sentences such as "I go him good afternoon," and "He, one, we, it going to later see." The second, less complicated form of French amounts to screaming English at the top of your lungs, much the same way you're shout at a deaf person or a dog you thought you could train to stay off the sofa. Doubt and hesitation are completely unneccessary, as Easy French is rooted in the premise that, if properly packed, the rest of the world could fit within the confines of Reno, Nevada."
-- David Sedaris, "Make That A Double"
COUNTDOWN to return: 196 days
I.G.T.B.
- or -
*pause for dramatic effect*
I'm Going To Berlin!!!!
AAAAAAHHHHHHHH.
So, a full detailed description? Yes. The conference in Berlin is being held by Americans for Informed Democracy (http://www.aidemocracy.org), which is the cool little place where the Ohio-an Republicans are being tortured and malnourished for their crimes against the state.
I jest.
But they hold two "summits" every year for college students studying in Europe, and have started inviting SYA students to apply, cuz we're cool, and so basically half of my school applied, and I got in, but here's the thing... I'm going. There it is. There's the thing. Five other girls from school are going too, we're all flying together and what not. And they're all really cool and nice and human and I like them all and so AWESOME. And Berlin. And seeing more of Europe. And LEARNING HOW TO FIX AMERICA.
So all that's basically gotten me PUMPED.
I think I'm the luckiest girl alive. If I believed in God, I'd thank him. But since I'm still shaky on that, I'll thank the real people who made this possible. Thank you, you are wonderful, this is amazing. I can't believe it's really happening.
Now, onto other things that require fewer exclamation points.
The cat of the house, Mina, is a very fat, black and white, indoor/outdoor kitty who has sharp claws and does not like to be touched anywhere near her tail. She enjoys sitting on the armchair in front of the fireplace, and becoming blissfully toasty, while staring intently into the flames. The cat has an obsession with this chair, and this ritual. This morning, around 7h30, she was sitting there, watching the people eat their breakfast, waiting for one of them to allume the feu. Sadly enough, she had to wait a few more hours. But this cat is something of a mystery to me. What does she see in this fire? What could possibly draw her so close? Today, Annie moved the hard orange armchair to the oter corner of the room. So Mina curled up on the stone of the fireplace to stare as the embers fizzled out and gave up. Claire said we'd have to drag in a cushion for her, since the chair was MIA. Phillipe said the cushion would catch on fire.
I said nothing, as speaking french is not my strong point.
But the point of the story is that this cat has more appreciation for basic and neccessary convience than I ever had or over will. The cat is happy to be warm, and entertained by dangerous, orange burning. Is it a sign of intelligence that this isn't enough for us? That I can't stare into that big stone hole in the wall for more than thirty seconds without my mind wandering? That I'm afraid of being even half as close as Mina gets on her cooler days?
Sadly, I think it is something along the lines of counter-evolution that has led me away from the fire and into my sweatshirt to keep warm.
We're going back to fur, people.
Completely different topic, I'm reading David Sedaris' Me Talk Pretty One Day, and feeling silly for not having known earlier that A) he's homosexual and B) he lived for over a year in Paris with his parner, struggling to learn French. If anyone has read the book, the title anecdote, and a few others that follow it -- "Jesus Shaves" "The Tapeworm Is In" "Make That A Double" -- are EXACTLY what this year is like. He takes a french class while in France with a bunch of other aging foreigners, and I have everyone one of those characters he describes in my class right now. He's a good man, that David Sedaris. I'd like to meet him one day.
Alright, I hope you're as giddy as I am right now.
I miss you all, very very much.
Until Next Time, "There are, I have noticed, two basic types of French spoken by Americans staying in Paris: the Hard Kind and the Easy Kind. The Hard Kind involves the conjugation of wily verbs and the science of placing them alongside various other words in order to form sentences such as "I go him good afternoon," and "He, one, we, it going to later see." The second, less complicated form of French amounts to screaming English at the top of your lungs, much the same way you're shout at a deaf person or a dog you thought you could train to stay off the sofa. Doubt and hesitation are completely unneccessary, as Easy French is rooted in the premise that, if properly packed, the rest of the world could fit within the confines of Reno, Nevada."
-- David Sedaris, "Make That A Double"
COUNTDOWN to return: 196 days
14 November 2004
Chestnust Roasting...
Tonight was one of those crazy nights.
No.
Today was one of those crazy days.
Right now, it’s a little after midnight on Saturday and I’m slouched in my bed with my laptop on my lap, guessing blindly at the keys and wishing desperately for someone to keep me company.
So today. I got up around ten and ate breakfast, took a shower, avoided my homework, wrote some emails, watched some Sex and the City, avoided my homework some more. You know the drill.
Then I went to the Piscine St. Georges with my host mother and sister, Annie and Claire. Now, seeing this pool in the middle of downtown was like finding a quarter buried in the sand. It’s this beautiful occurrence of nothing, a glimmer in the sunlight. The pool is indoors, and it’s well heated, well kept. It’s in a good neighborhood, there aren’t any small children, the showers are clean. And the pool is a mosaic. The floor and the walls are tiled by these tiny ceramic squares of blues and reds and yellows. The best part is, you can’t tell if you’re standing on the edge. Then the surface blurs the swirls and stars into nothing, the pool is nothing special when you’re not in it. But once you’re submerged, you see these intricacies in every direction, they’re all around you. And there are a few foiled in silver or copper or gold, and they scintillate as you glide through the water, different from every angle. Since I didn’t have my glasses on, when I was farther away, I’d only see blurry halos of light framed by reds and blues coming to meet me head on as I swam. It was an out of body experience, and I felt like summer again. I wish you could see it, it’s amazing.
Then we showered up and came home, clean and refreshed, having bought a few goodies from the open-air market (momma, you would LOVE the marche). And we got home and I sat around some more and then I TALKED TO CARLY ON THE PHONE FOR THREE HOURS. In caps because it was fantastic to be able to squeeze that much contact into my day, I think it was sorely needed. I really do just need to wake myself up every now and then, remember that I’m not completely incapable of understanding, or of being understood. And it seems there’s always something, always a reason to get off the phone, never enough time to make sure everything is said. And of course, even with three hours, that was still true. But it was relaxing and familiar, and it brought me back to myself.
But I was stupid. It was a stupid thing. I heard the other line beeping, and I tried everything, but I could NOT figure out how to switch over. And of course, that was sort of alarming, but I was a little out of body, and I didn’t really pay attention to what time it was, and I figured they could call back. Plus, everyone has a cell phone. What could I be missing? Ai, I should’ve seen it coming. The phone always gets me in trouble. Annie came upstairs a half an hour after I get off and was very angry about everything. She yelled some, about me not paying attention and monopolizing the line, and I nodded along and apologized, and that was that.
So after the fight, all I wanted to do was talk some more (vicious cycle), but it was dinner time. And Annie’s parents are here. And we had five different seafood – oysters and mussels and shrimp, and some weird snail-type thing and some other clam-guy neither of which I can name in English. And sea food is not my favorite thing. No matter how it tastes, it’s still chewy and slimy and usually has eyes or guts or is still living when you put it in the pot. Or it gives off a strange odor. Or it isn’t cooked at all. All of these are characteristic of the craziness I ate tonight. It was a learning experience, really.
Then, we had chestnuts. Which had been roasted on an open fire. Yes, I sang the song. Yes, they gave me crazy looks. And yes, I’m going to need you to send me some Bing and some Peter Paul and Mary and some Roaches and some Harry Connick. Yes, all of those things are true.
And now I’m in bed, tired and tired, wishing I could be with you.
This is for baby Charlotte:
YOU’RE THE MOST WONDERFUL SISTER EVER, AND I’M GONNA LOVE YOU SO HARD IT’LL KNOCK YOUR LITTLE BABY SOCKS OFF, KAY?
K, cool.
I miss you.
Until Next Time,
A: Love is a chaotic crack in the armor.
B: Through the cracks we breathe.
- uncomfortable silence -
B: I surprise myself sometimes.
COUNTDOWN to return: 200 days [milestone, people, milestone!]
ps: Momma, can you call me tonight?
No.
Today was one of those crazy days.
Right now, it’s a little after midnight on Saturday and I’m slouched in my bed with my laptop on my lap, guessing blindly at the keys and wishing desperately for someone to keep me company.
So today. I got up around ten and ate breakfast, took a shower, avoided my homework, wrote some emails, watched some Sex and the City, avoided my homework some more. You know the drill.
Then I went to the Piscine St. Georges with my host mother and sister, Annie and Claire. Now, seeing this pool in the middle of downtown was like finding a quarter buried in the sand. It’s this beautiful occurrence of nothing, a glimmer in the sunlight. The pool is indoors, and it’s well heated, well kept. It’s in a good neighborhood, there aren’t any small children, the showers are clean. And the pool is a mosaic. The floor and the walls are tiled by these tiny ceramic squares of blues and reds and yellows. The best part is, you can’t tell if you’re standing on the edge. Then the surface blurs the swirls and stars into nothing, the pool is nothing special when you’re not in it. But once you’re submerged, you see these intricacies in every direction, they’re all around you. And there are a few foiled in silver or copper or gold, and they scintillate as you glide through the water, different from every angle. Since I didn’t have my glasses on, when I was farther away, I’d only see blurry halos of light framed by reds and blues coming to meet me head on as I swam. It was an out of body experience, and I felt like summer again. I wish you could see it, it’s amazing.
Then we showered up and came home, clean and refreshed, having bought a few goodies from the open-air market (momma, you would LOVE the marche). And we got home and I sat around some more and then I TALKED TO CARLY ON THE PHONE FOR THREE HOURS. In caps because it was fantastic to be able to squeeze that much contact into my day, I think it was sorely needed. I really do just need to wake myself up every now and then, remember that I’m not completely incapable of understanding, or of being understood. And it seems there’s always something, always a reason to get off the phone, never enough time to make sure everything is said. And of course, even with three hours, that was still true. But it was relaxing and familiar, and it brought me back to myself.
But I was stupid. It was a stupid thing. I heard the other line beeping, and I tried everything, but I could NOT figure out how to switch over. And of course, that was sort of alarming, but I was a little out of body, and I didn’t really pay attention to what time it was, and I figured they could call back. Plus, everyone has a cell phone. What could I be missing? Ai, I should’ve seen it coming. The phone always gets me in trouble. Annie came upstairs a half an hour after I get off and was very angry about everything. She yelled some, about me not paying attention and monopolizing the line, and I nodded along and apologized, and that was that.
So after the fight, all I wanted to do was talk some more (vicious cycle), but it was dinner time. And Annie’s parents are here. And we had five different seafood – oysters and mussels and shrimp, and some weird snail-type thing and some other clam-guy neither of which I can name in English. And sea food is not my favorite thing. No matter how it tastes, it’s still chewy and slimy and usually has eyes or guts or is still living when you put it in the pot. Or it gives off a strange odor. Or it isn’t cooked at all. All of these are characteristic of the craziness I ate tonight. It was a learning experience, really.
Then, we had chestnuts. Which had been roasted on an open fire. Yes, I sang the song. Yes, they gave me crazy looks. And yes, I’m going to need you to send me some Bing and some Peter Paul and Mary and some Roaches and some Harry Connick. Yes, all of those things are true.
And now I’m in bed, tired and tired, wishing I could be with you.
This is for baby Charlotte:
YOU’RE THE MOST WONDERFUL SISTER EVER, AND I’M GONNA LOVE YOU SO HARD IT’LL KNOCK YOUR LITTLE BABY SOCKS OFF, KAY?
K, cool.
I miss you.
Until Next Time,
A: Love is a chaotic crack in the armor.
B: Through the cracks we breathe.
- uncomfortable silence -
B: I surprise myself sometimes.
COUNTDOWN to return: 200 days [milestone, people, milestone!]
ps: Momma, can you call me tonight?
11 November 2004
City Fiend
So, Paris.
Here’s the thing. I’ve been reflecting, and I don’t really want to tell the whole story, as I’ve done before and will do again. It isn’t because I don’t want you to know the whole story, or because it’s not worth telling. It is simply because there is so much to relay that I just want to tell you what’s important. It would mean a lot to me if I could have you know the basic truth, and know it well, so that’s what I’m going to go for.
First of all, just to get this out there, we did everything you’re supposed to do in Paris. We saw the Champs d’Elysee, l’Arc du Triomphe, Notre Dame, Sacre Coeur and Montmartre, the Moulin Rouge, Versailles, the Musee D’Orsay, the Louvre, and of course, the Eiffel Tower. We saw it all, and it was an out of body experience. The sights and the sounds and the walking and the shopping and the eating and the living. This is the city of cities, everyone who travels to Europe passes through Charles de Gaulle, it has four different train stations, and combined that’s more train traffic than any other city on the planet, it’s been around for thousands of years, it gets more tourists in a month than Cleveland has seen in its lifetime. It’s just one of those places that you have to breathe to believe.
And it’s dirty and smelly and overwhelming and unreal and it’s all made for tourists and no one who goes there is actually interested in speaking French and you can basically drown in the homeless population. But it’s Paris. Come on.
I love the Metro. Everyone takes the Metro. It’s fast and easy, and it goes everywhere you could ever want to be. It’s the easiest way to see people. I did a lot of writing during the trip, I finished another section of my notebook, and almost all of it took place on or concerned the subway. These people speak all of the languages you’ve ever heard and are looking at each other in such mind-blowingly original ways that you will never, ever get enough. It nice, to be surrounded by people you don’t know, when there’s no pressure to meet them. I take comfort in the fact that they only see, they do not care. It’s pretty individual. And the thing is, it doesn’t work that way anywhere else. The Metro and the buses in Rennes, nothing like that. It’s a different atmosphere, and different reality. Paris is one of a kind.
I would go back just for the Metro.
Except that the real reason I’m going back is for the Baths of Apollo at Versailles. God, I wish I could get to the pictures right now. So, Versailles is this enormous chateau about half an hour outside of Paris that was constructed by Louis XIV to get the aristocrats away from the true affairs of the government. So it’s designed to make you want to stay, to get you away from real life. And, just FYI, it does that very well. The chateau is absolutely astounding. Unbelievable. And then the gardens, which are almost four times as large as the chateau itself. Just beautiful, even in the off-season. And we were wandering around in the woods, and there’s clearing, with a pond. And behind the pond is a rock face. And there are three caves carved into the rock, with Greek columns embedded into the walls. And then there are three beautiful, white marble statues, one in each cave, of beautiful naked women and Apollo’s chariot, and Apollo himself. I’m not kidding in the slightest, it was the most magical place I have ever seen. Dusk was settling, and the moon was casting its reflection into the pond, and I would not have been surprised if Oberon and Titania had materialized in the shadowed grotto. In fact, I’m sort of surprised that they didn’t. Sean! Chelsea! What happened there?
Otherwise, good stuff. Had my portrait drawn on the streets of Montmartre, by a man who spoke perfect English, and told me I was beautiful, and then gave it to me for free. And we went to a wax museum. Dude! I have a picture of myself chilling with J.P. Sartre! And I saw Paris at night from the top of the Eiffel Tower, and would’ve been happy with dying right then. And I wandered with my family down the street of the Moulin Rouge at midnight on a Saturday, I don’t know exactly why, and witnessed the slow opening of all the strip clubs and X-Rated movie theaters in France, and had Annie drag us into the Museum of Eroticism. I’m not kidding. I thought Pierre was going to cry he was so uncomfortable. I, on the other hand, could not stop laughing, which only drew unsettling attention from the surrounding unsavory public. That neighborhood is not a smart place to be. Philippe went into macho man mode. I laughed some more. All in all, I could not have had a crazier trip.
To be truthful, it was one of the hardest weeks of my life. Things with my sister reached an all time low, the apartment was one room, and we all slept in it on the floor, together. IE Too much togetherness. It was lonely, it’s a lonely city if you are not there for love. It will always be that way.
But still, thank you Paris. I’ll see you again soon.
So, everything else? A quick re-cap:
I HAVE A NEW BABY SISTER.
Tonight, Grace and I are cooking fajitas and guacamole and cheesecake for our families.
I might get to go to a conference in Berlin for a weekend in early December for students studying abroad who want "Bring the World Home." It's on the rocks...
Yesterday was Philippe’s birthday. Friday is Annie’s. Combined, their presents cost me 43 euros. I bought a paperback book and some little doodad guys. WHAT IS THIS COUNTRY TRYING TO DO TO ME?
We have to read Candide in French for Lit by the beginning of December. I wish I had been in Stacy.
The top group AP lit class is reading L’Etranger. Oh, the irony.
I’ve gotten two packages and two amazing letters in the past few days. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
I saw a concert with the Portuguese version of Dispatch. It was awesome, by the way.
Grades come out on Friday.
I don’t have school tomorrow. Armistice Day.
I’ve watched Notting Hill five times since Saturday.
It hit me today that I won’t be baking Dangerfield Christmas cookies.
I can’t believe we’re already in the DOUBLE DIGITS of NOVEMBER! It’s too fast and it isn’t fast enough.
I still can’t speak French.
Alright, adieu for now.
I love you all.
Until Next Time, “And if I’m flying solo, at least I’m flying free.”
COUNTDOWN to return: 203 days
ps: Pictures on the way. I promise.
pps: SOMEONE KICK GEORGE W. BUSH FOR ME, kay, thanks.
ppps: If someone could ask an English teacher at Hawken when the deadline is for the McCreery submissions, I’d be much obliged.
Here’s the thing. I’ve been reflecting, and I don’t really want to tell the whole story, as I’ve done before and will do again. It isn’t because I don’t want you to know the whole story, or because it’s not worth telling. It is simply because there is so much to relay that I just want to tell you what’s important. It would mean a lot to me if I could have you know the basic truth, and know it well, so that’s what I’m going to go for.
First of all, just to get this out there, we did everything you’re supposed to do in Paris. We saw the Champs d’Elysee, l’Arc du Triomphe, Notre Dame, Sacre Coeur and Montmartre, the Moulin Rouge, Versailles, the Musee D’Orsay, the Louvre, and of course, the Eiffel Tower. We saw it all, and it was an out of body experience. The sights and the sounds and the walking and the shopping and the eating and the living. This is the city of cities, everyone who travels to Europe passes through Charles de Gaulle, it has four different train stations, and combined that’s more train traffic than any other city on the planet, it’s been around for thousands of years, it gets more tourists in a month than Cleveland has seen in its lifetime. It’s just one of those places that you have to breathe to believe.
And it’s dirty and smelly and overwhelming and unreal and it’s all made for tourists and no one who goes there is actually interested in speaking French and you can basically drown in the homeless population. But it’s Paris. Come on.
I love the Metro. Everyone takes the Metro. It’s fast and easy, and it goes everywhere you could ever want to be. It’s the easiest way to see people. I did a lot of writing during the trip, I finished another section of my notebook, and almost all of it took place on or concerned the subway. These people speak all of the languages you’ve ever heard and are looking at each other in such mind-blowingly original ways that you will never, ever get enough. It nice, to be surrounded by people you don’t know, when there’s no pressure to meet them. I take comfort in the fact that they only see, they do not care. It’s pretty individual. And the thing is, it doesn’t work that way anywhere else. The Metro and the buses in Rennes, nothing like that. It’s a different atmosphere, and different reality. Paris is one of a kind.
I would go back just for the Metro.
Except that the real reason I’m going back is for the Baths of Apollo at Versailles. God, I wish I could get to the pictures right now. So, Versailles is this enormous chateau about half an hour outside of Paris that was constructed by Louis XIV to get the aristocrats away from the true affairs of the government. So it’s designed to make you want to stay, to get you away from real life. And, just FYI, it does that very well. The chateau is absolutely astounding. Unbelievable. And then the gardens, which are almost four times as large as the chateau itself. Just beautiful, even in the off-season. And we were wandering around in the woods, and there’s clearing, with a pond. And behind the pond is a rock face. And there are three caves carved into the rock, with Greek columns embedded into the walls. And then there are three beautiful, white marble statues, one in each cave, of beautiful naked women and Apollo’s chariot, and Apollo himself. I’m not kidding in the slightest, it was the most magical place I have ever seen. Dusk was settling, and the moon was casting its reflection into the pond, and I would not have been surprised if Oberon and Titania had materialized in the shadowed grotto. In fact, I’m sort of surprised that they didn’t. Sean! Chelsea! What happened there?
Otherwise, good stuff. Had my portrait drawn on the streets of Montmartre, by a man who spoke perfect English, and told me I was beautiful, and then gave it to me for free. And we went to a wax museum. Dude! I have a picture of myself chilling with J.P. Sartre! And I saw Paris at night from the top of the Eiffel Tower, and would’ve been happy with dying right then. And I wandered with my family down the street of the Moulin Rouge at midnight on a Saturday, I don’t know exactly why, and witnessed the slow opening of all the strip clubs and X-Rated movie theaters in France, and had Annie drag us into the Museum of Eroticism. I’m not kidding. I thought Pierre was going to cry he was so uncomfortable. I, on the other hand, could not stop laughing, which only drew unsettling attention from the surrounding unsavory public. That neighborhood is not a smart place to be. Philippe went into macho man mode. I laughed some more. All in all, I could not have had a crazier trip.
To be truthful, it was one of the hardest weeks of my life. Things with my sister reached an all time low, the apartment was one room, and we all slept in it on the floor, together. IE Too much togetherness. It was lonely, it’s a lonely city if you are not there for love. It will always be that way.
But still, thank you Paris. I’ll see you again soon.
So, everything else? A quick re-cap:
I HAVE A NEW BABY SISTER.
Tonight, Grace and I are cooking fajitas and guacamole and cheesecake for our families.
I might get to go to a conference in Berlin for a weekend in early December for students studying abroad who want "Bring the World Home." It's on the rocks...
Yesterday was Philippe’s birthday. Friday is Annie’s. Combined, their presents cost me 43 euros. I bought a paperback book and some little doodad guys. WHAT IS THIS COUNTRY TRYING TO DO TO ME?
We have to read Candide in French for Lit by the beginning of December. I wish I had been in Stacy.
The top group AP lit class is reading L’Etranger. Oh, the irony.
I’ve gotten two packages and two amazing letters in the past few days. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
I saw a concert with the Portuguese version of Dispatch. It was awesome, by the way.
Grades come out on Friday.
I don’t have school tomorrow. Armistice Day.
I’ve watched Notting Hill five times since Saturday.
It hit me today that I won’t be baking Dangerfield Christmas cookies.
I can’t believe we’re already in the DOUBLE DIGITS of NOVEMBER! It’s too fast and it isn’t fast enough.
I still can’t speak French.
Alright, adieu for now.
I love you all.
Until Next Time, “And if I’m flying solo, at least I’m flying free.”
COUNTDOWN to return: 203 days
ps: Pictures on the way. I promise.
pps: SOMEONE KICK GEORGE W. BUSH FOR ME, kay, thanks.
ppps: If someone could ask an English teacher at Hawken when the deadline is for the McCreery submissions, I’d be much obliged.
02 November 2004
Don't Read This; GO VOTE!
You there! Hello again!
Did you have a happy Halloween?
Did you see Midsummer Night’s Dream?
Did you vote?
WAS IT FOR KERRY?
Oh la la, I’m sure everyone is happy to see the end of the election madness. I like being here, because the articles are basic and straightforward. I’ve read like twenty different opinions in the French newspapers. They all mock Bush. And I love them.
I read a quote from his speech in Columbus on Friday with good ol’ Arnie Schwarzenegger, and it said Bushie made a funny: “The governor Schwarzenegger and I have two things in common: We’re both bad at speaking English. And we with have massive biceps!” All I can say is, this man is not allowed to be our President. Again.
Alright, shall I pick up where I left off? This could take a while.
So, after Villandry, we went to the hotel and got our room assignments. I ended up in a double with a girl Mari, who is in group rouge avec moi. It was fine, we’re not very close, so we barely spent any time together, but it was easy to talk to her, and neither of us make much noise or have terrible body odor (that I’m personally aware of), so it worked out fine.
The night passed with lots of wandering around the halls and finding friends in random rooms and basically just popping in and out of everywhere for a few hours before scuttling back to our rooms just before check in and passing out on top of the covers with one shoe on.
No, that didn’t happen. But it almost did. I was tired.
The next day, our first chateau was Chenonceau. And alright, I don’t know if you know anything about castles or their construction, but this castle is just a freaking Frankenstein of castles. There’s a section from the middle ages, a section from the first Renaissance, and a section from the second. And none of the architects even tried to blend their style to the pre-existing sections. It’s just a line of buildings, which happen to be connected. Silly castle. Still, it was beautiful. It had great gardens and full-on wooded areas, which basically only make the fairy tale more plausible. And on the top floor, there was this huge exhibition of modern art by a one-named man, Tremoins. And it was astounding. He had these larger-than-life sculptures of people faisant l’amour, three separate ones, and it was ridiculously realistic. Especially their feet. He did feet really well.
I wish I could show some to you. Hopefully one of my friends took pictures. I don’t think he has a website. I have a brochure, but that won’t be any good until June. So be interested then.
Then between Chenonceau and Chambord, the next chateau, we stopped in a little tiny town called Amboise, and were given 7 Euros to eat on our own. So Evie, Leah, Bianca and I were wandering around looking for a creperie that wasn’t massively crowded, and we stumbled upon this little tiny Chinese restaurant. It was amazing. Unbelievable. I hadn’t seen Chinese food since August. I’m not kidding, we sprinted our way to the door, practically drooling, end ended up blowing all our money and then some on this funnily expensive, not-that-great but-still-amazing French Chinese food. I got lemon chicken. Dear me, I miss it even now.
So then we hopped back on the bus, and traveled to Chambord. Does anyone know the story of Chambord? It’s this great big castle that was built at the beginning of the second Renaissance. And it made all of these great architectural leaps. And it’s enormous. It’s ridiculous. It’s extravagant and calculated and completely unbelievable. My friend Hadas and I wandered around together for the full two hours, being quieter than normal. We were supposed to travel with an adult, but all the groups got separated, so the guards were picking us of in large, loud groups and kicking us out of the castle. Hadas and I managed to avoid any confrontation. We were two of maybe ten who actually spent the whole visit inside the castle.
It was really beautiful, though. Honestly, the grounds and the art and the view. They had all these imitation pieces on display, copies of the Mona Lisa and Madonna on the Rocks and all those famous pieces that you can only see after waiting in line for seven hours at the Louvre (which I didn’t do, by the way). So that was cool. I don’t know how to describe this castle. This was the one where you could stand on a balcony and lean over the railing, and think about what must’ve been going on three hundred years ago in that exact spot. The glory and the power and the riches and the fame that must’ve crossed that courtyard to this field. It just doesn’t exist anywhere else.
So that was Chambord. Then we went back to the hotel and ate dinner and found Life as a House on tv in French. Let’s put it out there right now that Hayden Christiansen is just as terrible in French as he is in English, but that doesn’t change the fact that he is ungodly attractive. But it was awesome to see the movie in French, and without any commercials or anything. God, it’s such a good movie. GO WATCH IT RIGHT NOW.
Finally, our final Loire chateau: Breze (pronounced bray-zay). I’ve never hated anything so much in my entire life. Ever. Ever. EVER. It was a guided visit through this small, ugly old house that lasted three hours and was completely in French, and no one was paying attention, and THREE HOURS. It was excruciating. I don’t remember anything about it. There was nothing special about this chateau. It only opened to the public a year or two ago, and they’re gonna have to shut it down again because no one has been going, so it costs too much money. It was absolutely pointless. Everyone basically died. My friend Evie, who’s a filmmaker, had her video camera, and she made a movie of us all being tortured by the sickness of this man’s monotone. That part was actually a lot of fun.
So then we came home. I got a big huge game of Psychiatrist going on the bus. That was cool. And I listened to Transatlanticism on repeat, also cool. And I read The Dream of Scipio for the millionth time. Have I told you yet that you have to read this book? Read this book. Please. I’m begging you. Please. It’s so good. It’s so GOOD. Read it, please, read it. You have to. It's cool.
So that was the Loire Valley. Whooo, I’m tired.
Paris will be just as long and involved, I’m afraid, so I’ll leave it at that for now, and get you another update within a few days time.
I hope that’s alright.
Just so you know, it was amazing and impossible and incredible all at once.
So, there we are.
Long live John Kerry.
I miss you.
Until Next Time, “Watching a coast as it slips by a ship is like thinking about an enigma. There it is before you – smiling, frowning, inviting, grand, mean, insipid, or savage, and always mute with and air of whispering. Come and find out.”
-- Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness
COUNTDOWN to return: 212 days
Did you have a happy Halloween?
Did you see Midsummer Night’s Dream?
Did you vote?
WAS IT FOR KERRY?
Oh la la, I’m sure everyone is happy to see the end of the election madness. I like being here, because the articles are basic and straightforward. I’ve read like twenty different opinions in the French newspapers. They all mock Bush. And I love them.
I read a quote from his speech in Columbus on Friday with good ol’ Arnie Schwarzenegger, and it said Bushie made a funny: “The governor Schwarzenegger and I have two things in common: We’re both bad at speaking English. And we with have massive biceps!” All I can say is, this man is not allowed to be our President. Again.
Alright, shall I pick up where I left off? This could take a while.
So, after Villandry, we went to the hotel and got our room assignments. I ended up in a double with a girl Mari, who is in group rouge avec moi. It was fine, we’re not very close, so we barely spent any time together, but it was easy to talk to her, and neither of us make much noise or have terrible body odor (that I’m personally aware of), so it worked out fine.
The night passed with lots of wandering around the halls and finding friends in random rooms and basically just popping in and out of everywhere for a few hours before scuttling back to our rooms just before check in and passing out on top of the covers with one shoe on.
No, that didn’t happen. But it almost did. I was tired.
The next day, our first chateau was Chenonceau. And alright, I don’t know if you know anything about castles or their construction, but this castle is just a freaking Frankenstein of castles. There’s a section from the middle ages, a section from the first Renaissance, and a section from the second. And none of the architects even tried to blend their style to the pre-existing sections. It’s just a line of buildings, which happen to be connected. Silly castle. Still, it was beautiful. It had great gardens and full-on wooded areas, which basically only make the fairy tale more plausible. And on the top floor, there was this huge exhibition of modern art by a one-named man, Tremoins. And it was astounding. He had these larger-than-life sculptures of people faisant l’amour, three separate ones, and it was ridiculously realistic. Especially their feet. He did feet really well.
I wish I could show some to you. Hopefully one of my friends took pictures. I don’t think he has a website. I have a brochure, but that won’t be any good until June. So be interested then.
Then between Chenonceau and Chambord, the next chateau, we stopped in a little tiny town called Amboise, and were given 7 Euros to eat on our own. So Evie, Leah, Bianca and I were wandering around looking for a creperie that wasn’t massively crowded, and we stumbled upon this little tiny Chinese restaurant. It was amazing. Unbelievable. I hadn’t seen Chinese food since August. I’m not kidding, we sprinted our way to the door, practically drooling, end ended up blowing all our money and then some on this funnily expensive, not-that-great but-still-amazing French Chinese food. I got lemon chicken. Dear me, I miss it even now.
So then we hopped back on the bus, and traveled to Chambord. Does anyone know the story of Chambord? It’s this great big castle that was built at the beginning of the second Renaissance. And it made all of these great architectural leaps. And it’s enormous. It’s ridiculous. It’s extravagant and calculated and completely unbelievable. My friend Hadas and I wandered around together for the full two hours, being quieter than normal. We were supposed to travel with an adult, but all the groups got separated, so the guards were picking us of in large, loud groups and kicking us out of the castle. Hadas and I managed to avoid any confrontation. We were two of maybe ten who actually spent the whole visit inside the castle.
It was really beautiful, though. Honestly, the grounds and the art and the view. They had all these imitation pieces on display, copies of the Mona Lisa and Madonna on the Rocks and all those famous pieces that you can only see after waiting in line for seven hours at the Louvre (which I didn’t do, by the way). So that was cool. I don’t know how to describe this castle. This was the one where you could stand on a balcony and lean over the railing, and think about what must’ve been going on three hundred years ago in that exact spot. The glory and the power and the riches and the fame that must’ve crossed that courtyard to this field. It just doesn’t exist anywhere else.
So that was Chambord. Then we went back to the hotel and ate dinner and found Life as a House on tv in French. Let’s put it out there right now that Hayden Christiansen is just as terrible in French as he is in English, but that doesn’t change the fact that he is ungodly attractive. But it was awesome to see the movie in French, and without any commercials or anything. God, it’s such a good movie. GO WATCH IT RIGHT NOW.
Finally, our final Loire chateau: Breze (pronounced bray-zay). I’ve never hated anything so much in my entire life. Ever. Ever. EVER. It was a guided visit through this small, ugly old house that lasted three hours and was completely in French, and no one was paying attention, and THREE HOURS. It was excruciating. I don’t remember anything about it. There was nothing special about this chateau. It only opened to the public a year or two ago, and they’re gonna have to shut it down again because no one has been going, so it costs too much money. It was absolutely pointless. Everyone basically died. My friend Evie, who’s a filmmaker, had her video camera, and she made a movie of us all being tortured by the sickness of this man’s monotone. That part was actually a lot of fun.
So then we came home. I got a big huge game of Psychiatrist going on the bus. That was cool. And I listened to Transatlanticism on repeat, also cool. And I read The Dream of Scipio for the millionth time. Have I told you yet that you have to read this book? Read this book. Please. I’m begging you. Please. It’s so good. It’s so GOOD. Read it, please, read it. You have to. It's cool.
So that was the Loire Valley. Whooo, I’m tired.
Paris will be just as long and involved, I’m afraid, so I’ll leave it at that for now, and get you another update within a few days time.
I hope that’s alright.
Just so you know, it was amazing and impossible and incredible all at once.
So, there we are.
Long live John Kerry.
I miss you.
Until Next Time, “Watching a coast as it slips by a ship is like thinking about an enigma. There it is before you – smiling, frowning, inviting, grand, mean, insipid, or savage, and always mute with and air of whispering. Come and find out.”
-- Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness
COUNTDOWN to return: 212 days
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