Random French

Il a tout compris!

2012-01-31T11:20:00.001+01:00

I am blaming it on my fascination with language, but I have a huge problem with finding phrases I like, and then not letting them go. This scene from Seinfeld is a wonderful example.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HmOlb-Xb2sY&t=1m40s

A more recent one would be this episode of Lie to Me, Fold Equity, where Gillian tells Cal, "She's the female equivalent of roulette, and you like the view. "Of course, there's the more bizarre case of the Honda ads that caused me to associate "zoom zoom" with the concept of judicial review. Thank you very much Mrs. Brown for that one. I think I have issues with this in English though, so I guess it's really no surprise that I would have the same reaction in France.

I think it's more likely to happen with music though. In France, I really like the line from that song Femme Liberée, and now whenever says "c'est pas (si) facile"

I have to resist the urge to break into song.

I also cannot hear anyone say "Qu'est que c'est?" without thinking of The Talking Heads.

One of the things I love is that there are sometimes where French people have certain advertisements built into their vocabulary. The first one I ever heard was Partner's father. It was part of the old jingle in France for Mr. Clean (who is simply known as Mr. Propre over here.) The more recent example would be with free.fr, an internet service provider in France.

Rodolphe : Il a Free, il a tout compris par ultimteam

I love that this is something we do internationally. I know it's part of the miracle of advertising, and ear worms. I just love how we all get things caught in our head.

Cute guys on TV

2012-01-28T01:15:00.003+01:00

I'm not sure how familiar you may or may not be with gay media in France, and talking about Pink TV made me think about print media. France is a lot more traditional when it comes to print media. As far as I know,
the best known gay print media sources are still doing quite well. For that, there's nothing better known than Têtu. It's best translated into English as meaning headstrong or stubborn. I have the feeling the magazine was named as it was for two reasons. First, it implies that the LGBT community is not going away. We're stubborn like that. So you have no option but to accept us. Also, it implies that as a community, we will not be quiet.

So every year, Têtu puts out a list of the Hottest guys on TV. Number one for this year was Julien Tellouck, the host of the JT (journal-televisé) on Game One. Game One is the gaming station in France. I can definitely see why they would choose him, I mean, look at him.

Oh Julien, comme tu est beau!

Now there are quite a few guys on this list that I really don't understand. I'm sorry, but I just don't find Cyril Féraud all that attractive. He's also kind of a con on Slam. But well, maybe that's just my taste. Though Olivier Minne is another story altogether.

Seriously. Olivier Minne. Hot damn.

I like François-Xavier Menage but there are far more complicated reasons for that. Don't judge me too harshly, he's Breton. There are quite a few other guys that are on this list, Julien Mielcarek for example, who I think look like they're fifteen. Then again, this is definitely a difference of taste.

However; even Têtu was even a bit surprised by the fact that Ali Baddou didn't make the list. Yes, I know that he's more of a serious news person, but technically all these people are trying to be professionals. And quite simply, if you're on French TV, you're going to be judged based on how you look. Technically, he's only on Canal+, and I would say that was the requirement if it weren't for the fact that lots of these people are on Canalsat. A lot of these guys are on TNT, what we would call Network television in the US.

Ali Baddou can do no wrong!

I'll leave you to check out the list. Of the guys you have on the list, who would you pick for your top 3? Are there guys I'm missing? How about if you were to make your list of American Newscasters and Television Presenters? Thoughts?

Post Modern Theory and Naked Boys

2012-01-22T15:16:00.000+01:00

The other night, Partner and I were on the couch, and as usual there was nothing on TV. I don't know if this is a just a French thing, but after a while, French television....just sucks. We were looking around the stations, and we hit the northern reaches of our viewing, Mangas and they were showing of nothing of interest. So I was about to give up when I though, why not try Pink TV.

Pink TV is the gay station here. Now, before you get all excited and think that you're going to get to see RuPaul's Drag Race or Beautiful People. The channel is only on for two hours. It comes on at 10 pm, and usually it runs this English series, Metrosexuality. There's a lot of it I don't understand and it generally scares the crap out of me. Oh, and also, it switches over to gay porn at midnight, an then it's 12 euros for access. They show you all the previews of what's coming on, and then make you pay to actually watch it. So I wasn't expecting much.

I was pleasantly surprised though. As it turns out, they were showing Contracorriente. It was a movie I had heard about a while ago, and it was absolutely beautiful. I really enjoyed it, but assumed that I'd need to record it. Normally Partner is not one for the gay movies. I asked him though if he wanted to keep watching, and surprisingly, he said yes. We kept watching.

I actually really enjoyed it, but I'm a soft sell. You put two gay guys in a film and nine times out of ten I'll watch. Promise me skin, and I'll most likely recommend it to all my friends. I was a big time fan of Latter Days and I absolutely loved Brokeback Mountain. Like I said though, I'm a soft sell. It hit midnight, and the TV cut out. At that point, we pulled ourselves off the couch and went outside to clear our heads a bit. As we were waking up a bit, I asked him what he thought of it. He said that he liked it.

After recovering from my initial shock, I asked him what he liked about it. He liked the story because everything wasn't wrapped up neatly. Most gay movies always progress in the same way. Two guys meet, usually at a bar. There's one character who is more out than the other, usually because of his family, but sometimes because of his own insecurities or religious obligations. They build a relationship over the course of the movie and the less out/or closeted guy has to make a choice: be honest with himself and the world and come out or stay closeted and miserable. Inevitably, the closet case comes out and they live happily ever after.

There are two movies that we have both seen that we can agree are great gay movies. I already mentioned Contracorriente and we both watched A Beautiful Thing separately, but both loved it so much that we had to have it on DVD. I think it was great because it all kind of came together, but there was still enough to leave to your imagination. They both have one character more conflicted than the other, but I think what makes them better is that it's not just a simple straightforward path like in other movies. It shows you things might be very sad and difficult, but when it comes down to it, it's love that will lead you through it.

The first type of gay movies I always think of as the AIDS crisis movie. It usually stars a self centered, egocentric lead. Usually it starts by showing his promiscuity and his group of friends who are all slowly coupling up and not so subtly spewing the moral of the film: "Enjoy life now (because you, someone you know, or everyone you know will die of AIDS as that's the price of admission for being gay.) The two best examples I can think of are "Jeffrey" and "The Broken Hearts Club". These movies also tend to feature straight guys playing gay; Michael T. Weiss (Jared from The Pretender) and Dean Cain (Superman from Lois and Clark,) especially hunky guys that gay men are pretty much programmed to find attractive.

*None of this is to criticize these movies but just to make a point. AIDS and HIV are serious illnesses and this is not to make light of the topic whatsoever. Furthermore, these movies tend to show a period of time that was scary and horrific for a lot of people. I couldn't even imagine what people went through watching friends die. I don't know how people made it through.*

The next is my personal favorite: Gay Best Friend as Father. The first two movies I can think of that fall into this category are The Object of my Affection with Paul Rudd (who we've been told is totally cute and we need to lust after) and Jennifer Aniston (who either would be or was already dating Brad Pitt when we were supposed to believe that she was your average woman unlucky in love) and The Next Best Thing starring Rupert Everett (who I think was out of the closet at the time and woo hoo for a gay leading man!) and Madonna (yeah, who was this targeted for?). *Just as a side note, I actually went with my girlfriend at the time to see this.* These movies follow the same path. The female lead is having a troublesome relationship or is tired of the line of assholes she's dated. Her cure for this moment of sadness: hang out with her gay best friend. Of course, she realizes that he'd be perfect if he just liked girls! They get drunk one night and (don't understand how you can be gay and this happens) they have sex. The woman ends up pregnant and in creeps that moral: children need a mother and a father and having a child out of wedlock is just a mistake. *They kindly gloss over all the gay couples and single parent households out there, not to mention the huge variety of families there are the world over.* All the moralizing comes to a head, the father takes his responsibility and the normal order is restored, all parties satisfied.

Now the largest category that exists: Gay Rebellious Love story. It's a very simple formula. Take two guys, usually one closeted, and the other not or at least not as much, they fall in love and much like the aids crisis movie, the closet case has to choose. The first examples that come to mind are Brokeback Mountain (Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal, I mean come on!) and Latter Days (Wes Ramsey/Owen from Days of our Lives or Sam from Guiding Light and Steve Sandvoss). I used to really enjoy these movies when I first came out because it always meant cute young guys. (Although to be perfectly honest, I've never seen a mainstream gay movie that didn't mean cute guys.)

Where we really were interested, and I still am, is whether or not there are more mainstream romantic comedies like what straight people have. I feel like one could try and classify Adam and Steve (that movie that they run on Logo all the time with Malcolm Gets and Craig Chester) but that really couldn't be too mainstream. Is it just impossible to tell the story? Has mainstream media lied to me about this being a post-sexual society? Are there examples of which I am just unaware?

Also, if there are movies you believe break the stereotypes, I'd love to hear about them. I take any and all recommendations seriously!

soit-disant

2012-01-18T19:20:00.001+01:00

The other day I got an email from a friend and he asked me; what do you call the person you're with? I could call him husband, but then there's legal issues. We never got married anywhere because why should we have had to leave the state I was born, raised and educated in moreover the state where we met, fell in love, and lived for 5 years together for a piece of paper that the government won't recognize anyway. Though that's a court case for a few years down the road, non?

I figured it was pretty obvious that he's know as Partner. Partially because I think it's kind of a cute nickname for the site, and if we had a civil union, it would be the correct term. Technically, I don't really call him my partner when I speak with other people. Of course I call him by name or by one of the countless nicknames I have for him. Personally, I do find partner completely impersonal. It sounds like we work in a law firm together.

I got into the habit of calling him boyfriend for so long when we were first dating. It was just the safest term. Life partner makes me think of Susan and Carol from Friends and life mate just seems ridiculous. Also, it makes me think of that story arc on X-Men with the Phalanx, so no thanks on that one. In college, it's acceptable, but I just can't see calling him a boyfriend after 2 years. Hell, some straight people get married five times over in that period. I hate to use boyfriend now, considering that it will be 8 years this August. So, boyfriend seems inadequate.

The final option is something that even every time I say it i feel like a dork. I remember reading this article on Kenneth in the 212 about how he really liked it when people would call who they were with their lover. I don't know why but that just can't bring myself to say it. It just bothers me. I know it shouldn't. We are in love, but it just seems so weird and like I should have a mustache when I say it.

Now, here is where French comes in handy. Since France is surprisingly liberal with how relationships work, the best term I can use is "conjoint." Looking around a bit on a few of the dictionary sites I use, they translate it as spouse, but that doesn't work quite right. When you call someone a conjoint, you are basically calling them a spouse, but there is not anything legal behind it. You may have kids, which in fact a lot of French conjoints do but never married; however there is not legal contract behind you. You basically live together, and that's really it. Even for the purpose of taxes, you really don't even have to announce yourself as a couple.

What complicates the French situation is that straight couples can get civil unions, which should tell you right there that it's different and not equal at all to a marriage. A PACS (Pacte Civile de Solidarité) the French civil union is open to any two people who want some of the responsibilities of marriage, but without the full intertwining that happens. Unfortunately, that also means that you have no right to immigration if you're not a legal citizen. They are really easy to knock down and it's something that you have to explain.

I don't think there's any great term for what Partner and I are for each other. Even in French, conjoint is a legal term used to describe the situation. I could use amoureux, but it's really a term used by little kids so once again we run into that level of seriousness problem just in another language. Can anyone think of a better term? I know I could really just use whatever I want, and really there shouldn't be a difference, but for now, there is.

Ok, this is getting complicated and I have a glass of Breizh Cola that's almost flat. Conversely, that is a problem I can solve.

It's all Political

2012-01-15T14:51:00.001+01:00

As the 2012 elections are just around the corner here, I'm sure we'll be seeing many of the candidates on television, particularly La Grande Journal on Canal +, so I thought I'd do something slightly different than normal. Personally, it shouldn't be very simple for Sarkozy to get reelected. Then again, Jacques Chirac served two terms, and look where he is now. He doesn't actually have to declare his candidacy as incumbent until March. He might have some damage control on his hands though after the Bettancourt Affair, the Karachi Affair, and now his wife's own issues with the Born AIDS Free Affair. But I could talk about the Sarkozy's all day.

Now let's get to the actual meat of this article. Technically this is a ripoff of something I saw over at Maybe it's Just Me. If you haven't checked it out, I highly recommend it! He put in his Top Five Odd Crushes. I thought I'd just put a few of the cute French Politicians.

Jean Sarkozy

As one might expect, Jean Sarkozy is the son of Nicolas Sarkozy and his first wife, Marie-Dominique Culioli. (For those of you counting along at home, Monsieur Le President is currently on wife number 3 and he still ran as a family values candidate in 2000 while still married to wife number 2 whom he divorced shortly after the election.) The only thing he's known for, much like the rest of the Sarkozy family, is scandal. He's hot though. Unfortunately, he's also straight, and married. So, it's unfortunate.

Benoît Hamon

Benoît Hamon is the spokesman for the Socialist Party, who is just wonderful. I just don't know what else to say about him other than damn. He's just so pretty. He's one of the few French politicians I know of who isn't involved in a scandal of some sort.

Boris Boillon

So what a surprise, given the picture, that this guy is a source of scandal too. Apparently, he's too sexy for Tunisia, where he was recently appointed by Sarkozy as the Ambassador. He's also had a few problems with being too abrupt with the press and there are Tunisians calling for his resignation.

We'll just add this to the list....

2012-01-03T13:22:00.001+01:00

Now this question may be answered very quickly, and I've never been able to really look up too much info on it online, so who better to ask then all of the amazing people I know online. I don't know how many of you have been to France or traveled internationally, but one of the things I always look at but never really understand are these little plastic things.

The only functionality I can see it for is how it's used in tobacco shops. When you come in, you ask for the product, and they set the pack inside the dish. I think it's supposed to be kind of a neutral space. I've never seen anyone do it, but I think that you're supposed to put your money there. The dish might function as some kind of neutral transaction space, like how a handshake is supposed to show good faith. This way you can see exactly what you're buying, and the seller can see that the money's all there. My theory runs into a hitch, in that most people just hand the money directly to the seller.

Is it just a remnant of a bygone era that people don't use anymore, or is it supposed to still be a neutral space but just for the buyer? Maybe it's more about French hypochondria. We won't mention to the Francophones that the second you touch the money the transfer of germs is complete, and there could be something equally nasty in the dish, furthermore not counting the fact that French people also believe that you can get a cold by going around without a coat (seriously people, it's 2012. This might be our last year on Earth, but you cannot get a virus unless you come into contact with it.)

My question to you, chers amis internationaux, is this something that exists all over Europe, or is this just a Franquisim? I've never seen this in the US, and I did hear that actually in Japan you're expected to present the money for it before you receive the item. I just really have no idea.

New Years went well, and it's so far been pretty calm. Of course, we're also only three days into it. So well, who knows. In any case, best wishes for the New Year!

Damn Squishy Mages....

2012-01-01T20:33:00.000+01:00

It's an older game, Dragon Age: Origins; however, just to give you all a warning, this is a huge spoiler post, specifically for the missions concerning Arl Eamon and the Circle. I don't think I can do cuts like in a Livejournal post, so it's all coming out. You've been warned.

Usually when it comes to video games, I have issues game guides. I will admit, I have used them to locate people, or when it's something that I refuse to fail at, like elf sex but that's another spoiler entirely! I didn't get the Zodiac Spear in Final Fantasy XII because it meant that I would have to open certain boxes in certain places, and the only way to know for sure which ones was to follow a guide. Otherwise, it's just a guess. I find this regrettable at best, and well, I won't mention what I think at worse. It should be noted that game guides are big money, and a lot of people swear by them. So continuining, because I must....

I got Dragon Age II as a present from my nieces this Christmas, and when I started playing the game I found out that you could load the information that you had from the previous game, which Partner and I bought a while ago. This is something that I love and if I were ever to make a game would insist be the case. I hate it when video game sequels don't continue the story where you left off. There are all sorts of minute changes that you've caused in that world. Why the hell would things just magically be cut off from your accomplishments. Anyway, it got me really excited so I decided that well, I kind of have to finish Dragon Age now.

So I started playing again. I am very much of the opinion that when you play a game, you play straight through, regardless of the consequences. I come from playing video games where most choices don't hugely effect what happens, read: any of the Final Fantasy Series, so I have had a bit of a learning curve with Bioware games. It's actually quite similar to the system in Mass Effect if you've played it, just as an example.

(I'll also mention how much I enjoy men in armor. Yes, it's why I majored in Medieval and Renaissance Studies in college and why I'll always go to Ren Fairs. Always holding out hope!)

So, getting to the point, I should mention that I started playing again, and got to the missions with the circle. I naturally wanted Wynne in my party the second I got her. She is a healer, and I need one, desperately. I depend on potions and elixirs a lot. I am a bard, it's what we do. Drink a potion, get your life back. That's how it works. So with Wynne being a healer, totally set! When you're fighting in the tower though, you get this thing called a Litany of Andralla. You use this to prevent Uldred from draining the life force from the circle members and turning them in to abominations or killing them. I thought you cast it once, and it was over, but no, apparently you have to keep casting it. So all the mages died, and I had to get help from the templars, because the circle of magi was no more. Plus, the chantry appeared to be controlling everything then, and the chantry is a bunch of dicks. So that sucked, but well, I had to play it where it lies. Time to help Arl Eamon now.

So I go through all the mission and get towards the end when well, someone Partner told me about in his play though comes back: Jowan. Jowan is a blood mage who you as a mage help escape the tower. You find out later that he was caught and put into jail in Denerim and was paid by everyone's favorite butthead, Teryn Logahain, to poison the Arl because Loghain told Jowan that the Arl was a threat to Ferelden. So after the Arlessa Isolde finds out, she has him put into prison. That's when demons start attacking the castle. So the Arlessa assumes it's Jowan's punishment, when really, you find out shortly thereafter that the Arlessa has been hiding the fact that her son Connor, is actually a mage. Instead of turning him over to the Templars, because she didn't want to lose her baby, she hired a mage not of the circle, Jowan, to teach him how to hide his magic abilities.

Here's where the fun comes in. You find out when you talk with Connor upstairs that apparently he broke into Jowan's room and started reading Jowan's books because he was trying to find some way to help his sick father. Instead, he got in over his head and got possessed by a demon in the fade. So Merry Christmas, because of all this foolishness and mayhem, to borrow from Niecy Nash, you now have to decide what avenue to take to remedy the situation:

Option 1 is to kill Connor. No one wins here. It's heartbreaking and you lose points with almost everyone for doing it. (This is an exceptionally bad thing as Leliana will not like this. I'm trying to become a bard. If she likes me enough, she'll teach me. So yeah....)

Option 2 is to let Jowan send one of your mages into the fade to kill the demon there. Only, and here's the best part, since he's not of the circle, he can't do it through normal methods. He will have to use the blood magic that's already gotten his ass and Connor's into so much trouble to do it. He'll have to sacrifice the life of someone else to do it. The Arlessa volunteers. Everyone whines for a while, but this is a possibility. Neither Wynne nor Allistair like this. Leliana will like you for trying to save the kid, but you have to choose if you'll send Wynne, who for me was a healer, or Morrigan, who has no interest in helping people get out of their shit. Especially, when she's forced to. I tried sending her in and her ass was toast in about two seconds.

I do not like using mages, for a couple of reasons. Mages are what's called "squishy." When a gamer says someone is squishy, it means that they have low defense, and usually die quickly. Mages, for me, are exceptionally squishy. I also have a problem of blocking with my head. Also, I love dual wielding bards. As soon as I can start training in dual daggers, or dual one handed swords if I can get away with it, that's exactly what I do.

Now since I let the circle of mages die out, I didn't have option 3. In option 3, the circle of magic which has sworn allegiance for you, preforms a ritual to send you and I believe two or three mages into the fade to get rid of the demon. That means I have backup healers possibly and people to cast spells instead of a single mage trying to make it through. Much better.

I went through the entire story for option 1, because I couldn't make it through the fade with a single mage, and I let the circle die. I went through the entire story line for it, feeling like a massive douchebag. I was on the verge of tears. Finally, if you fight Connor like I did, his mother demands you stop, and she....she kills him herself. I was on the verge of tears at that point. I was just like, no I can't do this. I kept telling myself though, ok play it where it lies. Don't abuse of having the internet there. Just relax, it'll be over soon. And it was, and then there was the punishment for Jowan that had to be decided. Ugh, gross.

I finally went back to the campsite, thinking it was all over, but no. Allistair comes over to you, first thing, hella pissed that you killed Connor. At that point, I was just like, hell to the no. I can't do this. Luckily I saved right before I went in to fight Uldar, so I just refought him this time, and saved the Circle. This time I struck the accord with the circle, and now....I have to completely redo the Redcliffe missions, but this time, the kid doesn't have to die. The circle will help me. All right!

Seriously, it was sad. I am exhausted now though. I never thought a game would be this mentally taxing. I think I'll lay on the couch now, and watch something senseless, maybe fall asleep. Well, who knows.

Mages are always around to fuck me over, that's just how it is. Damn squishy mages....

So Christmas Happened

2011-12-27T18:23:00.004+01:00

The Christmas festivities started the 23rd, which meant Partner had to get his nose out of the books and stop thinking for a bit. After all, everyone should know thinking too much gives you wrinkles. Originally, we planned on leaving Rennes around 3 pm to get to Ploërmel around 4 or 4:30. I was running around getting the last of the cleaning done, there really is almost nothing worse than coming home to a dirty house (especially when you know you have to clean it), while Partner finished up studying physics. As we all know, nothing gets one in the Christmas spirit like Laws of Thermodynamics. So I finish around 10 after 3, and start packing a bit for tomorrow, waiting for Partner to find a good place to stop. He comes out around 4, and we go.

Now as we pull onto the rocades, things seem to be going pretty well...until we get to our exit. Of course, traffic headed west is backed up to lord only knows. Well, we do in fact know. It was right around Cleunay. After a bit of finagling, we finally get onto the Rue National....only to end up in another traffic jam in Les Trois Marches. By now, we're only about 2 hours behind. So with the traffic, we made it there around 6. We stopped over at Taty's, but she was the only one there. It looked like Partner's father was celebrating a co-worker's retirement, so he'd show up later, which meant someone needed to pick up Partner's grandmother. Naturally, the most simple was for us to go get her, so back to the car....

We parked over by the Mairie and stopped by. Grandmother was delighted to see Partner and I! That's one of the best things about being there. Nothing makes her happier than seeing her grandchildren. Her smile could light up a room. She reminds me a lot of my grandmothers, especially my mother's mother. Kisses and hugs were exchanged, and we walked with her back to the car. Apparently though she had walked in the rain that day to pick up the bread. (It's Bretagne. There's practically no snow, but it rains buckets in the winter.) So her sack was soaked. It wasn't raining now though, but it was getting later. I helped her into the car, and we went back to his aunt's.

The evening was pretty great. We all exchanged gifts and we had a great dinner. Everyone was smiles and sunshine. Grandmother told some stories about Partner's father and aunt, and we had a bit of an aperitif before we ate. Oh, and how we ate. We started with smoked salmon, of which I could eat my body weight. Taty had also made some blinis, specifically for Partner as they're salty pancakes to me, and the rest of us had pain de mie. After that, coquilles-saint-jacques, and they were in the cutest plates, ever! They were ceramic plates shaped to be like scallop shells. Grandmother had made it yesterday, and oh, it was perfect. All warm and covered with gruyère. Heaven.

It was around this time that Father-in-Law showed up. He had eaten a bit before, so he wasn't feeling all that hungry. He had drunk a bit, so that might have had something to do with it. The next course; rosbif, which is nothing like an American roast beef, with pommes dauphine. Everything was really well done, but what we didn't know is that neither Grandmother or Taty were going to have any of the rosbif or potatoes either. So basically, Partner and I were splitting almost a kilo of potatoes and a rosbif that usually serves five. We tried, but there was no way we were going to finish it before we left. So we ate what we could and moved on to dessert.

No matter how much I eat, I will always find room for dessert. As tradition demands in France, we had Galette des Rois. With everything that we had eaten though, we split it in half and each had a small piece. It was really good, apparently the bakery it came from is nationally recognized for its kouign amann and galette des rois, but there was no way we could eat a whole galette after everything else we'd eaten. We took our time between courses and we ended the evening with a nice tisane. Partner is in love with everything fruits rouges, so of course, we had some loose leaf. We talked and drank a bit of tisane to help digest. All and all, it was a wonderful night. Most importantly, I had an answer to what I would wear for the Réveillion.

After that, we picked up mother-in-law and headed back to Rennes so we wouldn't have to come back West before we headed East. We talked the whole way about everything's that been going on with her, and how she was excited. She had a lot of small sacks that we had to be careful with. She, much like me, hates wrapping, and had all of the gifts wrapped in the store, so they were all beautifully done. Now, positive and negatives of that story are that they're all perfect, but all have ribbons that are easily crushed. So to avoid it, each has to be in its own sack. We made it back to Rennes unscathed, and got some much needed sleep.

Now, because Partner already felt culpable enough for letting the 25th slip by without the ability to study, he needed to suck the marrow out of the bones on the 24th and 26th. He had to study the morning of the 24th before we left, and would be studying the evening the 26th pretty much as soon as we got back. As a result, he was literally studying while putting the clothes he was going to wear for Christmas Eve dinner in the suitcase. He did get the studying he needed done on the 24th though, and we packed up the car and made the two hour trip East with Christmas music playing the whole way!

You know how sometimes when you go places, it's like you just instantly just kind of decompress? That's how it happens when we go to see sister-in-law's family. Probably what makes it best is the nieces. It's always great to see them, and we always have a great time, but it's just something about Christmas that makes it better. The best of all is the youngest niece. Shes' only 8 years old, so it's everything about Christmas is great for her. Pretty much the second we got there she was stuck to Partner. He is her partner in Pokémon crime. They play a lot of games together and all kinds of stuff like that. It was just so nice to be there.

Given the situation, sister in law, mother in law, and Partner all needed to leave to get some last things for that night. If I were to go along, I'd be hanging back like a little kid. To better avoid this fate, I was on the couch watching Cuisine TV with a kitty on my lap. I'm not big into decorating, much to my mother's chagrin, and I've learned that it's best not to have an opinion on either French decor or Fashion. So I hung back until it was time to help with dinner.

We decided to do a more simple version than years past. We made a lot of stuff for the aperitif, and just had mostly a lot of small dishes and the like. After that we had shrimp and salmon both marinated and smoked. We had oysters too, but really it's better just to have two or three. Of course there was wine and champagne, and lots and lots of cider. It's hard to explain how French cider is different, but, it's just better than any cider I had in the US. I was just happy there weren't any crayfish. It always makes me sad to see them lying there on a plate. (We had a pet crayfish, an ecrevisse really, when I was a kid and I swear we named it. We were geeky kids like that.)

Between the courses, we took a break to open presents. La Petite Niece was very much ready after waiting patiently until 10 pm. She started with the small gifts, surprise surprise all Pokémon toys, and then we had the plat. After the plat, we started with the big gifts. Partner and I hung back with Sister and Brother and Mother in law while the nieces opened their presents. It was wonderful. I have more video games than are necessary, and we even got some pretty nice decorations for the house. We got everything we wanted, and what we needed. We finished opening presents around midnight, and finally went to bed around 3 am.

The 25th was more marathon eating. The grandparents, brother in law's parents, came in from Tours. This time we had a few less plates for the aperitif, but a much bigger main dish. The maigret de canard was good, and so were the potatoes. We found it much better to do something simple than to gorge ourselves. Finally, more galette des rois and a bûche de Noël, as if we hadn't eaten enough. All things considered it was a very nice time, and a quiet night of gluttony. We capped it off with the first two Harry Potter movies. I still wish we had watched a third, because the third is my favorite, The Prisoner of Azkaban.

In an ideal world, we would have left around noon as planned. However; none of us really felt like leaving and trying to wake up Partner when he doesn't want to get up is unfun. Getting around the bags went pretty fast, and I managed to download 10 gigs of music from brother in law. He usually has a lot of good stuff, so quite a haul! We left Centre right around 2pm, so we were really not that far off. We came back to Rennes, had another small quiet dinner and went to bed.

Such was our Christmas odyssey. I think Partner and I are planning a very quiet New Year's Eve. I'll probably buy a bottle or two of cider and maybe some blinis. We have some smoked salmon, and I might try and make something a bit special to go with. I have to talk more with him to know exactly what it is he wants to do, exactly.

In any case, je vous souhaite une Bonne Année du fond de mon coeur! Be safe, be happy, and most importantly enjoy who and what you have!

Five Christmas Songs!

2011-12-20T20:47:00.001+01:00

Yes, I have to start with this. Hate me if you must!

He's absolutely right though. I was spending a night trying to get all the numbers right. I got confused after 6. I know there are Lords a Leaping and Drummers Drumming, but well, never figured out.

When I was a kid, my mother used to listen to tapes, because remember, this was back in the early 90's. CDs still costed about $20 a pop. We didn't have a K-Mart or a Wal-Mart to buy CDs at for the longest time, so it was really between three tapes. (If you wanted a CD, it meant having to go to National Record Mart and most likely ordering it!) The first was all those very classical Mormon Tabernacle Choir Christmas songs. This may have also been my grandmother's but I'm not entirely sure. So whenever I hear certain versions of large choir songs, I get a big smile. I don't know why, but of all these songs, probably my favorite is their version of "Away in a Manger." I think it's the key they sing it in. I find it lovely.

The second Christmas song that really makes me happy is another song off the tapes. My mother was a fan of Nat King Cole, and as a result she had that Nat King Cole Christmas tape as well. Now there were really a couple, but this was the first experience I had with jazz of any kind. It was the first time I had heard Lou Rwals, and my brother's swear by his version of Santa Claus is Coming to Town.

My favorite though was a song by Nancy Wilson. I just always thought it was such a beautiful song. I loved her voice too. It just made me so happy whenever I heard it, and it just really symbolized how I felt about Christmas in general. I actually bought CDs of her music based on that one song. I'm sure that people will think I'm silly because she's an amazing singer in her own right. But I will always love "That's What I Want for Christmas."

Now, another station that my mother used to listen to used to play a lot of Carpenters, so it was only a matter of time before they played the Carpenters Christmas album, A Christmas Portrait. I am a sucker for anything that involves Karen Carpenter, so yes when I found out that she used to have a show, I was about ready to fly right on out of there. When I found out that there was a video with this, well....there was cleanup involved. Anyway, continuing, here's the Carpenters with "Merry Christmas, Darling."

Finally, the first Christmas song I ever came to love without any family involvement. I actually found a version of it I really liked, because I'm not actually a huge fan of Bing Crosby, even though my mother is. She had his tape too, but well, I am just not a fan. I can listen to it, and sing along with most of the songs, but I just can't bring myself to really play most of his stuff. However; I really liked one of the most unconventional of his Christmas songs I had ever heard, "Mele Kalikimaka." It was one of those songs my mother hated, and she would always comment on how she didn't like it. She is very traditional, especially in her Christmas music. I found a version I like even more though, done by KT Tunstall. It. Has. Kazoos! That was all it took. That, and I love her voice.

Now there are a lot of traditional songs that didnt' make the list. I have an entire collection of Mormon Tabernacle Choir music over at Grooveshark, should you be so inclined. I also have a collection of other Christmas music I love.

There are a lot of other ridiculous songs that I remember laughing about with family like Gene Autrey's version of Here Comes Santa Claus. If you've never heard it, listen to it, because it's ridiculous, and perfect. I also hate it, but well, you have to hear Gayla Peevey's I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas. I find it cringe-worthy. And of course, what list of songs would be complete without The Voice Actress for Sailor Mars covering Last Christmas by Wham.

The Fourth Day of January

2011-12-18T20:18:00.004+01:00

As hard as he may try, it seems like Partner really can't catch a break when it comes to schooling. He finished off a degree in chemical engineering in France in 2004 only to find out that it wasn't really what he wanted to be doing, but it was a foot in the door. However, the university he graduated from in Lyon did have Biochemistry classes, and an exchange program with the US. So he could chose. He could go to a school with a great reputation, but in the middle of nowhere, or he could go to a school in the center of a fairly large city with a well respected medical campus. He chose the big city with the medical campus.

After starting in his Biochemistry masters at Ohio State, he comes to find out that he won't actually be able to do drug trials and hospital research with this degree. He'll only be able to design drugs for pharmaceutical companies. With this degree though, he's light years ahead of the competition in France. So he keeps working on his Masters, and finishes. After all his hard work, he graduates during the height of the American economic crisis. No one is looking to sponsor anyone foreign to work; credentials and excellent grades or not. So it's decided: we'll have to move back to France to start looking for work there.

Every corner he turns, it's the same response. You have a ton of experience, but it's all university experience. None of it is practical, real world application. (The problem is, French companies don't understand that an American Masters degree and a French Master are not the same. With the new education regroupments in France, my B. A. in Medieval History may be the same as a French Master.) We'll forget that he was basically running his own project on using proteins for cancer treatment and had around 6 articles published in peer reviewed journals in the US. Apparently that has no real world application according to France. Remind me to thank Sarkozy for the state of research in France. So that was a no go.

He had spent a good long while looking for work in any city in Europe he could find. Pretty much the only requirement was that I could go with him and have some kind of legal standing. He applied for work in Bordeaux, Lyon, Paris, Lausanne, Brussels, Bern, Berlin, Dublin, London, etc. Hell, one job was even in New Delhi! We both eventually got pretty despondent. Partner took a job in his hometown, well below his qualifications, working in a medical analysis lab. The good thing was is that the pay was good, and he found he really liked the medical aspects.

So in January of last year, we start talking. He had decided that what he wanted more than anything was to follow his original dream. Partner wanted to know if I would mind, because it was very much outside of our initial plans, if he applied to Medical School. We talked about everything this meant. We'd be poor for a while, and I'd still not have much in the way of legal standing. However; we'd get back to our own life, and be on our own two feet. We'd finally get a chance to be back to something resembling the life we had in Columbus. I told him the most important thing for me was that he was happy with what he was doing. After all, Partner has always been the pony on which to bet the farm.

So we move to Rennes and we start living a great life. This has been a horribly stressful first semester of his first year. He had to be up for classes around 6:30 and when he got home, it meant he would spend the entire night studying. We got into a rhythm and I came to enjoy the life we had here. Partner and I are living now believing that this is a temporary year. Afterwards, maybe things will work out better. There's really only one way to find out.

Now, why title this post as I did? Because true to form with the rotten luck he pulls for education, Partner's concours, the test that determines his placement at the end of the first semester and will let him know whether or not he can continue on and become a doctor, isn't until January 4th. That means he has to spend his entire break studying for this exam. Every time he takes a break, he feels guilty.

Today for example, he started studying at 10 am. He studied clean through with one break until 3:30 pm. Then we went out and had some hot chocolate and wandered around town for a bit. (Also, I may have found a Mountain Dew source!) We also took in the light show on the Mairie. It was really pretty and made fun of Sarkozy. Absolutely hilarious. We had a great time.

The only problem was that Parther was worried the entire time. He enjoyed the time with me, but sure enough, in the back of his mind he was panicking about the time he was losing by not being at home studying the five binders worth that he has to commit to memory to pass this thing. I could tell he was worried, and slightly distracted. I mean, he was really happy that we got to have a night like that together, but you know how it is. Also, finding a parking place was murder. Partner is not known for his patience, so after we couldn't find a parking space for about 30 minutes, he started getting annoyed.

The recompense that he does have though, is the week after is break for him. There will be a week where he doesn't have to do anything at all after his concours, but before he starts the new quarter. So that will be his decompression time, and I hope somewhat of a chance for us to really enjoy a bit of the break. I get the feeling we'll probably just spend the entire week trading off on playing Skyrim, but you know that sounds perfectly lovely to me!

Three Christmas Venues

2011-12-14T22:12:00.000+01:00

So instead of just one big Christmas, and then the tele-Christmas I do with my parents, there will be two observances, and a tele-Christmas. I'm not horribly upset by it, because it means actually getting to see everyone for the holiday, but it complicates the way we plan out our time. (Yes, I'm fully aware 4 hours of Skyrim per day is not normally accorded to most people, but well, it's Skyrim! I'm taking on fecking dragons. Let's see another game compete with that!) However; it means that we now have three observed Christmases.

The first will be on the 23rd at partner's aunt house. It should be pretty quiet, as it will just be partner, his grandmother, aunt, father, and myself. Partner's grandmother incredible when it comes to cooking so we're looking forward to a good night. I'm not a huge fan of scallops, but I'd kill for her Coquille-Saint-Jacques. It's just mind blowingly wonderful. Of course there will be smoked salmon, which is a universal good, especially with the shallot rye bread and a bit of butter. I still can't stomach a blini myself. Sorry, but salty pancakes, just not my idea of a good time. Everything the grandmother makes is poetry. So this will all go down smoothly, I think.

Then on the 24th, we'll be heading to the central restart La Révellion. This is the celebration basically to ring in Christmas. We'll be stuffed afterwards, because I'm betting it will involve lots of smoked salmon, probably shrimp, and most likely oysters. Oysters are something that are a bit of an acquired taste, but I think they taste a bit like watermelon. Yes, I know, strange. I have had some great meals, and this year should be no exception. We'll probably open gifts the 24th, which should make things pretty smooth for the 25th. It'll be nice to see everyone, and just have a small Christmas. It would be nice to have everyone together, but well, what can you do? Oh well.

Third will be tele-Christmas with my parents on the phone. It should be a very quiet Christmas, as I believe it's just my brothers. I'm never sure how people react to small Christmases. Then again, I'm almost done with trying to have traditions. Something always comes along and spoils them. I find it better just to try and enjoy the holiday the most that you can, and then just go with the flow. I have gotten a lot less traditional over the years though.

I get the feeling a non cold Christmas might be a little more than Partner can support. We have a few years though before that's official though. But well, who knows. Merry Christmas, in any case, wherever it may find you!

Two Christmas Trees

2011-12-13T14:54:00.001+01:00

So back when I was in Columbus, I was a big time into Christmas. I was that guy who was decorating directly after Thanksgiving as my mother did before me. I started playing Christmas music on All Saint's Day. There aren't really any good Halloween songs anyway, and no I don't believe Monster Mash counts, much less decent Thanksgiving songs. I don't think I've ever met anyone who knows more than "We gather together . . . ." So I blast the Carpenters starting in November. Our real enjoyment came when the Christmas tree was going up.

Partner and I had it down to a science by the fifth year. We found the best place to put it was in the dining room between the table and the pantry that led into the kitchen. There was a plug right there, so we were set. It was my responsibility to get the tree out of the guest closet and set all the branches in place. For some reason, Partner always put them at wonky angles, and it looked really artificial. That or he was just really good at making it look like he had no idea what he was doing. I always positioned all the branches. We would look at the tree for a bit undecorated and make sure all the lights were plugged in. Then we'd start decorating.

My family had always had an angel on the tree. Not just any angel either. There was a specific angel that always worked, much to my mother's chagrin. She would buy these little French Country Styled Angels and every year they'd blow out or they wouldn't work when we plugged them in. So instead, we'd go back to this plastic angel that my parents had since they were married. It's worked since 1973, and is the only one that worked with every set of lights we had on the tree, ever.

My partner's family though, were always star people. When we got our tree, we talked about it, and since neither of us were terribly religious, we decided to go with a star. Both are religious artifacts, but stars, less so. Of course, the star we ended up getting was rather big, and fairly gaudy. I loved it!

Now, we didn't have any decorations of our own, so we had to buy all our stuff. We found a lot of stuff we liked, and absolutely loved the tree skirt. It was all shiny. I was always afraid of getting it caught in the sweeper. I tend to be good like that. But it was perfect because it was ours, and we made it ourselves. It was wonderful.

It was really sad to pack it away every year, and especially sad to pack away the last time. It's still in my parent's basement. We'll probably just end up giving the tree itself to goodwill if we ever move back to the US, but the decorations we'll finally take back for our own. I miss the Christmas that my partner and I had. I miss going for coffee and having pumpkin spice lattes. There aren't really any starbucks in this part of France, which is pretty unfortunate. I do miss what all went into the tree though.

This year's Christmas tree is far more loaded with memories for Partner than for me. These are the old decorations that he used to have when he was young. If you notice, there's an angel ornament just to the right of the red bow towards the top center. Apparently no one was allowed to put on that ornament except him. He said it's very odd to see them. I am really happy to have a Christmas tree though. I just feel wrong if I don't. It's hard to explain. It is reassuring though. I think even if I'm living in Thailand or Guam or someplace that feels completely foreign, I'll still have a Christmas tree. I think it's impossible to feel right without one.

Noel

2011-12-12T15:35:00.004+01:00

On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, A Santa that looks this creepy!

Ok, now I've learned to let nothing relating to Père Noël throw me off, but literally, this plastic decoration was enough to make me fear for the sanity of the decorators in our building. It started out small, just with some garland and tinsel in the hallways, and a few boxes wrapped up to look like presents. It was actually really cute and understated. However, with the introduction of this bit of horror greeting me every time I come into the building, it's a bit different we'll say.

I feel like France has kind of a love/hate relationship with Santa Claus. Of course, I remember my first time in 2004, I came just after Christmas, and feasted my eyes on this vision:

So herein lies the question: Is Santa going to be breaking and entering, or is he just hanging on for dear life? It turns out, apparently, neither is the case. I don't know if it's all over France, but in Bretagne, a lot of the houses don't have chimneys, so Santa comes in through the windows. I just remember thinking how absolutely insane it looked to have Santa Claus hanging off your house as a decoration. (As if his being perfectly still in people's yards in the US is somehow more so. Then again, decoration is always something I've had questions about.)

Of course, I had preparations for this for years in the US. My mother changes the decorations for her house once a month. (Seriously not joking here. She has a different theme per month.) Christmas though, used to start after Thanksgiving. Not like, ok we wait a day and change over. No, seriously, that afternoon when we got back from Thanksgiving dinner when Dad went to work, the entire house changed from turkeys to snowflakes and angels. My mother never had a shortage of creepily happy santas, snowmen, elves, and reindeer.

The worst was this snowman she had. It was life sized and she would st it on the stairs. So there would be sometimes when you would come around the corner and feel like you're being watched. Nope, just the creepy lifelike snowman sitting on the stairs, peering into your soul with his cold, dead eyes. Sometimes I wonder if my mother was decorating to be cheery, or if she was actually creating this world of things being so cute they were creepy. This coming from a woman who used to have a different festive sweatshirt for every holiday, would surprise me a little though.

Hopefully there's nothing that makes you feel like pyramid head is watching you every time you step outside with your significant other! Have a good first day of Christmas.

Mele Kalikimaka

2011-12-10T17:05:00.001+01:00

Am I the last person to realize that it's the 10th of December? I have felt completely un-Christmased. Almost anti-Christmased if you will. I see the decorations in the stores, and some of the ones downtown, but it really didn't hit me until we went back to Ploërmel this weekend, and I realized that in two weeks, it's December 23rd. Yeah, seriously, December 23rd. So far Partner and I hadn't decorated. Of course, all last week, I really wasn't fit to be anywhere besides on the couch or in the bathroom, so that's not really fair to consider. Week long illnesses, suck.

That also slightly worries me about Christmas. In France, it's not like in the US. At my house, Christmas dinner on the 24th meant ham, mashed potatoes, and probably a pie of some kind for dessert. You might feel a bit full, considering that we would probably have spent the whole day eating all of the chocolate in the house, but generally, there were no major concerns.

In France, there's the Revellion. The Revellion is every imaginable thing to eat, served in shifts. So there's smoked salmon and blinis, there's fois gras, usually about 3 difference sizes of shrimp, there's snails, there's langoustine, sometimes coquilles-st.-jacques, crab, basically imagine a type of seafood, it's there. And that's just the first course.

I still haven't completely recovered my appetite. I eat a little, but I don't eat like I used to be able to. I basically have two weeks for my GI tract to reestablish itself, or I'll be in the bathroom every 20 minutes. Here's hoping that happens. I can eat whatever I want, but I just don't feel well.

Maybe there's more at play for why I don't really feel like Christmas anymore though. Maybe I'm getting more and more annoyed by building traditions and just seeing it work out to nothing. Part of me wonders if it would maybe be better once we have kids to never have two Christmases the same. Maybe one Christmas will be in France, and the other in the US. Then after that, maybe we'll be in Auckland, and maybe another year in Tokyo. Of course, I would wonder how that idea would work with kids. I dunno.

I remember how much I loved Christmas as a kid. Christmas music started in my house on the 1st of November. We would come home from our grandmother's and start decorating for Christmas. We bought our tree in December of course, but it was a real one. I always was the one pushing for it to be put up that night. I wanted Christmas to start as early as possible and end as late as it could.

Probably since I started college, Christmas has been getting more and more depressing. It feels like we're clinging to these traditions that just are losing what they meant. I think everyone suffers from the same problem of Christmas not being what it was when they were young.

I have an idea I'll start on the site the 12th. Hopefully you'll find it amusing. Why you've stuck around this long, leaves me with questions, even though it makes me happy that you have!

I'm not dead, really.

2011-11-30T17:36:00.001+01:00

I swear I'll have a real post soon. Time has slipped away from me, at least that's the excuse I'll use. I hope you had a great Thanksgiving should you be in a Thanksgiving celebrating region. Last month or not, hope it was good!

Also, why don't I look like him!

Curl into ball, sleep like kitty....

2011-11-17T10:49:00.001+01:00

You would not believe the list of excuses I can give you for my absence. Seriously, I took my time, and I can give you a nice organized, laminated list. Sometimes, I think I'm better at making excuses than getting everything done that I need to in a day. Seriously, if procrastination were an olympic sport, they'd have to mint a new medal just for me. Gold wouldn't be enough.

Last weekend was the Armistace in France, so no one was doing much of anything. Partner and I decided that it would be an ideal weekend to take a trip up to see family in the Center region. Since Partner had the day off as well, we could leave on Friday afternoon and get there around 4 or 5. It all depended really on traffic, and how fast we were planning on going.

We ended up leaving around 1:30, because well, we're good like that. There was, happily, next to no traffic, but the weather change was hilarious. We left Rennes with bright open sunshine. When we finally got around Le Mans to catch the Autoroute, you could see the sky change. There was fog everywhere and it was completely overcast. My ears were popping as the air pressure changed, and my back, which was just getting back to normal, wasn't handling the 2 hour drive so well.

We got there in one piece though, and everything was good. We spent some time talking and just having a good time seeing everyone. Sister and brother in law were well. They were just finishing up their work they needed to get done before their daughters got home from college for the holiday. Of course, my niece was running around, but she was more excited that her sister would be bringing her boyfriend, and that meant a Wii. Of course, that would all have to wait until after dinner: crepes.

Now, I have helped make crepes before. I always watch for the first few and let the pan heat up, because it has to be done a certain way at first. Once you get going, it's just a matter of getting into a rhythm and spreading the batter correctly in the pan. It's a hard motion to explain. The best I can explain it is that you take a ladle full of batter, start at about 10 or 11 o'clock, and spread in a circular motion back on itself. After that, it's just a matter of getting under it correctly, flipping it, and letting the other side cook about a minute. Here's a video I made of the process a while ago.

I was going along just fine when the last niece got back. At that point, I had probably made a good 35 crepes, and was doing just fine. Then we broke out the wine and I had a glass. I was feeling so tired before that I didn't want to risk falling asleep by 9, face down in a crepe. Unfortunately, I had also only had 5 of those little butter cookies topped with chocolate, think petit écolier, and a cup of earl grey. I had to stop after one glass because I knew that it wold be a bad idea to go further, until I had more in my stomach. I drank one glass, and I messed up my first crepe. That was the perfect excuse to stop. We had a great night of eating crepes and later playing Mario Kart.

The next day was pretty quiet. We just talked and partner tried to study. With everyone in the house, he only got through about 3 pages of the 15 he wanted to study. He eventually gave up. As for myself, I couldn't really sit down and relax in front of the computer, so I checked email and left it at that. I watched some TV, because they have cuisine TV and telemaison. I miss it, so much. Later that night, was raclette.

Raclette is potatoes served with cold cuts, covered in a cheese called raclette. It's a very particular type of cheese, from the same group as reblechon, if you're familar with it. it has a very low melting point and a very particular taste. the actual name of raclette when translated directly into English is squeegee. It's named for these small, flat, wooden spatulas that you use to clean the cheese off the thing to heat it up. It's absolutely wonderful. Anytime when you can eat coppa, chorizo, and jambon bayonnne sandwiched between melted cheese and potato; I call that a win. I drank less that night as to be in better form for Mario Kart. I still...did terribly. Give me an RPG any day of the week!

We ended up leaving the next day around 4 in the afternoon. It was another nice opportunity to decompress. I got a few more leads about work in Rennes as brother and sister in law are pretty well connected. I just called today about one but got an answering machine. All and all, I was pretty glad to have a chance to relax. The only problem is how long it took for me to get back on track. Seriously, I spent 4 days just catching up on stuff. Ridiculous.

So that was why I have had absolutely no drive to do anything. I got stuck in relax mode. I'm finally coming out of it, as my back problems are going away too. We'll see how all this works out. I have a few more ideas for posts and such, and I need to get back to NaNoWriMo. I just stopped right before we left. Anyway though, back to it!

Faux Paris

2011-11-15T09:33:00.001+01:00

http://bigthink.com/ideas/41105

Now this is pretty fascinating. Apparently the French Government started work on a copy of Paris to trick the Luftwaffe. It's a pretty interesting article.

Haven't Felt Like That in Years

2011-11-04T11:28:00.004+01:00

Last night I had serious déjà vu. I got off the metro stop, and there was Place Sainte Anne, filled with drunk and or drinking people. All of the restaurants had that same familiar smell of fried food and alcohol. I walked around the place a bit, just to get my bearings, and figure out exactly what was going on. The more I looked around and the further I walked, I realized that somehow I had been transported back to High Street.

I guess I should probably explain what on earth I was doing out at midnight in Rennes. My sister in law told me about a friend of her's who was performing that night who would be a great contact to have in the city. He had a lot of friends and might be able to help me out in the job search. On the one hand, this would be a chance to maybe make a connection and possibly have some work come out of it. On the other hand, this meant navigating Rennes by night. I had never been left to my own devices in Rennes past 3 pm. I had taken the metro/bus system all over town, so that wasn't an issue. The greater issue would be myself.

Back in the day, there was very little that scared me. I remembered walking through the creepy part of High Street between the Short North and the University District back coming back from the Gallery Hop. Of course I was also usually drunk and as a result afraid of nothing, or with someone who was coming back to my place. Yes, I mean that exactly as it sounds. I never thought anything of walking back from visiting a friend that lived down on 12th Avenue past Big Four. Hell, I even once walked the whole way back from Micro Center to my apartment on Lane.

After Partner and I moved out of the University District, I started to develop this fear of cities at night. It's like I had reverted back to this scared kid that I was back when I started at Ohio State. I don't know if other people have this same oppressive feeling they get, where everything is so exciting, but so scary at the same time. I used to get this feeling when I first started going to house parties or to clubs and bars. I get fascinated by everything and all of my senses seem to heighten. It's like this huge adrenaline rush. Of course, the problem is, after that's done I find myself exhausted.

Part of me was secretly hoping that I could talk Partner into going with me. He had just finished his mock exams this week, so he had been hitting the books even harder than normal. I figured maybe he could come out with me and we could just walk around a bit late at night. I would leave it up to him if he wanted to take the car or not. After all, the metro was running until 12:45 and the buses later than that. I was of the mindset that maybe being out in it would put him in a different mindset.

That became a solid no when Partner came home. he had gotten stuck in an hour long traffic jam for an accident that he never saw the remnants of. I knew that he would be staying in tonight when he told me that he expected blood on the highway with the time he waited. He's not a horribly violent person, but as with most French people quite the râleur. Ok, so I would be going myself tonight, even better.

I decided that I should leave around 9:30 since it was at 10. The metro is pretty fast, because it's not very big of course, so really the longest parts of my trip would be walking to the station and finding La Salle de la Cité. Google Maps made it look like it was nothing. Seriously, it was right off the Place Sainte Anne. How could I miss it? So I get dinner around for us, we eat, and then I head out around 9:20. I make it to the metro and take it down to Sainte Anne no problem. So I start off in one direction, find the road I was supposed to take, and head down it. I start to notice that I'm not on the Place anymore.

I ask someone where to find it, and they have no idea where it is. I head back to the place because I don't want to get lost. I ask someone else, and they say to take that road over there and make a left. Ok. So I keep going, and well, end up somehow near a town market that I have no idea where I am, but take the next road. Mother in Law always told me that pretty much all roads in Rennes lead you back to a Place. I finally am within spitting distance of the place and I ask a guy walking by if he knows where it is. He says to take this road back to the place, but keep going straight, and that I couldn't miss it. After 20 minutes of dicking around, I finally get there.

So it was kind of a strange night. It was a presentation of film projects by the lycées in Rennes. They were actually some really great movies with some great ideas. One film was about this guy who finds a book that tells about his life. There was another about a woman who was running from her past. They tried to be international and spoke English in it. The speaking would be best described as "correct," but in the French sense of correct. Afterwards, the guy I went to see came on stage. It was an interesting concept. He redid the soundtrack to the movie Duel. He built some really good tension with his use of guitars and other ambient sounds. There was some really interesting parts like when he would change the radio, he'd switch what was playing. Of course, the film has a lot of meaning that can be drawn from it too, so overall it was a good experience.

At the end of the performance, I tried to find him to talk a bit. Of course, I had to keep an eye on time, and make sure I wasn't going to miss the last metro. I waited for probably about 15 minutes outside after probably a good 20 of searching for him. I tried to talk with a few people, but there was nothing going on, so I just said that I'd have to try and talk with him another time. I walked back to Sainte Anne.

Of course, things were only louder and drunker there. People were coming off the metro in costumes, because French people don't seem to realize that Halloween is over and you can't just celebrate it the week thereafter. I was just taking the steps down when 5 police officers were coming onto the place. I got out of there in a hurry. Naturally, on the train there was a kid drinking Kronenbourg on the metro, something I had assumed illegal. He was speaking very loudly, and would have been amusing if I didn't have a problem with watching people publicly embarrass themselves. Finally, I made it back to my stop.

So I'm walking back and nothing's really looking familiar. I come to a cross walk and look at one of the signs for the road. I am at a road that is a good deal North of where I should be. I'm starting to think that maybe I should turn around, but I don't know, that maybe I just came out at a weird place. I walk a bit further on the same road. I generally know where I am, so I'm not concerned about being lost. I keep going until I see an escalator. I had walked back an entire metro station north of where I needed to be. My metro card was still active, so I went back to the station, took the road back the right sense, and finally got back home about 12:40.

Overall, it was a strange night. I had a good time to be sure, and I'm glad I went. I just haven't felt that adventurous in a while. I don't know exactly why either. In any case, I've conquered Rennes by night, and I got to feel like I haven't in almost 10 years. Hope you're all doing well, I've got NaNo to get back to.....

October; or why I don't really bother with Halloween

2011-10-31T16:05:00.000+01:00

The best part of Halloween in my opinion is that it means October is over. Since I was little, I have always just had bad memories that are associated with October, and because of it, I wanted to move onto something happier. This week specifically, I'd like to move on to something a little better just because my back hurts insanely, because of a sciatic nerve problem I've had since I started working jobs that required 8 hours of sitting a day. Seriously, I went to go get groceries today at Carrefour, and I felt like I was walking like an old man. Ridiculous.

There's no better place to start than with my time back when I was a kid as to why I am slightly bitter about Halloween. As they say, you attract more flies with sugar than honey. My mother never really knew what to do for Halloween costumes for boys. When I was a little kid, my options were pumpkin or dragon. These were hand me down costumes from my older brother. One of the most fun parts about Halloween is supposed to be choosing what you want to be. For me, the choice was already made. My sisters could always do something with what we had, like wearing one of my mother's old bridesmaid's dresses and be a Southern Belle, or wear a lot of jean material and be a hippie. For boys, it always seemed like it was harder.

As I've mentioned before, we lived in Cornfield Central. Because of that, our nearest neighbors were a ways away, and walking at night was scary. Our other option was to take my mother's old car. It was a really nice muscle car back in the day. She had a 68 Firebird that she drove off the showroom floor in Defiance. Now; however, it was 1987 and no one had rebuilt the transmission since it was bought. So when you'd be driving the transmission bands might slip, and you'd drop from 60 to 0 in less than a second. If the transmission didn't kick back in, you'd be pushing the car home. We only used it for short trips, like to church and back.

We did it one year in the Firebird, and that was kind of disastrous. There weren't a lot of young families in our neighborhood, so some of the families didn't have candy. So we had to figure out which houses to go to. Another problem was space. A Firebird isn't designed to hold 6 people, regardless of age. It also had no heat, and no radio. Those were stolen when a cousin had the car on the local college campus. On top of that, my youngest brother was all of 2 years old, and really didn't want to be out that long without making a fuss. So between a young child, and nearly getting pushed off steps by one of my siblings for a snickers bar, that was the first and last year we did trick or treating.

That's not to say that my mother never tried to have fun on Halloween. When we were younger, we actually had a really fun party among the 6 of us. Since my dad worked second shift, we only had one car with a dependable transmission until 1996. So instead of feeling sad about not being able to go trick or treating, we each got a sack of candy, dressed up in our costumes, and had pizza. It was pretty fun. I guess I just never really got into the spirit.

One of the worst parts about October was that my mother always used to get really depressed during the month. She just seemed like she didn't want to do anything, and most of the time we'd just be curled under blankets watching Must See TV, hoping that no one would bother coming over begging for candy. I never really understood why until I remembered that my grandmother died on October 21st.

My parents moved in with my grandmother back in 1981 to take care of her, and because the rent would be free. My grandmother was getting to an age where it was hard for her to get around, and she would forget things sometimes. My mother was a stay at home mom at the time, and she already had three kids. It was pretty ideal. After she had me in 1983 and my younger brother in 1985, it started to get more complicated for her. My grandmother's condition was worsening. She started to get more and more confused, and angry. Finally in 1987, my grandmother passed away.

It took a good 10 years for my mother to really move on from the death of my grandmother. I think much of it had to do with living in the house and seeing all of her clothes and possessions around her 24 hours a day. My parents even moved into my grandmother's room a few months after her passing. On top of that, there were some problems with family because of the will. My grandmother wasn't insanely rich or anything, but she had more than enough to live comfortably. It was so bad, one uncle and aunt wouldn't come into the house for the wake. They were that ashamed of what they had done to the rest of their family.

Growing up with all this bad stuff happening in October, it seems like it's when bad stuff happens to me. I always tend to have health problems in October. I think the first breakdown I had was in October. My sophomore year of college I got a sinus infection for the first time in my life and guess which month it happened? The first time I had really bad sciatic nerve problems was in October. I'm also pretty sure I just lost out on another job today. It gets me coming and going.

So you'll have to understand that none of this is blaming, or whining, even though it may sound like it, but statements of fact all. I don't actually mean to sound as crotchety as I probably do. If I'm invited to a Halloween Party, I'll try and find a costume and go. I'll smile and say Happy Halloween to people, but after I'm done, just let me go home and curl up on the couch or if it's been a particularly bad day, in the shower with the hottest water I can stand either running over my head or against my lower back.

The Queerest of Birds

2011-10-29T20:50:00.001+02:00

While finishing the cleaning today, as I clean every Saturday to get it the hell out of the way, I was thinking about a lot of things, and I finally had a stroke of inspiration for writing, so I think I'll try and turn it into a full length book. If you do National Novel Writing Month, I'll probably work on it there. If you're around, I'm also Tamayn there.

I plan to try and make it similar to an Agatha Christie style story. There will be an overarching murder plot, but a focus on the relationship of a long lost brother whom the family despises at worst, or wants nothing to do with at best. The only grandchild will be the other focus character.

Lord knows that I read them enough, and have been watching them often enough here. I still have more research to do on a certain aspect of the interesting part of the story line, but well, I'll leave that to be found out later. If people want to see it, I'll post what results.

La Pilule Amère

2011-10-27T19:24:00.004+02:00

So I'll start slow with this because basically all I wanted to do yesterday, and I still kind of feel like it today, is curl up in the bathtub with some cake mix. As I mentioned, I started applying for jobs here in France. I knew this would be a bit of a complicated situation. I guess I never expected to get even a response.

I should really mention a problem I have. The best way I've found to describe it is that I go up like a rocket, and come down like a stick. Outwardly, I am a bit cynical about things, but secretly I'm already counting on success on everything I do. So when I got a response from one of the first places I applied to, I was floored!

The schedule would have been 12 hours a week. It wouldn't have been a terrible amount, but it would have been a start. They asked me if the hours worked for me, and wanted me to respond as soon as possible. So I called the number I had been left at the bottom, and set up an appointment to speak with the people necessary. I was really excited, because this meant that I wouldn't feel so useless here. I could contribute real money to the situation here, and we wouldn't have to worry about next year. I was really excited.

I called my sister in law and mother in law to ask them how I should approach this. I've never been terribly confident in my actual French level, so I always feel like I'm at a disadvantage. They said to try and keep it simple. Don't get in over your head. Explain the situation exactly as it is. They said that given the level of the job, and that I wouldn't be speaking with people all that much, so I should relax on that front. The one thing they said though was that this job isn't something that would appeal to a lot of French people. Frankly people who are already on chomage make more than this job would give a month, so it's not to their advantage to take it. I had maybe a bit more confidence with that.

They said for a job like this, the most important thing was to present myself well. I just got a hair cut last week, so that was fine. I needed to shave, which I did (even shaving against the grain with a new blade to make sure it was smooth.) I wore dress pants and a dress shirt. I even put a sweater over the top of it, one to look even more French, and number two so that no one would notice the shirt was off white. Since the sweater was tan, the shirt looked really nice and white. I even took one of those chemises with me and a pen and paper. I don't think I ever tried to look that French in all my life. ( I should just mention I hate shaving and never wear a sweater with a collared shirt because I get really warm easily, and I think it just looks so ridiculously Ned Flanders that I want to beat myself up. )

Digressing, I got there with about 15 minutes to spare. I had always heard it was a good idea to arrive between 10 to 15 minutes before the appointment. I spoke with the person at the Acceuil and was told that the person I was supposed to meet with was in a meeting, but someone else would be down to receive me. In a few minutes I see a person in a suit come to the desk. I assume that it's him. He comes over and asks if he should know me.....? It's not the right person and I'm turning about a thousand shades of red. But I smile, excuse myself, and the woman at the acceuil explains that I'm waiting for someone and that he's fine. She tells me that the person I'm going to meet with will be down in just a few minutes.

The guy arrives just a little bit after, now that I'm really embarrassed and even more nervous, it's a match made in heaven. He's a young guy, probably younger than me in truth, and he asks me how I'm doing. I reply that I'm doing fine, and we walk to the back. He asks me if I had ever worked in a store like this before, I say yes, and explain a bit. I'm so nervous I really don't know what to say. So I try to explain a bit, but it's not going so great. So. Damn. Nervous.....

We go to an office, and he explains a bit about the job. We go over the hours, the days I'd work, how many people would be on the team I'd be working with, and just a few general things. I get the feeling he's killing time until I can speak with the person I need to talk to. He asked me if the schedule would work. I say yes, not a problem. We talk a bit more, and he asks me if I can take on more hours sometimes. I say it's fine. I try to explain the situation but I'm still a bit tongue tied. Someone comes in and tells him that the woman I was supposed to speak with is now available. So we get up, and walk to her office.

She says hello, we shake hands and she has me take a seat. She asks me how high my level of French is, and I try to stammer out a response until the guy says "small," and she says, "oh, small." That was it! At that point, something just snapped in my head. Now it was a challenge. I responded with, "J'aime penser que je peux parler très bien Française, mais j'n sais pas." She blinked and opened her eyes a bit wider. She smiled a bit and said, "Ah bon, je trouve que vous parlez très bien!" I felt vindicated! We talked a bit more. I'd be on a CDI, but for students, at which point I had to explain about visas and such. She said that would be worked out with the person who handled that. Of course, I was to speak with her next.

So I meet with her, we talk, and she says that she doesn't know how it would work to hire me, because with my visas, it becomes more complicated. So she calls the prefecture. Of course, no one's there until tomorrow morning, as the person who handles it only works two days per week apparently, so she'll have to call back tomorrow, get word back, and speak with him then. I figure, ok so she'll do that, and I'll be working next week ok.

I'm pretty happy, I'm telling everyone on the phone that I don't know what will happen, but everyone seems pretty confident that it'll work out. So I'm pretty happy, talking with partner. He's happy for me, and we're a little relieved. He has to go back in for his afternoon class that day, so I walk out with him. I come back upstairs and see that I missed a call. It's the woman who needed to call the prefecture for confirmation to let me know that with the visas I have, it would be IMPOSSIBLE! No real explanation other than that. She said to call back if I had any questions. So just.....whatever......

So I was really pissed, and just annoyed with the whole situation. I took a walk and called a few people... The search continues only now, I'm just slightly less enthusiastic about the search. France is a tangle of bureaucracy, so I'm not completely saddened by it, but I'm just, yeah.... If I could just marry my partner like in the majority of European countries, I wouldn't need 2000 euros per month with 400 dollar a month health insurance. So I'm just done for a bit.

Where's that cake mix.......?

Elle est ma cousine!

2011-10-24T23:46:00.000+02:00

I remember one of the first things I asked partner was " so since you're from Bretagne, do you speak Breton?" His response, naturally, was no. He told me that people don't really speak Breton anymore. There are older people who know it or knew it. Such was the case with his grandmother. She knew and could speak Breton until she had a stroke back in the late nineties. Unfortunately neither of her children had studied the language, like I said earlier, this is a cyclical thing where people care about it and then don't, or her grandchildren. This is how languages die out.

However; there will always be some vestiges of Breton culture. People speak a few snippets of the language, and most people know basic phrases like degemer mat for welcome, or that the Breton word for Breton is actually Breizh. These are things that people see on signs, not normally something that's shared among family members though. The actual nuts and bolts of the language are only maintained through songs or in the names of dances, or the occasional song.

This song here, for example, was popular a while back in France. The band, Matmatah, was formed in Brest, the westernmost city in Bretagne. The song itself is Lambe an dro is actually in French, but it has that very Celtic rock edge to it. You can find the lyrics here. If anything, this song actually reminds me a lot of that song "500 Miles" by the Proclaimers or to a lesser extent "Jump Around" by House of Pain. It doesn't have all that much to do with actual Celtic culture, but it's more than happy to borrow from it.

Breton in Brittany is more of a cultural thing now than an actual language. You will see the black and white flag and coat of arms all over the place. Also there's a certain symbol called the triskelion in English, know as la triskell in Brittany. It's the regional symbol, and you will see it everywhere they can stick it up. Originally, it was a sacred symbol, but now, you'll see it on everything from a taxi service to pizza places.

Another interesting thing that I remember seeing long before partner and I moved was a character called Bécassine. It's a stereotypical creation of the old fashioned Breton woman. Her name is also used in French as slang for a fool. She was created as a caricature of Bretons in general, showing her as old fashioned. She still wears a lace coif and clogs, and usually is not drawn with a mouth. She's kind of a classic plouc. It's an old joke, but a lot of people say, "Bécassine; c'est ma cousine." It's actually a song written by Chantal Goya.

The language still exists and there are always attempts to maintain the level of the language, but like any language, it will only stay alive so long as people speak it. I can't say I've ever heard it spoken, but it's amazing to think about how this language has lasted all these years. Of course, like any language, it's changed with the times. For example, most signs are in Breton and French in the Rennes subway system. That's the sign of a language that can stand the test of time honestly. It has to be able to stay current with the times.

I've seen things....

2011-10-22T20:06:00.003+02:00

I'll make a list of things lately, and we'll vote as to the order I talk about them.

1. I saw a man lick a woman's face, and yes, in a romantic way. This will actually be more of a rant organized to appear like a serious article. Just to let you know.

2. I saw more Breton that I ever planned to today, and it still fascinates me, much like all Brythoic-Godelic Languages. It would be one thing if it were just at the Brittany Museum, but we're talking about in the Subway. I. love. Rennes. so. much!

3. I saw a beautiful old map of Bretagne, which I will show soon when I get a chance. It has a lot of old place names on it, and well, it's just beautiful!

4. The Brittany Museum is incredible. All I can say. I'll be keeping an eye on what else they're showing at the Champs Libre.

5. Apparently some French CV's require a photo. Go figure.

6. I am totally inspired to write the rest of chapter 2, because of the Brittany Museum.

More to come soon. Let me know what you guys want to see!

The 35 hebdomadaire

2011-10-17T16:18:00.002+02:00

The original reason why I didn't know what and if I'd be able to post was because I spent the week on the job hunt. Monday was all about getting my CV in order. Tuesday was getting help with my lettre de motivation, and then Wednesday was getting the word out. Thursday my mother in law came for a visit, and to leave a few things next week for when she goes to see her daughter for Toussaints, my sister in law's family. Friday would be a bit more relaxed. On the docket that day was just a hair cut. Saturday and Sunday promised to be more relaxing though.

Having never before written a CV, this was going to be an adventure. A resume, I could write in my sleep. I had modified my own three times in the US. I had my form for Academic use, another for sales use, and a third for clerical/office work. Each I had tuned over the years for the correct case and application, highlighting specific skills necessary for whatever I was applying. With a CV, nothing doing. You have to put everything on one form, and in less than one page. So it becomes a matter of sorting out what is necessary and not, and how to present oneself overall. There's the additional fun of having to write it all in French. Of course in French, there is certain jargon and expressions that one uses in French, much like in English. I wrote it out as best I could in French first, and showed it to partner, who corrected it. After that, I sent it to my mother in law, who used to work in HR, and sister in law, who works in online retail. They ripped it to shreds and then told me how to do it right. Step one, complete.

Tuesday I didn't feel like fooling around, because I got the feeling that trying to translate my cover letter wasn't going to cut it in France. There are two things that displease me about the lettre de motivation in france. The lettre de motivation has nothing to do with your skills. It's about explaining why you were sending them the letter. I was joking with my mother in law about explaining that since I was a child and I used to play grocery store, I dreamed of working at Carrefour and arranging cans in a supermarket. The other fun comes in when you find out that if it's not formatted exactly to French standards, they will take one look at it, assume you have no idea what you're doing, and throw it the hell out. My mother in law showed me exactly how to write it and what needed to be included, and then sister in law tinkered with it to make it exactly what I needed. Now I just had to get up the courage to pass it out.

Wednesday is partner's long day in courses, so we had decided that I would leave with him the afternoon, pass out my CV and letter of motivation, and meet him that night by the car. That meant that I would need to take the metro. I hadn't taken it much, mostly out of fear of getting lost. I don't usually get lost, as I do believe myself to have an excellent sense of direction, but I didn't want to risk anything happening. I figured maybe it would be wiser to start the morning off with the places I could walk to. So that meant that I was applying to the Netto on the corner, the Super U a little further down, and the Lidl that was just down the street a bit further. Later that afternoon, if all went well, I'd get a day pass for the transit system and take the bus to Alma to drop off applications there, then take the bus back home. That night I'd take the metro over to the school, trying to complete the impossible task that partner and I screwed up last time: how to get to the car from the metro.

I spent the morning finding the routes I'd need to take, and after breakfast and a shower, I was ready to drop off my CV and letter of motivation. I hit the ones close by quick, and even got my shopping done along the way. The only concern was Lidl. I'd never actually been there, and it was supposed to be really close by. I'd never gone though just because there were closer, and what I found to be cheaper, options. I walked up the length of the boulevard, and came to the same road the metro was on. I knew I had gone too far. So I asked someone nearby if they knew where the Lidl was, and they said that I would need to take the metro to get there. I could walk but it was a good 30 minutes then. So I decided that I'd save that application for the afternoon before taking the bus to Alma.

I come back to the house, put away the groceries, and relax a little before partner arrives for lunch. He and I eat a bit, we talk, and he goes to study. I kill a bit of time before he has to go and we leave the building together, around 5. I headed to the metro and went two stations north, and I start asking people where the nearest Lidl is. No one knows. I finally give up and look on a map, because I had to put it in an envelope with the address on the front. I found the road, and it turns out that this particular road goes on for a while. I have no idea what to do at this point. I can go north where the road starts, or I can go south where it veers off and I have no idea how to get there. I decide I'll go north first and see. So I go two more stations north and look around a bit. No one seems to know where the road is when I ask. I even randomly ended up asking a Russian woman. We spoke English as it was less complicated. She said she had no idea where the road was, but wished me luck. I walked a bit further down, and found the road, but no indication it was nearby. So I looked around a bit more and headed south. I went back down to the station where I started, and asked someone. He said just turn right at the real estate office, and keep going. It's about 500 feet from the station. I gave them my CV, walked back to the metro, and caught the bus to Alma.

I dropped off my CV at the different locations, but I'm not going to get too excited about it. The market is hard, especially for those people who have some education, but not tons. Of course, right now it seems like it's hard for everyone. I did the tour of the restaurants there. I had to be careful about which clothing stores I applied to, because some of them require a special formation after high school. They told me that they were full up, but they'd keep my CV all the same in case. I applied to a few more places, one of which was a video game shop, and that made me very happy. They were even looking. So like I said, no getting my hopes up, but oh damn, that would be sweet. Of course, I'd probably never have a check at the end of the month, because I'd spend it all there. But damn, that'd be sweet.

I still had some time before I'd go meet partner. I decided to bum around the center of town and see where might be interesting to apply there. I always like the idea of applying at Fnac, but apparently there's some sort of formation you have to have, but well....who knows. Anyway, I figured I'd try at Saturn and Virgin. If no one hires me, no one can say I didn't try. So I keep going. I look around for an hour or two, and then take the metro further north to Villejean.

I should probably talk a little about the disaster it was trying to find the way to get from Pontchaillou to the medical campus. That day, we thought it would be a cinch to find, so partner and I had just bought the hour long metro cards. So we got the cards at about 4:30, expecting to have this wrapped up in about 20 minutes tops. We wondered down past the Cardiology center, and back along the side towards town, but the buildings all started to become residential. So we found a map posted, and looked around. We couldn't really find where we wanted to go, since it was a map of the hospital, not the medical school included. We figured if we kept going though, we'd find it, eventually. So we came back and tried the other way. Even worse mistake, as we were almost in Villejean. So we try one more time, can't find it, get pissed, and make it back to the metro with 3 minutes to spare on our card. Partner is now determined that he will never EVER take the metro into school. I time it all the same, and it's about 12 minutes by metro. Truthfully, that's about how long it takes him in the car anyway, and he only has to fill up the tank for 20 per month, so it's less than a monthly pass anyway.

This time though, I came prepared. I found out that we had taken the wrong way around. We should have gotten off at Villjean-Université, and then it's just 800 meters to the parking lot. I find the first road I need to take, and keep on going. I am doing just fine, as we weren't supposed to meet for another half an hour, and I didn't want to get there too early. It's a really nice night for a walk. The campus is beautiful all lit up, and the buildings are almost enough to make me think of when we used to take the bus back to partner's place from campus. It's just nice to feel independent and do what I want. I make the turn, exactly where it said it would be. The buildings are getting familiar, and I am right next to the car. I wait a few minutes and then decide I'll surprise him and meet him a little closer up. So I move closer up by the parking entrance, wait a few more minutes and inevitably get bored. I decided I'd meet him in front of the school. So as I'm walking up, someone is walking down. It's partner. He had finished early and was waiting on me. We walked back to the car and decided since it was late we'd just get Dell'Arte. It was bliss!

I guess the most important thing is that I have conquered the Rennes transport system. I am confident I could go wherever necessary now with minimal preparation. This Wednesday I'll head back to the center of town and drop off more CVs, Thursday mother in law will be staying the night before she catches her train south for Toussaints, so it will be good to see her again. I have to meet her at the Autogare downtown, and we'll take the metro/bus system back. So this week should be quiet. Who knows, I may even get an extra day with partner for Toussaints!

An Outing in Two Acts: Act II

2011-10-15T09:30:00.000+02:00

I run upstairs and take the portable phone off the charger and shut myself in the sun porch, a room that used to be an open air porch that was closed in but never heated. No one came out there unless they wanted to put more pop in the refrigerator. Since it was around 10 at night, that was unlikely enough. Finally the phone rang.

Just hearing his voice was enough to make my heart race. It was exciting and nerve wracking all at the same time. He was sweet, and funny, and everything I imagined. We talked about how strange it was to put a voice with the words. I don't think we'd even seen pictures of each other at that point. He was an absolute sweetheart though. That's when my mother opened the door.

She asked what I was doing out here. I told her that I was talking with someone. She looked a little confused, and asked who I was talking to. I said a friend. She said, which one. I said another time with a stern look on my face, a friend. She got the message and left. That should have been a hint right there.

So we kept talking until the phone started to beep, which meant the battery was almost dead. I didn't want the phone call to end. This was the happiest I'd been in 19 years, and I wasn't about to let it end because of an old portable phone. I took the phone from the living room and ran the cord across the living room and into the den, running the cord under the crack in the door. I took the phone of the switch hook and put the now dead portable phone back on the receiver in my parent's room.

I came back downstairs and we talked for another hour or so. He told me all about his life, and I about mine. I told him about hopes, fears, and what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I just felt so at ease with him. I had never had the chance to talk with anyone else like this, ever. He was interested in me, and what I did and what I was doing. Finally, we talked about him coming to visit. I told him that it wouldn't be a problem for me, and I could just tell my mother that he was a friend from the college where I was going, so she wouldn't even know. He would have to stay in a hotel in town though. He and I talked more about it, but now that we could talk, we figured it might be better to wait for the planning until later, like around spring break or something. We said our goodbyes and hung up.

Another thing I should mention was that the phone I had chosen was supposed to have a security function on it, where if anyone picked up the phone, the light for the line would dim. It had always worked before, and it's specifically why I chose that phone. I even told my friend about it when he asked me if I was worried about anyone listening in. I told him I wasn't too concerned.

I was absolutely thrilled that night. I felt like I could do anything. Since I lived in the middle of nowhere, I ended up watching TV with my brothers. My mother came upstairs to say goodnight, and she made a point to tell us all that she loved us and kiss all three of us. That should have been a sign that something was up, but it was maybe just a coincidence. She also stayed up to see my dad when he came home. My mother was usually in bed by 9:30. My father usually never got back from work until midnight. Hint number 2 annoyed. It should have been pretty obvious when she whispered something to Dad with a panicked look on her face before she went upstairs, but I was still partially in denial, and still partially just too happy to care. I do remember telling myself before I went to bed that if she did know, it was too late to worry about it now.

This had all happened on a Friday, so on Saturday morning my father was the first awake. It took about a half an hour for him to ask me about it. He explained that yes, my mother had listened in on my phone call last night. I spent probably about an hour denying it before I finally just said, you know what. I am. I still don't know why I spent so long denying it. I felt better afterwards though. My father had two things to say about it. First and foremost, I needed to be careful. Not only were there physical dangers, but more so there were a lot of diseased out there. (He's a nurse, go figure that would be his first concern.) Second, he thought that maybe we shouldn't say anything to Mom about it, and just say that everything was resolved.

The day was pretty calm, and I was up on the computer as usual when the phone rings. "So I hear you're gay, and you're running away to Minnesota, never to see any of us again!" It's my sister. My mother had called her apparently last night, in a panic. My sister was calling back to find out how much of it my mother had embellished, she has a tendency to do that. I explained the situation as it was, and she said she figured that it was more reasonable than what my mother had decided. So everything was fine there. She said she was happy for me, and that she loved me.

The last great hurdle that day was my mother. She and I talked about it though, and her biggest concern was that I was going to run away and she'd never see me again. Just for some perspective, after living through 15 years of schooling, she thought I was going to drop out of high school a half a year before I finished to run away with some guy I'd never met. I had already been accepted into college, so come on. Seriously. She said she loved me though, and my being gay didn't matter to her in the least. So that's now everything resolved nicely for me.

Things haven't been easy all the time, but I wouldn't trade my life now for anything else. There's more to the story, but I'll talk about that another time. I also have some stories about subway fun, but I guess I'll talk about that later.

An Outing in Two Acts: Act I

2011-10-14T09:30:00.000+02:00

I thought it would be important to explain exactly where I came from to get to this point. The two most important times I came out where forced. I never got the chance to choose my moment. Frankly, I thought that one day, my parents would show up at my dorm unannounced and I'd be in bed with a guy. Then we'd find out everything. I guess though, things don't always go as planned. They just kind of happen. So, here we go.

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After I had come out to my friend, I started to get more comfortable with who I was. I guess it took the first time for it to become a reality. Before it had always been something I had written, or something I whispered, but never anything I said out loud. Slowly though, it was all becoming a reality. Online I had developed my own life. I had a couple of very close friends, with whom I passed much of my time online. At that time, ICQ was my life line.

The first was a young man from near by. He lived in Dayton and said he was in high school. He was a nice enough guy, but I always found him a little confusing. He was very progressive, which I loved, but I was always a bit thrown off by him. The pictures he sent were always a little too posed. I talked with him all throughout high school, but we just lost track of each other when I graduated, and that was the end of him.

I spent a lot of time talking with another really nice guy, but he was in at Georgia Tech. He and I never talked about anything very sexual but he was there for support a lot. He was an absolute sweetheart of a guy. I always thought about what a nice guy he would be. For a long time, I wanted to emulate him. He had gone through a lot in his life, but he always seemed so open to things. I always hoped I would be able to be like him. One day we stopped talking, and I never talked with him again after my junior year of high school.

There was one guy though, whom I fell absolutely in love with. He was from Minnesota. I randomly found him on an ICQ chat group, and sent him a message. He struck me as a bit cold at first, but well, having a random guy message you with, "Are you really gay?" must be slightly off putting. I got a chance to explain myself a bit more, and we talked, and it turned out we really enjoyed and appreciated each other. He made me laugh, and vice versa. We got to be pretty good friends, but he would often disappear for months at a time, and show up again with all sorts of new things to talk about.

I think what really sold me on him was how direct he was. He was gay and refused to be anything other than himself for anyone. I enjoy people who are that honest about themselves and their lives. He told me all about his life in a small town, but he moved to Minneapolis for high school and college. I was absolutely enamored with him. His life was so exciting, and he did so much stuff. It was so much unlike my own life. I wanted to experience it, even if it were indirectly.

As I said, he would disappear for long spans of time. In fact, we stopped talking around the end of my sophomore year, and I got an email from him every now and again, but he pretty much disappeared off the face of the earth after that. I continued along wondering how he was for a while, but eventually I just let it go. That was until the fall of my senior year, when he and I started talking again.

We picked up right where we left off and as time went by, we started taking the relationship further. He and I would talk for hours, and I could finally tell him about how things had improved, and about how I was finally going to get some independence soon. I was just so excited about everything and ready to get on with everything. I finally was feeling comfortable with who I was, and as though I didn't have to live up to other people's standards.

One night we started talking, just about the usual stuff, nothing too impressive. While we were talking he told me that he'd like to give me a call. He said he had a cell phone and he'd really like to hear my voice. I thought about half a second on it and said yes. I signed off the computer, and ran to get things around for him to call.

Part 4: He Said It....

2011-10-13T09:30:00.000+02:00

I have actually never told this story. The one I tell everyone is the story of my coming out to my family, which I consider to be the most important. However, this story is actually based on the person to whom I first came out. She was a very close friend, not the same that I mentioned earlier though. I always just tell the story as it is, but I've never actually tried to see it from her point of view. This is my attempt, and I thought it might be more interesting as a story.
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The night had been very exciting as everyone piled back onto the bus after the band concert. Most of the larger bands from the area had been invited, and everyone was exhausted. This was the first time the band had been invited in probably about 10 years. Most likely it was a good will gesture. It was a relatively large band for the area. The only problem was there were much larger schools competing. Some even combined their Junior High and High School bands. Basically the whole night had been kind of a wash.

The buses started up and pulled away, to make the short trip north. The times on the buses usually were the best. Sometimes there'd be sing alongs to Bohemian Rhapsody, or someone might have an air horn handy, but no one was in a festive mood. Most people in the front were talking across the aisles to friends, discussing the disaster that was the performance. Others in the middle had started a game of euchre, hoping to at least cheer themselves up by taking a few hands solo. Further in the back, most people were curled up in blankets to protect from the November weather.

"So," Paula exhaled, shifting her position on the seat, "that was kind of a disaster." She leaned sideways, her head coming to rest against the window.

"You're telling me," John laughed. He pulled off his coat and let his hair out from the ponytail. "Damn uniform regulations."

Paula smiled, looking at John. They had been friends now for a while. He was not exactly a great looking guy, but they had so much in common. It had started with a few jokes after they had mentioned they both watched those Brit-coms they ran late at night on the local public TV station. It had been so long, neither could remember who had started it. Every time they passed one another in the hall though, they'd smile at one another, the joke shared without saying a word.

In the four years they had been together, they had always sent each other valentines. Never had a year gone by that they couldn't think of a joke between them to send to each other. Often people would wonder why either one was laughing instead of getting choked up by what was sent. That was how their love worked though. They liked to make the other one laugh.

Paula had been planning how to handle this for a while. The trip home would take longer than normal, since the bus couldn't take the interstate back. John played quads, and he had a tendency to hunch forward after playing. It was impossible for John to rest completely flat against the bus seat, so he would need to lean forward against the seat. That's when she would make her move.

"So do you want to play some Diablo tonight?" Paul asked, yawning. He was trying to get comfortable against the hard bus seat, but that was unlikely at best.

"We can if you want," Paula responded.

"I didn't ask what I wanted to do. I asked what you wanted to do."

Paul changed positions again, "This goddamn bus seat." I need something to support my back."

He brought his head to rest against the back of the seat in front of him, folding his arms to support his forehead. John exhaled deeply and tried to stretch out his back. Paula brought her hand to rest on his shoulder.

"You know," said Paula, "if it hurts that bad, I could rub it for you."

"Thanks, but no," John responded curtly.

She was losing him fast. He was going to get more and more surly as he couldn't find a comfortable position. Paula watched him as he breathed. Four years she had waited for this moment. She thought about all the times that they had spent at each other's houses, all of the times they had hung out for pep band, and how great it would be from then on. She imagined they'd both go to the same college. She'd already been accepted at Bowling Green, and he to Ohio State. It was less than 2 hours between them, and practically a straight shot on 23. Anyway, she could transfer to be with him.

Paula took a deep breath and moved closer to him, her head now resting next to his elbow. He lowered them for her so they could talk. John turned his head and smiled, and as he did, Paula moved in for a kiss.

"Paula," John said coldly, "Don't."

She retreated quickly and looked at him with a mixture of anger and shock. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"What do you mean, what does that mean? It mean's don't."

John returned his head to it's original position and looked down at the floor. Paula wasn't really sure what to do at this point. She thought of all her plans, and everything she had dreamed about. She thought about finally being able to have her and her mother's suspicions confirmed. She thought about all the times she'd imagined them sitting together watching a movie, or just TV downstairs. She had imagined what the first kiss would be like, and how it would be. Now, it all just vanished in smoke. Tears filled her eyes as she watched everything vanish before her eyes. John squirmed a bit next to her.

"Good," she thought. "I hope you're uncomfortable. It wasn't supposed to be like this. You were supposed to love me. We were supposed to be together forever. You never cared about me. It was all just a cruel act!"

Paula cried harder, all the bitterness coming out at once. If he refused to be with her, he should feel uncomfortable. She wondered what the last four years had been for him. Why had he even bothered to be nice to her if this was how he was going to treat her now? She'd seen his other girlfriends. They weren't exactly fashion models.

John turned towards her, "What's wrong now?"

"Why don't you want to be with me? Is it that I'm not pretty enough?"

"No, it's not that."

John was sitting straight in the seat now. "Among other things, I'm going to be college in Columbus and you'll be in Bowling Green. I couldn't even make the last relationship I had work, and we were only 20 minutes apart."

"Oh, that's an excuse and you know it. You think I'm ugly. Ugly and stupid."

"No," John said rubbing his eyes, "No, I don't."

"Well, then there has to be some reason."

"It's just that --"

"It's just that you never cared about me, and have just been doing this to hurt me."

"No, if you'll let me finish it's that--"

"I don't even know why I bothered with you."

"Ok," John said. "You want to know why I don't want to date you? It's because, I think.....I think....I think I like guys...."

John rubbed his temples and tried to hold back tears, and lowering his head. His forehead came to rest against the seat once again. He ran his hands through his hair and down along his neck and sighed. Paula had not been prepared for this eventuality. He had always been so open in flirting with girls, and never even showed the slightest interest in anything very feminine. He loved video games. He used to do sword fighting with his friends, and played dungeons and dragons. He had a horrible sense of style. None of this made sense.

Paula put a hand on John's shoulder, "Oh my God! So how long have you known?"

"I guess I've really known forever," John said," but I didn't really admit it to myself until I started high school. Since then, I've really just been trying to appear as normal as possible and get through this to college."

"So have you told anyone else?"

"You're the first..."

He had just been pretending all these years back in school. Paul explained that it was not that he didn't have some feelings for girls, but never sexual feelings. It wasn't a choice he had made, and if it were it was the worse choice to make. People weren't exactly kind at their school to people who didn't fit in already, but gay was something far too controversial. People might call someone gay, but no one ever seriously meant it. It was just an insult after all, like saying someone was dumb.

When they arrived back at the school, they decided it would be best for each of them to go home and rest a bit. They had originally made plans to do something at Paula's house, but neither of them felt much like doing anything. They hugged one last time in the band room when they said goodbye, and each went their separate ways.

Part 3: The Buildup

2011-10-12T09:30:00.000+02:00

I was still unsure of how to handle things myself, but after making it through my sophomore and junior year, I was headed into my senior year, and I was ready to go. I had become more comfortable with myself, thank you internet for that, and I was almost done with the one thing that was holding me back from a real life; high school. I knew that I was going to college, and after the research I had done, it was down to three schools.

My first choice was Penn State. It was a more selective school, and it was right next door in Pennsylvania. It was going to cost some, since I wasn't a resident, but all of my other family members had taken on massive debt for school, why not me? I had to take the SAT to try and get in, instead of just the ACT. I applied in September to get in for early admissions.

School number two was Ohio State in Columbus. It was my safety school. It was still open enrollment and it was in a city 50 times larger than the nearest town to me. Just to mention it, because it amuses me, Columbus is also around 2000 times larger than the village in which I grew up. It may be even larger, given that 500 is being generous in terms of population. I applied in September all the same, just to make sure I was in somewhere.

The last one was just a wild shot in the dark; NYU. I had always thought it would be fun to just have a radical change, but well, much like the idea of going in as an army linguist, it stayed just that. I liked the idea of a huge city, but I had read somewhere that it was easily over 30,000 a year. I also just didn't think I was mature enough to really live in a huge city, much less that I could afford it. I had never been on a public bus before I went to college. I could just see it ending badly. So I didn't even bother applying.

In any case, I got word back from Penn State that I was deferred to a satellite campus, but Ohio State did everything but take me in 2001. So my choices were to be in a pretty large town with from what I had seen on the internet, a very active gay community, or go out into the middle of nowhere for a year or two, and maybe if I were lucky go to the central campus. I was a buckeye by November.

Another great shot of relief in my life was that I had an awesome guidance counselor. She checked up on everything for me, and was always asking me questions about thing. She was the gym teacher as well, and although I had my suspicions about her being a lesbian, I cannot say if it's the case. If she was, I think I pinged her gaydar. If not, I think she just realized how miserable I was. She also helped me with all the paperwork, and convincing my mother, to let me do Post-Secondary Enrollment.

Yes, that year was awesome, and nothing was better than finally living my dream. I came in for my morning German class at 8:30, and I got to leave at 9:15. I took college courses for the rest of the morning, until I came back for English class at 1pm. (Truthfully, it was a waste of time and I should have just taken a college level English course. I learned nothing in that class.) I went from there to Government (another waste of time mandated by the state of Ohio, and finally band for the end of the day at 3:15.

I had also been working up the courage to talk with other guys. Now, we had gotten internet when I was 14, but I had been terrified to talk with other guys. I was always worried that someday, my big secret would be revealed. I was living a double life in Defiance. During the day I was majorly geeky straight guy. But the afternoons and nights that I didn't have band, I was majorly geeky gay guy. Quelle différence, non? So before, I used to talk with a few guys on ICQ and I had a PlanetOut account since I was 15. I never had a picture up, and didn't start talking with guys on there until 2001. It was great to talk though, and know I wasn't the only one. Finally, spending a majority of my day at college, I could possibly meet other guys.

So I set up to meet this guy who had graduated the year before me from a nearby high school and he was currently a student at the same college. He and I got along, we were both computer science majors, and he was alive. Three excellent arguments for meeting him. We said we'd meet in the main atrium around 11, and we'd go have breakfast together. I was all excited, and I was nervous. 11 came, and went. No guy showed up.... So I guess we live and learn. I never met any other guys in person before starting college. I did make a few attempts. Nothing ever became of it.

I had finally come to accept myself for who I was. However, I'd never said it out loud.

Part 2: Everything During

2011-10-11T09:30:00.000+02:00

Continuing from the previous post, I was in my freshman year of high school when I came to the realization and knowledge that I was going to put my life on hold until I could actually be who I wanted to be. I decided that I'd try to enjoy myself and see where it led. If I were going to make it through, I'd have to find ways to amuse myself. After a few more years of trying to fit in with the same group of friends I had forever, I gave up and started hanging out with others who were more into video games and music. I was only about a million times happier!

I was also what we called at my school, a bandie. I played drums starting in the 5th grade, all through Junior High, finishing on snare drum my senior year. In 5th and 6th grade, I was the best drummer. Even in junior high I was in the top 3. Once I hit high school though, it was very different. I was still good, and could have learned the rhythms, but drummers don't play from sheet music. You memorize everything. The problem is, none of the upperclassmen wanted to teach me how to play. Since I wasn't cool, there was no chance of learning from them unless they were forced to do so. The other people who played drum were not bad people I'm sure, they were just dicks. They could play really well, but they just did everything they could to make me feel like I was less of a person than them. I wouldn't finally enjoy myself in band until my junior year.

Freshman year, I met the best friend that I have ever had. We both were kind of in the same boat, and we still have a great time today when we hang out. Usually after a football game or pep band, she'd pick us up and we'd all hang out over at her place. Our first time over, we played Final Fantasy VII. It was the first time I'd ever touched the game and I never looked back after. It was so much of what I wanted, and there was Aerith. Later that same year, Final Fantasy VIII came out, and I found one Sir Laguna Loire, with whom I fell madly, yet secretly, in love. That's pretty much when I knew there was no going back to girls.

She also started my interest in all things anime and manga. Although I had watched Sailor Moon and Megaman growing up, I had never really known much about the world of anime and manga. I had watched a few episodes of Ronin Warriors too, but never understood it of course. Finally, it all came together when I saw Record of Lodoss War. Well, to be more specific, after I saw Karla and especially Orson. I started watching lots of series through another mutual friend who had a higher speed connection, and downloaded lots and lots of series for us. She and I also stood in line from 5:30 until midnight waiting for the release of the PS2. We clutched them in our arms after we paid and ran out like nutcases.

My best friend also inspired me to start writing my own series. If she and her boyfriend hadn't been as big of fans of Dungeons and Dragons, and working on their own stories, I never would have gotten into it as much. Of course, part of that had to do with playing some really fun games with awesomely bad story lines. So the more I thought about it, I began writing. This was my sophomore year of high school. Without her, I don't think I would have made it through high school.

Meanwhile, school became more and more unpleasant. My best friend graduated, and went to the local college. We'd still hang out, but it meant I would only see her the weekends from then on. If I could have just done the work and not had to deal with all of the morons, I would have been more than happy. My sophomore year of high school was a ridiculous farce as to what education should have been. That whole year of school was enough to make me want to have taken my GED, and left early. Of course, my parents had no idea what was going on, and just kept telling me the same thing; just finish up at your high school and then you can get on with your life.

Part 1: Everything Before

2011-10-10T11:49:00.002+02:00

So I'm going to do something a little different than what I usually do for National Coming Out Day. I usually just tell the story that's the most controversial and gets the most laughs, because well, it was just ridiculous how it all went down. This time, I figured I'd break it into a few parts. This first section is everything that happened before I admitted that I was gay to myself. I'll include a little bit of an explanation at the beginning before I get into it. I've found that I have some time in the morning to really check things, we're talking like between 7 and 9:30 am here, so I'll try and keep up, but well, who knows. The next few posts are going to be pretty reflective.
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I grew up in a very small town in Northwest Ohio called Defiance. As a result of this, I came to have a lot of very specific ideas about things. Later I'd find out it's a problem a lot of people from small towns have. I grew up with a Catholic mother and a Methodist father. My mother was more concerned about burning in hell as a result of not raising us in her religious tradition than my father, so as a result, all five of us were baptized, did first confession, made our first communions, and were confirmed Catholic. My mother always used to say that we could be anything we wanted after we were confirmed, but until then, we were Catholic if anyone asked.

I ran around like an idiot and had a great time. We lived with my grandmother, but she passed away when I was 4. We were pretty much spoiled rotten up until then. We had more toys than we knew what to do with. We never wanted for anything. Even after the death of my grandmother, my parents saw to it that everything was taken care of. We never went hungry, we always had clothes, and we knew we were loved and wanted.

In school, I was smart, and that's apparently all I was. Part of that was because of the coke bottle glasses I wore because of an eye problem I inherited from my mother's side of the family, and the other was my natural clumsiness. If any of you ever read the Babysitter's club, in my family I was known as "the Walking Disaster Area." Because of my inability to play sports, I started to read a lot more, and play a lot of video games. I got a Game Boy and never looked back.

But as time went by, I started to feel like I wasn't like the other guys. I could pretend to think that girls were hot, but well, nothing would ever come as natural as the guys I saw in the hustlers that my father had in the locked cabinet in the basement. I probably started to realize my feelings around 7, but I had no idea what they were. I still liked talking with girls, and we actually had a lot more in common. I was actually better friends with a lot of girls than guys. Of course, I still stayed with the same group of friends I had since first grade, as we all lived in the same area and went to the same church. So that meant we were at school together the whole day, and then Sunday for CCD. It used to be on Wednesday, but they switched it for simplicity's sake.

Probably when I was about 10, I really couldn't take my old friends anymore. It's not that we argued, but they all played sports and were dating. I tried to have girlfriends, but I found that I really just wanted to be friends, and nothing more. There had always been rumors about me being gay, but it was all passive aggressive bullshit. Then again, most schooling is passive aggressive bullshit.

That's pretty much what 8th grade became unbearable. I was just tired of going to school, and dealing with the same bullshit. The same people who would smile and you really couldn't stand. I started noticing that once per quarter I would just have one weekend where I would basically have a complete breakdown. When the first one happened, I was just so confused. I actually found one of my father's guns. It wasn't loaded and I had no idea what kind of bullets the revolver took, but frankly that day, it felt like that was what stopped me from ending it all right there. I went to sleep that Friday night, and I came to a realization: Why do I care so much about what these people think?

I should also mention that there's something that we speak of in my family that we refer to as "the quality." It's something about the 5 of us that makes it possible to kind of fit in, but still remain outsiders, try as we might. We've discussed it at length but we've never been able to really figure it out. For each of us, it happened a little different, but in general, none of the five of us really could make sense of any of it.

Being the second youngest in the family, I had the advantage of watching brothers and sisters escape from our high school, and move onto colleges. After just a few short weeks, it was as if their entire life had changed. They had great friends. They were about a million times happier. It was just as if someone had flicked a switch. So I vowed that I too would have this life. This escape into a better place.

From that point in, I began to laugh at the horror that was my high school and to embrace its madness. I learned to take the entirety of my hometown with a grain of salt. After all, I'd serve my time, get my sad little diploma and get on with the rest of my life, somewhere among the beautiful people. So starting around freshman year, I gradually gave less of a damn about what people who drove their tractors to school thought about me, and I was all the better for it!

A Parade of Surprises

2011-10-09T14:23:00.000+02:00

It's been like pulling teeth getting this out! Seriously, I've just been so lethargic lately, and well, life goes on. Hope you enjoy. I've got a lot going on this week, so I don't now how I'll be doing, but well, it all works out in the end. Je vais me debrouiller bien, comme toujours!

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Word came down that the senior membersof the Sorcerei, better known as the Chemat, would be required tostay behind to assure the efficacity of the reagents. The Chemat wasdispleased to say the least. The Volntiers, junior Sorcerei, wastedno time pounding the final nails into the crates to be taken to thesquare, much to the irritation of the Chemat. In addition, with thenew effects necessary for this performance, it became necessary thatthe Chemat would have to send the juniors to the square with thepreparations and hope for the best. For the Volntiers, this would benot only the first test towards the Chemat, but also it meant lesscompetition that evening.

The Sorcerei found the preparationsparticularly difficult as the Maesters were also above deck. TheTaillers, junior Maesters, had insisted that the Forge Maesters taketheir work above decks, as the uniforms were becoming covered in ashand dust. Normally, only the Sorcerei made a point to clean off thearmor and weapons before applying reagents, much to the annoyance ofthe Forge Maesters. While the Elders were always willing to acceptthe imprecise excuses of the Sorcerei, the explanations of theMaesters normally fell on deaf ears. The Forge Maesters often hadenough problems between inept initiates and inferior materials, buttoday that was the least of their problems.

Regrdless of how much work might berequired, Maesters and Sorcerei were always thankful they were notforced to endure the hours of repetition of the Underprenne. Theywould spend days learning lines, repeating the same words to thepoint where they became meaningless. Often one could see freshmanmembers, Chora, sleepwalking through the motions of a dance orsinging songs in their sleep. Eventually, the Synima, sophomoremembers, would gather the Chora together and drill them in the songsfor the next perfromance. Meanwhile, all Synima available were beingdrilled by the Traga, juniors in the Underprenne. Lines needed to beassured as all cycles of plays would be covered today. Three stopsalong the route meant that each group would be active today. TheElders had to trust that all groups would work together. For belowdeck, the elite Underprenne better known the Draema, were beginningpreparations for the evening.

Andor could not hear riotus atmosphereabove. All sound died away upon entering the silence of the bowelsof the ship. The air grew denser and warmer. At the very lowestlevel of the ship, Andor was seated in the Seal Chamber. The otherDraema had already passed. He watched their eyes go white, andeventually fade to black. Some were seated while others were alreadyovertaken. He watched as they traced motions with imaginary blades,and shouted in the dimly lit room. Some moaned in agony, livingthrough the pain of the death they would experience in agonizingdetail in this performance. As the Elder approached with the Toramuhe cleared his head as best he could. The most dangerous of all wasto take a Toramu with a full mind.

The Elder held out the final bluesphere to Andor, and he watched it glow in the dim light of thebraizers. He put his hand on Andor's forehead and said, “Remember,whatever happens once you pass: You are here. You exist.”

Andor nodded his head and took theToramu in his hand and responded, “There is that which is seen, andthat which is unseen. My eyes will fail me and my ears will decieveme In conspiracy, mind will acquiesce. Pray give me the courage tofight against it, the will to overcome it, and the spirit to return.” And with that, Andor took the Toramu.

Forge Maesters shouted as an entireset of armor fell directly into a phyrric reagent. Four Maestersdesperately pulled at the armor hoping to prevent the reagent fromnullifying, but to no avail. The armor reheated as they pulled, andleft three with severe burns. Two Chemat had luckily seen thereaction begin and were able to arrive shortly with congelat, but thedamage had been done. Two of the less injured Maesters held back theother two who were panicking over the state of the armor. Even aslight setback could throw off the entire process. The congelat hadthe necessary effect, and the armor cooled rapidly. Unfortunately,this error had cost not only time, but more importantly it also meantanother team would have to refinish the armor. The four Maesterswere taken below deck to begin treatment for the burns with a few ofthe Chemat.

Gradually, the world around Andorseemed to shrink inward. The confusion surrounding him grew silentand what little he could see became indiscernable from theenvelopping darkness. His heart pounded in his ears but its cadenceslowed considerably. As Andor breathed in, he could see flashes passon all sides. Someone, or something, had found him and refused totake no for an answer. Indistinct shapes gave way to shadows, andshadows became shapes. Slowly the shapes became a forest, but unlikeanything he had seen. A monstrously large port opened before himwhich ushered him into a grand square.

Clouds dissipated as the cold of thenight gave way to morning. The last of the armor had been finishedand placed on the forms to cure. The Chemat confirmed that each hadbeen correctly cured and that all pieces were of the same set. Natrually, some of the smaller pieces could easily be switched amongthe different suits. Conferring among themselves, the Chemat hadagreed that all the pieces for that evening's performance wereexcecuted satisfactorily and to the specific needs of the Society. Therefore, the time had come for final packaging preparations for theparade. In the interest of time, the majority of the Volntiers weresent ahead to prepare the square for the evening.

Hi Sandra Bernhard!

2011-10-06T12:10:00.000+02:00

In English, it seems like things are very concrete in naming, to me anyway. I would say 90% of all roads were named for the families that lived on them. Streets tend to be on a grid pattern, so there's 5th avenue, and 4th street, or the lettered streets like in Washington. Most American cities all tend to have a Main Street, a High Street, and I can't think of a single Ohio city that doesn't have an Euclid Avenue. Although my hometown of Defiance has an interesting story, the county shares the same name. Of course, one of the stories I remember hearing when I was little was that Pontiac Park was named because it's where Chief Pontiac was born...just like about 15 other places claim. Most states, like Ohio, are just names in a foreign language. So the US isn't really good about being clever with names.

France however; they get wild with names, and that's why I love it. I am pretty sure quite a bit of it has to do with the fact that there's so much more history, that it's more easily done. I'm sure there's something to it, but there's just such a variety. France doesn't just honor military heroes or presidents, and as funny as it is they also have streets named after American presidents, but they have all sorts of streets named after famous politicians, dates, places, and even authors and actors.

The other day, I was reading the back of a flyer, and it said that the store was located on the Place Sarah Bernhardt. Of course, given that I'm gay and American, I was like wow, they named a Place in France after Sandra Bernhard. After looking at it a little more carefully I realized just how wrong I was. Sarah Bernhardt was an internationally famous actress around the end of the 19th century and into the 20th. She did a huge body of work and even worked in the US. She apparently also has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. So here's an example of when you realize that there's a whole lot of culture and history that you don't know.

Even the roads here want to keep history alive. I have only lived on one road in France that wasn't named after someone famous. It was in a lotissement where most of the roads were named after places and things in Louisiana. Other than that, I have lived on a road named after an economist, a duke, and now a country. All the road signs even tell you who the person was that the road is named after, often with their birth and death years. I love that they want you to know the history so badly that they will give you a history lesson right on the street like that.

Hypersensitive much?

2011-10-04T18:37:00.003+02:00

I had a whole schedule planned out today. After partner left in the morning to go to class around 7, I would stay in bed on the computer until around 8:30. Then I would take a shower. After that was done, I needed to gather up the trash and recycling, and take it down with me when I left to get the shopping done for the week. Finally, all I'd have to do is get the laundry done, probably around noon, when partner would be back. We'd have lunch, which I planned special remembering that Serrano ham and Edam cheese was on sale at Netto. After that a quick nap with him, as he had been up and going since 6:30, followed by him working the entire night, usually until about 11. As for me, at 7 pm I'd look for someone running the the iOS announcement online, watch that till it was finished. After that, we'd have a nice dinner, something like Steak Tips Monterey we used to have back in the US. So very good. Then maybe watch The Last Airbender and sleep furiously!

So I started on the right foot, but well, I was just so tired. So I figured that I could sleep a half an hour. That way I wouldn't be a complete waste to the world. Also, it's an excuse to steal my partner's pillow. I am very bad about this. I am rather a pillow fiend. Also, if you've never slept under a french couette, I don't know how to explain it. It's special. So I finally woke back up...around 8:45. I turned on the computer around then and spent some time on the internet....until 10:30. So then I needed to take a shower, and I finally had everything ready to go shopping around 11:15.

I have the habit of listening to my iPod when I go shopping. Normally I listen to music and that's pretty much how it works. However, I have one slight problem. I have put it in every pocket I could, but the gyroscope/accelerator assumes I'm using the random function. So I'll be walking around and really like a song, swing a leg out too far, and I will have changed through 6 others. I should also mention that the shake to random function never works normally. This only happens when I'm walking. I think I may be too bouncy.

So I went into Netto, and buy only the things that are absolutely essential of course. I skipped over all the fruits and vegetables. Seriously, they all looked sad. Also, there were fruits that I just had no idea what they were. If I had to come home and look up what a fruit is, such as the mirabelle, I don't have an urge to buy it. I saw waffles dipped in chocolate though. They mysteriously ended up in my card. I also am madly in love with the chipolatas and merguez they have there. So much the garlic. I had to get a little milk of course, and cheese, and kinder pingui..... Like I said, it's all 100% organic chez moi. I love that I could buy enough for two for a week, for about 40 dollars. Perfect. I headed home after stopping off to buy bread and a little something for me before partner got back. I got the the groceries put away, and was ready to go start the wash.

I stood in front of the elevator for about 5 minutes, but what felt like a half an hour. Finally, the elevator arrives at my floor, and who's there but Partner!!!! So I walk back with him, set the laundry down, and did everything else. I realized that I couldn't exactly eat what I had bought for myself in front of him, so I sneak off and buy him a flan. Then I'm a hero!

After that we slept a bit, and then I went down to do the laundry. There wasn't a huge amount, but it took me about 3 hours to get it all done. I did it in two loads ad the bed linens needed to be washed too. However, you can't just set it and forget it. You can only set the washer for 20 minutes, only three euros, and then one euro for 20 minutes of drying. Ridiculous, not only because of price, but every 20 minutes I had to stop what I was doing, and go back downstairs and feed the machines more money. But I finished with just a half an hour before the iOS event!

I love Mac products. The only problem is that I'm poor and can't afford much from the Mac universe. Life is unfair like that. So for now, I bid you Adieu!

All Apologies....

2011-10-03T15:51:00.000+02:00

First, I should mention that I have already commented on this on my livejournal a while back. Here's that if you want to read. It seems lately as though the entire world is becoming a fan of what I like to call "the conditional apology." I find this to be completely unacceptable as when you apologize, you are saying what you did was wrong. You are not saying that it is conditional upon someone being offended.

The most recent example has been in the case of Patty Stanger, perhaps better known as "The Millionaire Matchmaker." Recently, on an episode of Watch What Happens Live she had the gall to tell one gay man that gay men were incapable of monogamy, that she's tried to make gay people monogamous (the gall of that statement right here) but it didn't work. Andy Cohen, being gay himself, objects to her comment, to which Stanger responds, "When's the last time you had a boyfriend. You know this. You're gay!"

Of course, this all blows up and starts a firestorm of media, at least in the circles I frequent. Stanger decides that the solution is to go on The Joy Behar Show and attempt to make amends. Now, I will admit that with her clarifications and in the specific conditions under which she makes it slightly better. In my opinion, her comments are not enough to solve the problem. I started to soften and see that maybe she had more of a point. Maybe I was just being too hard on her. Sometimes I tend to jump on things. I realized that I was one hundred percent justified as soon as she said, "I'm sorry if GLAAD was offended, but. . . ."

Then came the famous line of excuses. My personal favorite is when the offender trots out his or her gay friends. "Some of my best friends are gay." is the equivalent of someone accused of racism saying they have black friends. Either his or her friends may never have known how racist they were, or as I assume the most likely case is, he or she is talking out of his or her respective ass. Later, Stanger referenced that she was against Proposition 8, and all the work she had done for gay rights. As admirable as that all is, she then comports herself as an expert on how gay culture works.

Stanger proceeds to explain how gays are "the others" from all of the normal people who can couple nicely, like lesbians or straight people. (Happily, she didn't bother to impart her wisdom on bisexual or transgender relationships for us.) She regales us with the story of a friend who says that this is the nature of the gay community, apparently confining herself strictly to Los Angeles this time. As further proof of the impossibility of gay monogamy, she discusses her attempts to "bring civilization to the barbarians" at one of her numerous gay mixers. After straining herself so severely, shining beacon on a hill that she is, she simply threw in the towel, vanquished by our hedonistic natures.

I point out the two at the time in the first article, but since then, we have had numerous examples. One of my personal favorites was Rick Spreading Santorum, who recently spoke about his feelings at Penn State University, where the students basically had a good laugh and went on with their day. Afterwards, he spoke publicly about his "gay friends." I personally find it hard to believe that any self-respecting gay man would really be his friend, but well, to each his or her own. Santorm has already followed up with his own ignorance, so at least we know that things haven't changed.

As if this weren't bad enough, we find examples of adults persecuted for whom they are. Recently Leisha Hailey, actor in The L Word and currently a singer in Uh Huh Her was removed from a flight on Soutwest Airlines for what was described as "inappropriate behavior." Normally, I would give the benefit of the doubt, if it weren't for the fact that the phrase "family airline" came into use by the flight attendant. That makes parts of my mind hurt that I cannot begin to express in language of any kind.

If this were to exist in a vacuum, maybe we could overlook it, but the damage is constantly done. Every few days seemingly almost a minimum of one per week informs us of the latest attempted suicide, and unfortunately more often than not, those times when they are completed. As long as we keep allowing these beliefs to be circulated, we do a disservice not only to ourselves but to all members of our society really.

The next part!

2011-10-01T18:20:00.000+02:00

The next second half of the first chapter. I have the second chapter written, but I have to do some editing. I don't know exactly what the schedule will look like for posting over the next few days. Maybe the muse will strike, but there's a lot of possibilities.
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“I thought downers weresupposed to relax you,” he rasped, shaking his head, still coldfrom the breeze now blowing across the harbor.

Sangyarn moved next toAndor and began cleaning the pills that had been knocked out of hispack. Andor stood up to help him, still a little winded. Theyrighted the small crate that they had used as a table, and put awaythe balances they had used to measure the dose.

“They're not normallyused as sleeping pills,” Sangyarn laughed. “You're technicallycommuning with the gods when you take a Torata. We could get in alot of trouble for using these outside of a sanctioned ceremony.”

They had come up to thecrow's nest with their supplies to try and mix a few Toramu andTorata for the performance tomorrow. It was part of basic training,but neither of them had ever been all that good at that alchemystuff. Usually they would just borrow them off friends. Everyonewon that way.

“I just wanted to catcha nap quick before my watch shift,” Andor said, handing theremaining downers from his case to Sangyarn. “What happened?”

“I don't know,”Sangyarn laughed. “You took one and I thought you went to sleep. I tried and wake you up for your shift, and you're shaking me by theshoulders.”

“It all seemed so real.”

“It was her again,wasn't it.”

Andor rolled his pack andset it on top of the crate. He could see the celebration still goingon in Zaetem. There were cheers a good distance off, and laughter. The fireworks had stopped though, at least the official ones had,anyway. One could still hear the celebrations happening all over thecity, and truthfully, the harbor was the best place to watcheverything happen.

Andor sighed,”It'salways her.”

Sangyarn shook his headand laughed. He scanned the harbor, clapping a hand on Andor'sshoulder, “It's gonna be a long night.”

“You're telling me. Ifyou want to get some sleep, I should be good for a while.”

Sangyarn pushed his packinto a much of a pillow as he could make. He lay on his back,looking up into the sky, closing one eye. Then he opened his eye andclosed the other.

“So have you ever talkedto anyone about her?” Sangyarn asked, propping himself up on hiselbow.

“About the mystery womanof my dreams, who I may or may not know the name of?” Andor asked. “Yes, that would go over very well.”

“You know you shouldthough. Even if she's not real, she means something.”

“She means I need tofind a girl, fast.”

Enjoying time with youngladies always seemed to come easy to Andor. He seemed to know justwhat to say at the right time. Many women would send their ladies inwaiting to ask for his company or send a small token of esteem. Heknew it was always better to accept the small tokens of esteem. Theseats were always filled with some naive damsel, betting that shecould win his heart, try as others may have. He would smile all thesame and make his usual speeches about how it was hard to be able tohave a real relationship with his being constantly moving. Thatsomeday he'd meet that right woman, settle down and have a family. The ladies would be satisfied, and maybe he might even go to see theoccasional princess or countess. It was good for his image and evenbetter for the Society's coffers. His natural aptitude wasbeneficial for both him and the Society. They kept getting hired forhigher profile events, and it meant that Andor could keep traveling.

Acting came naturally toAndor though. Spending a good deal of his current life going throughthe motions honed his ability to act an expected way. For the firstfew months, Andor became adept at simply smiling and nodding. Slowly, he began to regain some idea of what came naturally to peoplearound his same age. The main point of most conversations among menof his own age revolved around one thing: women.

Normally, Andor would haveno problem talking about women, but something was different aboutthis one; even more so than the question of her existence. It wasthe mystery that made her all the more intriguing. He knew if hetalked about her with others, the conversation would go one of twoways. He would either be considered insane for fixating this much ona possibly imaginary girl or he would have people pitying him for howdistracted he had become by this image in his head. Nothing wasworse than pity.

When he first joined theSociety, everyone had felt so sorry for him. Poor Andor, unaware ofhis past, and the life that came with it. People were alwaysfriendly, but there was an air of superiority when they spoke. Whenever they saw him coming, other members would end conversationsabout brothers and sisters, or even worse, parents. Sometimes hethought others knew more about his own life than he did.

The nothingness thickened around him. Reality wassomething he had started to question after all that had happened inthe last years. Andor was the only name he could remember forhimself when he woke up on that beach. There was no triumphal returnfor him, and even if there were; he would need someone to tell himwhere that may be. He looked up into the sky again.

The wanderer was alwaysthe first constellation he could find. The right shoulder staralways pointed away from the other constellations, as if he were justwalking into the scene. Left of that was the brightest star, whichwas the crown in the jewel of Dulcinea, the queen of the heavens. She always had one eye on the wanderer, and her hand on the crown. To the left of that, was the king's constellation, Brenhin. He wasengaged in deep conversation with his advisor, Altair. There were afew other constellations that he couldn't find, but at the far sidewas the most important. Telnare, the dragon, appeared on the otherside. The whole scene seemed so reassuring. So constant.

There was another loudbang in the distance from the fireworks still going off in thedifferent parts of town. The revelry would probably last the night. Shouts and laughter permeated the air as the distant crowds continuedto celebrate. The docks were deserted except for a few workers andthe occasional merchant. Most of the warehouses had been emptied theday before. The Zaetem Founders Celebration usually meant profit forthe merchants who were fortunate enough to get permission to sell.

Andor braced himselfagainst the cold and shook his head. Nights like this always hadthis effect on him. He straightened up, looking across the harbor atthe distant lights of the square. There was no point in getting lostin thought now. There were only a few more hours before morning. Then he could head back down below decks and get some real sleep. Tomorrow would mean another day of adoring fans, smiling women, andstrong alcohol. Andor breathed in deeply and smiled.

Je suis un Berlinois

2011-09-29T17:52:00.000+02:00

Yeah, the title isn't nearly as funny as it is in German. Oh JFK, you slay me!

Something I've always found a little odd about all languages -- I know, he's not bitching about just French: Someone get the fainting couch! -- is how names have to change for cities and countries. Sometimes it's a small change, like instead of United States it's just États-Unis. It's the same words, just in French. Other times, the name will change just a hair, such as with London becoming Londres. As much as I'm begrudged to admit it, this is something all nations do. Sometimes it's just too difficult to say, or maybe it is too close to something else already in the language. There's a variety of reasons. Of course, it really is interesting to watch the linguistic acrobatics I sometimes have to preform to say the name of a place right, or its inhabitants.

Countries are generally pretty straightforward in terms of pronunciation and spelling. Canada doesn't change. Sometimes the name of a country will be the same except for the ending. French seems to have a thing about places ending in an i or ie. Columbia is Colombie, Italy becomes Italie, Lybia is Libye, and so fourth. I don't know if it's some sort of place marker, but it's something that French seems to do. However, there are some times where you need to know history to accurately figure out the name of a country. The one I'm most familiar with is Germany, which becomes Allemangne in French. The Allemani were a tribe that used to live in what is now Germany. (English isn't much better. Germany comes from the Latin/Greek word Germania. In German, the word is Deutschland.)

I think my favorite process is watching it happen with English. When they show information about what's going on in the US, California becomes Californie, Louisiana becomes Louisiane, and Florida becomes Floride. Some states they don't touch out of respect, Washington for example, and others they don't change seemingly out of reverence. There are two meccas in the US d'après les Français. New York City is the end all be all of the United States. Unless you love country music. Then you live and breathe Texas. My favorite is the states that they just have no idea what to do with, so they just don't even bother like Ohio, Oklahoma, or Arkansas. (I live for the day a French person tries to phonetically pronounce Arkansas....)

Town names are usually very similar to American towns. In fact many of our best place names come directly from French. Montpelier, Vermont is named after the town in France. Maine is the same name as a department in France. There's Terre Haute in Indiana, Fond-du-Lac in Wisconsin, Paris, Texas, and I'm just getting warmed up. The French were a huge immigrant population in the US so of course they would carry naming traditions with them

Nothing makes me laugh harder though, then the influence of French on town names. There are towns like La Rochelle or Le Mans. When you're talking about the town, it's not hard, but they change with the use like any other indefinite article. So although one says, Je vais à La Rochelle, you would need to say, Je vais au Mans, because à le becomes au. So the same rules apply with du. I am sure there are others, and I'd love to see other examples of how it works. I'm all ears--or eyes, as be the case.

I do find French resident nomenclature incredibly interesting as well. The most common suffixes for towns seem to be -ais or -ois. Remember though, if you're discussing a woman, those become -aise and -oise if you're discussing a woman. When I met partner's family, they were all Ploërmelais. While my partner lived in Lyon for his diplome d'ingeneur, he was Lyonnais. When we moved to Rennes, we became Rennais. Had partner taken the job in Bordeaux, we would have been Bordelais. However; there's a town nearby called Campénéac. The residents are Campénéacois. If you're from Brest, you're Brestois. My sister in law's family are Vendômois, being from Vendôme. However; my nieces moved to Tours, making them Touraine. Of course, we can't for get the Parisiens. There are naturally exceptions, as of course, this is a language. Outside of Esperanto, I think every language has exceptions.

Another area where you'll see these names is when you're seeing sauces. In English, we've probably never thought twice about why we cover our eggs in Hollandaise sauce, or why we think we're fancy for asking for a Bernaise sauce instead of butter. The truth is a lot of the names we give to soups, sauces, and specialty dishes come directly from French. Have you ever eaten a Nicoise salad? Maybe you've never batted an eye when someone prepares something Vichyssoise. In fact, the Vichyssoise was created in the US. It has nothing to do with France, much less Vichy. The one that I was the most surprised to discover was Mayonnaise. It's neither American, nor French. It most likely originated in the town of Mahon in Spain.

Just as a wrap up point, there is indeed a sauce Américaine in France. Partner used to buy it, but I was never moved enough to try it. As near as I could tell it looked like tomato sauce, mayonnaise, and what I now believe was tarragon. I took one look at it, thought the tarragon was pickle bits like in tartar sauce, and ran for the ketchup. I tried boudin, but one thought of ever eating tartar sauce again, had me running for the hills. The real stuff though doesn't sound half bad, but I will never trust anything that looks remotely like tartar sauce.

Un Peu du Vin du Matin

2011-09-27T09:26:00.000+02:00

I'm not a huge fan of wine, nor do I really understand it. I've always been partial to amaretto and mixed drinks. My theory is that I'm just not refined enough to get wine. To me, the white is all right, and red just reminds me of communion. My sister and her husband buy wine whenever they come, but I never appreciate the flavors. I just get hammered.

However, I'm a sucker for a good map! This is a visual representation of the regions and appellations of wine in France. It's neat just to look at, but it's especially fun to realize that I've actually been to some of these places, and had this wine. I'm still hopeless when it comes to appreciating wine, but at least I can fake it now!

La Bascule à Gauche

2011-09-26T20:59:00.000+02:00

So the recent piece of good news is that the left has won a number of seats in the French Senate today. I am excited about this as the more seats the left wins, the more likely it is that full marriage equality will be passed here. Right now, the left can block any action taking by the right that they don't agree with. This is going to cause major problems for Sarkozy as it means that he can't just push through his political agenda like before. The National Assembly is still controlled by the right, meaning that they can say a lot of things, and take action, but most likely nothing will get through. One of the most interesting things about this, is that this is the first time this has happened in the Fifth Republic.

Now, the French system is a little more complicated than in the US. It's called the Fifth Republic because it's actually the Fifth Constitution under which France has run since the king was Forced to put an actual constitution in place in 1791, which officially made France a constitutional monarchy. The current constitution provides for a bicameral government, le Senat and l'Assemblée Nationale, with the Président serving as head of government. The actual election of representatives for the two houses is actually a bit complicated, as the Senate is actually elected by a system of mayors, and other government representatives. We'll just say it's above my pay grade and I'll ask you to look it up for more specifics.

Recently with the international economic crisis, Sarkozy has been under more pressure. His solutions have been very polarizing, and because of that there is a good chance that he will have problems getting reelected. He has ordered the closing of a number of post offices, as well as reductions in letter carriers. Considering the number of things that have to be done on paper in France, they're not big on online services here, this is a huge problem. Recently two people with whom Sarkozy has worked closely in the past, particularly Edouard Balladur and his 1995 presidential bid, have been accused of corruption in a scandal in Afghanistan. It's not impossible for him to win, but he has an uphill battle ahead of him.

The Socialist candidate is less clear, however. Before the recent scandal in New York with chambermaid Nafissatou Diallo, Dominique Strauss-Khan was a front runner for the Socialist candidate. He was formerly head of the International Monetary Fund. He still has more trouble in store for him with the recent attempted rape charges levied against him by author Tristane Bannon. The two front runners for this year are François Hollande and Martine Aubrey. Ségolène Royale, who successfully ran as the Socialist candidate in 2005, is also running but seems to be less popular this turn.

It's a lot to explain, but this is definitely an important day in the Cinquième République.

et raconte des histoires

2011-09-25T15:54:00.000+02:00

So since there has been interest expressed, I'll put up the first section of the story I started writing. This is something I have been working on this story since literally...sophomore year of high school. I had started to make truly geeky friends, which came at a point in my life when it was completely necessary.Without these friends on the weekends and lots of video games, I just don't know how I would have made it from high school. These are very inspired by Dungeons and Dragons and the Final Fantasy series, so fair warning ahead of time. This is after plenty of editing. I would love to get into a writing exchange with anyone who would be interested. I find I work best with a deadline. Yes, school conditioned me a bit.
___________________________________________________________________

As she raised her hands,the army stood frozen in its tracks. She took a casting stance,pushing forward her hands and foot. Blue strands started to growfrom her hands as she pulled them apart. She brought her fingerstogether and pulled them apart, quickly folding the strands back inupon themselves. The wind, once blowing strongly, deadened, as ifsomething had pulled all the life out of it. Her blond hair came torest over her right shoulder. The long sleeves of her dress felllimp at her sides as she forced her hands together, making thestrings thicker and brighter. Pulling apart the strings, and shakingthem between her hands one final time, she waited for Andor to stepforward.

Like a shot, the armyadvanced almost before Andor had unsheathed the sword. He assumed astance as quickly as he could, and rushed into the fray. He couldnever remembered being this fast, as dispatched two, sometimes threeat a time. Somehow he could see the attacks before they came,watching them as they seemed to fall into order. Parry, riposte, thenext attack arrived almost as soon as he felled the last enemy. High attack, block, counter slash. His body was moving faster thanhis brain could think. He knew he couldn't sustain this. Had itbeen only five or six more, that would have been something entirelydifferent. They were out of options now.

Fatigue was setting in ashe was nearing the third wave of soldiers. He was getting sloppy,and attacks were starting to get through. Knowing he didn't havemuch longer, he tried to push the enemy back upon itself. His swordmight pierce one, two at best, but he could not hold out. Anotherstrike came in at an unexpected angle, knocking him off balance. Hetried to support himself on his sword, swinging his head wildly topush his now damp black hair out of his eyes, but it was to noavail. One more side attack was all that was necessary, and he fell.

Through his blurredvision, he could make out the girl backing further onto the headland. She was throwing whatever she could remember at them. Flashes oflight filled the sky, and the wind howled at her retreat. He couldtell she was looking at him, and shouting something, but he was toofar away to know what she wanted. Andor tried to pull himself up,and the girl ran to him.

Kneeling beside him, shesaid a few low words and Andor could feel the pain drift out of hisbody. His vision cleared, and he could see the girl's tear stainedface, pleading with him to get back up. He blinked his green eyes,slowly, grunting as he pushed against the ground to stand up. Withher help, he was able to get back onto his feet. The gale wasblowing through the holes in his armor. They could only find the oldleather kind in the escape. Andor was shaking, but resumed hisstance.

Against impossible odds,they had both fought as hard as they could. It would be impossibleto continue. They had made it through the labyrinth of the dungeon,and out of the woods, but now this would be their final stand. Healmost laughed at how cruel the situation seemed in his head. He haddone everything he could for her, and it would end here, like this. Andor fell back, landing flat on the hill, panting.

Remembering her face wasthe most painful. Watching it change from desperation, to shock, andfinally to horror made him try and push back up, but his body refusedto respond. All he could see above him was a blur of stars. Theyshone down, indifferent to what was happening, watching the lifedrain out of this pitiable creature, coughing and struggling to live.

Over the next few minutes,he lost track of what was really going on. Everything was startingto blend together. He could feel the girl pulling at him, but hecouldn't even respond. The sky blended to the horizon, and the oceanbecame so far away. The stars were pulsing in time with his heart. He knew that he had to get up, that he had to do something, but hecould no longer remember what.

Andor suddenly felt veryheavy. He could feel himself coming back as everything came backinto focus. Looking around himself, he could see thousands ofsoldiers were dangling in the air, heads hanging to the side. Rowafter row, stretching on for miles, balancing in mid air. All ofthese men who had seemed so fierce only seconds ago, now likepuppets. Their eyes were wide with fear. He saw the blue stringsenter their bodies and watched as it pulled the life out of them. The strings weaved their way through the soldiers; their screamssilenced one by one. One could feel the dull thud as it struck a newvictim through the chest. Almost as quick as it had started, thestrings returned to their source; the woman next to him.

This could not have beenthe same girl he knew. She had smiled gently, and been so silentwhen they were running away. She only wanted to help him get away. She refused to make more than enough sleep spirit to knock theguards out. She said making more would only raise suspicions. Thesepeople were innocents for her. The girl had taken the care to makesure that no one would follow. She could only do cantrips, afterall.

Smiling cruelly, she movedher hands together; pulling the strings closer as they retracted intoa ball. Raising her hand into the air, the ball ascended as row byrow, the soldiers collapsed to the ground, melting into nothing. Eventually, it was only the two of them on the hill, she with herhand still raised. He moved in front of her, grabbing her by theshoulders and looking directly into the once beautiful face. Hereyes were wide open, but they had a hollow tone to them. They werebrilliantly blue, almost glowing. The girl's hand pressed againsthis chest, and he felt that same dull thud from before. He lookeddown, and called to the girl, shaking her.

“You have to stop this,now!” Andor cried.

She was still smiling,wide eyed, as she whispered, “Help me, Andor. I can't find my wayout.”

Faces started swirlingaround him. Scenes of people he had never seen before and battlesthat had never happened spun around him. There were dances, andwomen, and children and all these things that seemed so real thatwere cast away from him into the sky like cinders. In the center ofit all was her face. It was piercing him, and calling to him. Itbegan to consume all that he saw, disappearing into her hollow,lavender eyes. With that, everything went black.

Blind and desprate, Andorshook the girl's shoulders. It seemed to do no good. Theoutstretched arms of the void opened before him. He could feelhimself slipping away. A cold breeze was blowing against his face. He fought back against it, and pulled at the sword that was at hisside, but the force was too strong.

“Andor, snap out of it,”called a familiar voice. “You're having that dream again! Pullyourself together.”

Andor opened his eyes,reaching for whatever was there. The blackness of the night skyopened in front of him as flashes of blue fireworks broke the nightsky. He stood up and almost plunged backwards into the blacknessbehind him. A strong hand grabbed him from the front, pulling himforward and on top of the arm's source. He landed hard againstsomeone, his head forced against a curved wall.

He lay panting for aminute and felt the rough wooden floor below him. He reached uptowards the wall and the person on whom he had just fallen whilemoving his hand down for his sword. There was nothing there. Pattting his side frantically, he swung himself up looking for whereit had been thrown in the commotion. Andor was unable to find it. He looked around a final time, coming to a sitting position againstthe wall, looking up into the night sky, trying to understand. Stillconfused, Andor looked at the now rather confounded man. The manheld his hands in front of him. Moving slowly onto his knees, Theman lay against the wall opposite Andor.

“Remember what we talkedabout when this happens,” said the man slowly and calmly. “Think. Breathe and think.”

Andor took a deep breath. The night sky flashed and shouts continued. For the life of him, hecould not remember anything. He breathed out. They were someplacehigh up, because there was nothing around them. He closed his eyesand took in another deep breath. He could feel gentle rocking, andremembered being on a boat, but couldn't remember where the boat wasgoing. He started to hyperventilate.

He never succeeded on thefirst try. She was too real. Her eyes, her face, everything abouther implored him to stay with her. All the faces of the people thathe almost knew looked so happy. They were waiting just on the otherside. He had looked into that darkness countless times, listeningfor the echoes of a possible past seemed to wait for him, somewhereon the other side of the darkness.

“Breathe, dammit!” thevoice shouted, punching him in the stomach, “You're going to wakeup the whole ship at this rate.”

Gasping, he doubled overin pain, slamming his nose against the floor. He moved his head backup against what felt like rounded planks. He heard nothing aroundhim and opened his eyes. They were indeed high up. He could see theocean. It all started to come back to him, and Andor broke into afit of coughing.

22, 29, 35, 56; HIKE!

2011-09-22T15:02:00.000+02:00

Maybe someone out there will someday be able to explain to me exactly what the hell it means when the quarterback calls out those numbers before a play. Until then, like most of football, it will remain a mystery as I watch it from the stands with a drum strapped to my chest.

So for those of you not familiar, France is broken up into what are called Regions. All of these regions have historical backgrounds. Bretagne (Brittany) existed as a Duchy for a long time, and before that, an independent kingdom. Right next to it is Pays de la Loire (Lands of the Loire [river]). Apparently it was artificially created for the "balancing metropolis" of Nantes. Another example is the creation of Rhône-Alpes (Rhone Valley-Alps). Officially though, regions have only been in place since about 1982 when the Law of Decentralization was passed.

Like I said, these are nationally recognized regions, so nothing like the system we have going on in the US with our "regions." Just as a reference to any possible European readers, French specifically, the United States has only unofficial regions. For example, no one really knows if Ohio is part of the Midwest states or the Great Lakes states. The problem is there are so many divisions that could be made just within the Midwest, it would be impossible to please everyone. However; in France, a region actually means something.

So in France there are actually 27 regions. Regions that have always existed are regions like Bretagne, Aquitaine, Bourgogne (Burgundy), and Normandie (Normandy.) There were other regions that were artificially created (like Pays de la Loire or Midi-Pyrénées) or were made by combining other provinces together (Rhône- Alpes and the ever classically named Centre). They don't have the power to pass their own laws, but they do have the ability to levy taxes and their most important function is in education. They actually run on the same system as in the US, funding the building of high schools by property taxes.

The bigger and more important groups are the départements. Originally, France was a lot of divided little pseudo independent provinces with a bizarre system of law to govern them. These were dissolved after the revolution. They could start over with new departments, getting rid of old loyalties and alliances. When the departments were divided, they were named after land features, but especially rivers that flow through them. Each department has a Prefecture, in English a capital. There are a lot of things determined by your department in France, so there's some things that get confusing quick.

Just to give you an idea, this is a map of French Departments in 1812.

Now the numbers I mentioned in the title actually are assigned to each department in alphabetical order. So these numbers are put on les plaques d'immatriculation (license plates) and are used to determine postal codes. Rennes is the prefecture of Ille-et-Vilaine, but is in Bretagne. So all license places for people from Rennes end in 35. As well, the postal code for Rennes is 35000. Places like Paris start to get crazy with the last three numbers, but usually Paris tends to be 75xxx as it is in the Paris department. Of course, the prefecture is Paris, but it's in the Île de France region. Also, you may sometimes see cedex at the end of an address in France. It's an acronym for courrier d'entreprise à distribution exceptionnelle. It just means it's a company.

I was never exactly sure how many departments there were in Brittany. I figured I should start learning where I was first, and the rest would go together. As a result, I now know that there are four.

First on our tour is Côtes-d'Armor (22). The name is a mix of French and the native Breton language, meaning The Coast of the Sea. In Roman times, it was known as Armorica. The prefecture is Saint-Brieuc. It's supposed to be one of the most beautiful cities in Bretagne. I can't tell you for sure, of course. Traveling without a car costs money. Hell, traveling with a car costs money.

Next in order is Finistère (29), which funny enough translates literally to The end of the land. The Prefecture is Brest. Brest is usually one of the coldest places in France. It's always at least 3 degrees (celsius) colder than Rennes. Brest is another place that is supposed to be pretty, but from what everyone tells me, it's depressing as hell. Apparently the sun doesn't exist there.

Ille-et-Vilaine (35) is named after the two rivers that join in the prefecture, Rennes. It's a very active and open city, Rennes. Additionally, it's also the smallest city in the world with a subway system. Although it's only about the size of Toledo, Ohio, it functions as a much larger city. It's very hard to compare it in terms of size to American cities. It's kind of like Columbus but with Chicago's traffic and transportation systems.Addtionally, the Brocèliande is located in the department, near Paimpont.

The final of the four departments is Morbihan (56). The prefecture is Vannes, which is located in the south of the department on the Gulf of Morbihan. Morbihan comes from the Breton word for "small sea". It is also the only department that has kept its original name since its creation in 1790. The best known landmark in Morbihan are The Standing Stones at Carnac. They were erected by druid priests around 3300 BCE. There is a local legend that the lines are so straight, because they are actually a legion of Roman soldiers turned to stone by Merlin.

It's kind of fun to read the numbers on the license plates of the cars as they pass. I see a lot of 35 and 22 in Rennes. 56 and 29 are a little more rare, but not unseen. The same can be said for a 44 (Loire-Atlantique)Where it gets fun is when you see a 16 (Charente) or a 2A(Corse-du-Sud). I was even in Ploërmel and saw a 972 (Martinique). It's a fun game to play when you're in France. At the very least, you'll learn the departments a little better. Who knows when it will come in handy.

Wait, is that Wham!

2011-09-20T11:08:00.000+02:00

I seriously had to ask myself this question the other day. I was walking down to Carréfour to get some groceries and I decided to take a shortcut through a centre commerciale, comparable to a strip mall in the US, that was right along the way. It cut a little time off my walk and it was covered, so I'll call it a win-win. But as I'm walking I start to hear a really familiar song, but something seemed so completely off about it. Then I realized; they're playing "Last Christmas" by Wham! and it's the 19th of September.

Now there are a couple of possibilities at work here. Maybe it's just a local radio station that was doing some sort of promotional thing. I was only in there about 2 minutes before I made it to where I needed to go. Maybe I just caught the beginning of an ad, or the tail end where the music was about to trail off. It could just be that it's a small centre, and because of that, maybe they just have a loop of music they play. Something might have just been put in by accident, and that was that.

I might be more inclined to think that, had this never happened before. Another time partner, mother-in-law and I were shopping in Super-U and they started playing Amy Grant. I didn't this was unusual at all, until I realized she was singing "Oh Come, All Ye Faithful." I had to start singing it to myself to make sure that it was indeed the song I thought it was. Another time I heard "Winter Wonderland" and even on television they'll start randomly playing "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town" in the backgrounds of shows.

French television and advertising in general does make some great music choices though, it should be said. A lot of times, they'll put something by The Rapture or Sia in the background of a decoration show. I'm pretty impressed with the choices they make. I've heard The Smiths played at the perfect time, as well as even some Patty Smyth. So overall, the problem seems to not be with the choice in music. Maybe it's more in overall tone of the peace.

Just as a reference, listen to the music in this Kinder Maxi commercial:

What exactly, if anything does this ad imply? Is it just the overall style of relaxing music they were going for, and it's only the Anglophone world that's creeped the hell out by a woman handing a child a candy bar while a song talks about resolving problems by sleeping together..?

Am I reading too much into this?

I'm sure this is a problem all over the world. In fact, I know there's a site on the internet called Engrish.com that shows examples of English that make no sense, but they specialize in unwittingly inappropriate (read:dirty) uses of English. I would love to know other examples.

Where the Schengen Zone ends...

2011-09-18T15:47:00.000+02:00

Where exactly does Europe end? I have never spoken to anyone who could really give me a concrete answer on this, even though everyone seems to have at least an opinion or at the very least a guess. The question came up a while ago when I was discussing with some friends of my mother in law's back in Ploërmel. For them, Italy was the Eastern limit of Europe. Russia was definitely not part of Europe, and certainly not Turkey. Although Russia will probably never join the EU, Turkey has already applied.

I guess before I go any further, I should explain a little bit of what full membership in the EU offers. Once you are a full EU citizen, you can stay in any country as long as you want. There is no real restriction for time you can stay, as long as you enter legally. You can drive in any of the EU nations with no problems either. You also have no worries for health care since all EU countries have universal healthcare. It's just a card that you carry that's recognized throughout the EU. In fact, there's an ad I absolutely have to post about it, as it was perfect.

So there are a lot of benefits to being a full EU citizen and in an EU participating country.

Originally, the European Union was started as a way to encourage business and cooperation between countries back in 1955. It was originally called the European Coal and Steel Community, and comprised of six countries: Belgium, France, (West) Germany, Italy, Luxembourg, and The Netherlands. Later, other co-operational treaties were created and currently there are 27 member countries.

The difficulty is in how many treaties came together, and what still lies as an exception. For example, the UK and Ireland are outside of what's known as the Schengen Zone. Being inside the Schengen Zone means free travel within the Zone. Those countries outside of the zone can travel, but there are usually more checks, and it becomes more difficult to travel between an non Schengen country. Although I do have to say I have never had a problem with my American Passport. By far, coming into England is the only time I ever really felt stressed coming into the EU. I had to fill out what the called a Landing Card. They wanted all kinds of information on me. It was insane.

So now is where things get tricky. What is the real judge of an EU country? Should it be judged by who uses the Euro and who doesn't? Remember, the UK still uses Pounds Sterling. There are still countries that are technically part of the EU, but haven't officially switched currency. Norway is a member for some things, but not all. Then there are countries known as the PIGS countries (Portugal, Italy, Greece, and Spain) that are generally economically weak. People can live in these countries, coming from stronger members of the EU for a very low cost of living.

Really though, there's no way to get everyone together as to what are the actual borders, and there are even some countries that talk about pulling out. Marine Le Pen, a far right candidate for President, wants to remove France from the Euro Zone and put it back on the Franc. The problem would be whether or not the prices go back to the original price, where one pays 1 franc 20 for a loaf of bread, or should they stay with the inflated Euro prices (one euro makes about 6 francs 60.) French people would never stand for paying 10 francs for a loaf of bread, so they would have to lower the price. In doing so, the French market becomes destabilized.

Now, if they actually lowered the prices, for someone like me here in France, that would be wonderful. Right now, it takes about $1.38 to make a euro. So if I were to buy something for 20 euros in France, I'm actually spending about $30. If it were to change, we're looking at about 5 francs to make a dollar, meaning that every time I buy something for 30 francs here, I'm paying about 6 bucks. Awesome for me, not so much for the French. That would be the point to pull money over. So it would depend on what they do, and how they would do it.

But that's enough money talk for now. I'm going to reheat the Kouign Amann. Talk Later!

Heaven in 2 and a Half Rooms

2011-09-15T17:00:00.000+02:00

Today I feel like I finally came into my own. I woke up this morning with Partner. He had to get to courses this morning at 8, which meant he left the house at 7, just to make sure to avoid traffic. We had breakfast, he took his shower, got dressed and was on his way. I spent some time with my dark mistress, known more commonly as the internet, and took my shower at about half past eight. After that, I got dressed and went shopping. I found out that we have a Netto just down the street, and they usually have pretty good deals and prices, so je suis allé chez Netto.

I came back with a sac and a cooler full of stuff. I found that they have the blood orange Orangina knock off, so of course that was wonderful. I could walk around IKEA hooked up to an IV of that stuff. I also picked up some stuff that I thought was like Salvetat. Yeah, so not. It was lemon verbena flavored. Now I know why it was so cheap. I also got some quick dinner stuff, ready made carbonara, something like mac and cheese, something penne in mushroom sauce, and ramen noodles for times of desperation. They had a deal this week, buy one get one free on chipolatas. If it were merguez, I would have had to buy another freezer, but as they were just chipos, I restrained myself. I would have bought some canned mushrooms too, but I didn't know how much was too much, and I didn't want to spend too much. Also, I have all the ingredients for lasagna this weekend. That's the one controversial thing.

We have a toaster oven, but I'm always slightly hesitant to trust toaster ovens to cook more than cheese on toast. I just remember how they always worked in the US. They were always tiny affairs that I was always positive would burn down the house. Apparently there's a lot of stuff you can do in it. I dunno though. We'll figure this out as we go along I guess.

In general, this place is slowly but surely feeling more and more like home. I think the main thing is to develop some sort of rhythm. I figured there's no point in going back to bed when Partner goes to classes. If that happens, I'll just end up being awake longer than him. Most of the afternoon and evening he sequesters himself in the bedroom and studies. It's a lot of exploring, finding balance and whatnot. This is a good thing and a bad thing.

It's good because it gives me a lot of time to develop my own interests. I said that once we were on our own, I'd get serious about writing again. I started on a novel and got the first part where I wanted it. I just don't know exactly how do to everything with it. I also decided that I have to start drawing again. I used to have friends who would do cartoons and manga all the time. I was actually part of a group to make them ourselves. I got pretty decent around the end of that year, but I stopped practicing. I also do kind of want to get another set of those Sakura Micras that I used to have. Loved those things. No idea where they are now though.

Also, there's so much of Rennes that I want to see. There's the ecomusée, which was even mentioned on inhabitat a while back, that I would love to see. I need to get around to the museums and cultural stuff here. I also need to figure out how Rennes fits together in general. I have the basic idea of how the quartiers come together, but I need to figure out how roads go together and what bus lines go where. Then there's the metro! I love that there's a subway here! Once I start making money, I also think it would be fun to learn Breton. (Don't judge, Brythonic and Goidelic Languages are fascinating!)

On the other hand, I have all this time to fill. I spent so much of my time just on the internet and television that it almost seems daunting. Unfortunately with Free, we have neither of my staple channels; Cuisine.TV and Télémaison. I found myself spending a lot of time among facebook, google, and skype. I need to move away from that, so usually I let Partner have the laptop, and I'm out with the TV. Though there's still the temptation to play video games.

That's what I've been doing a lot lately. I call it research, because it really does help me think a lot for story ideas and characters. For the last week, I been replaying Final Fantasy VIII from the beginning. It's my personal favorite entry in the series. I find that it has the best music, the best magic system, and some of the most interesting characters. The story can run aground of itself sometimes, but I have two words that answer any problem: Laguna Fucking Loire! I actually dressed up as him for Halloween when I was 16. It brings back a lot of good memories for me. When I first started, all I could think about was sitting on the floor at a friends house seeing who could get which Guardian Forces to boost to 250. We'd usually go over directly after Pep Band and order East of Chicago Pizza. That and a two liter of Mountain Dew was the pinnacle of my high school social experience.

Speaking of which, daylight's a'wastin'. I need to start up if I'm going to find the White SeeD ship tonight!

How Green Was My Valley

2011-09-12T13:02:00.000+02:00

(Just as a side note, I had to look up about the book. It actually looks pretty interesting, so here's another book on the to-read list.)

Personally, I find it amazing how much more ecology is focused on in France. When you walk down any large street in France, it's usually fairly littered with cigarette butts. People don't really bother to look for a trash can in which to throw them out. They just get put out on the street, and that's the end of it. As well, no one ever cleans up after their dog. It's custom to give each other a heads up if you see some "crotte de chien."

However; on just about every street corner, you'll see recycling. There are usually three types of receptacles in France. The first type is for what is for household, or daily waste. Normally it's what you'd put into a trash bag. So really, it's what you would use for just about everything. The second is for cardboard packaging, plastic bottles, and corrugated cardboard. Usually these have a yellow top. The last group tends to be for glass bottles. They're usually green and white and are usually only big enough to fit a wine bottle. Glass receptacles are a bit more difficult to find, but normally they're close. It's just a matter of knowing what color goes with which. Each is also clearly labeled with what it accepts.

The placement makes it so much more simple to be ecologically smart than in the US. France fully funds recycling programs. I seem to remember that in the US, you'd have to pay for it like any other service like that.

I also love the wind turbines in France. They're literally everywhere. I've never driven in a car without seeing them. I find them hauntingly beautiful. Part of it may just be the fact that they're always in front of gray skies, as we are in Brittany. I seriously could just sit there and watch them turn. I had only seen them in one place back in Ohio, around Bowling Green.

It seems in the US that we really don't want to move to a more green system, and Europe seems to be lightyears ahead of us. I saw on an infographic earlier this morning where each American pays over $500 in subsidies to oil and gas giants, but pays less than $10 to subsidize green power sources.

I am pretty sure a lot of it has to do with the influence of the Greens in Europe versus that in the US. Nationally in France, they have a constituency in parliament and have been running candidates for the last few years. They have a real voice and some level of power. In the US, it's only been Ralph Nader, and he never clears more than maybe 3 percent. It's pretty disappointing to watch the US fall behind the rest of the world really, but if people aren't willing to move on, there's not to much that can be done.

I'm Blaming it on the Sun!

2011-09-11T14:23:00.000+02:00

I was sitting at my computer with a lump in my throat, and I couldn't understand why. I don't have anything to worry about. We're in our new apartment and things are going quite well. Partner is studying in the next room and the sun is shining. I have a plan of attack for tomorrow, and later today my biggest worry will probably be to remember to draw Siren from Elvoret at the top of the Dollet communication tower.

The lump persisted. I feel a breeze blowing in on my bare feet. I can hear the football match at the nearby lycée. It reminds me of something, but I really can't remember what. I mean, after all, it's been years since I've been at a high school event of any kind... but it hasn't been that many years since I was in Columbus during football season. That's when it all comes together.

It's Fall. Everyone, since birth I believe, has been programmed to feel strange in the fall. Originally, it's when school begins. We can't stay at home and enjoy ourselves. We have to go out into the cruel world and deal with a bunch of people who's only real goal is to make us feel worse about ourselves than we already may. After that, Fall means the end of Summer, and that Winter won't be far behind.

Of course, it doesn't help that today is a date of infamy. I feel it cliche to recount where I was when I heard the news, given that like anyone my age, I was in class. I had the luck to be finally doing what I wanted, which was nice for a change. I remember hearing that someone had flown into a building. I had left my high school to head to the community college fifteen minutes away for a computer course. I was in a post-secondary program.

I saw a report earlier today and it made me think. I agree with the guy up until he mentions about Bush/Cheney keeping us safe, because as we all know that's bull. I can't really explain how it was transformative for me personally. Nothing in my life really changed. I didn't personally know anyone who passed in the attacks. It's enough to make me wonder if this is manufactured by the news coverage.

Part of me does wonder how September 11th is comparable to other events. My mother told me that she was in Government when Kennedy was assassinated in 1962. Is that not comparable? Maybe it's more like Pearl Harbor. Then again, with what a tragedy it was, maybe it's more like Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I'm rambling and I still feel strange.

I'm going to go now. I'll see you all around.

No one does a thing about, but everybody talks about....

2011-09-09T12:36:00.000+02:00

Internationally, everyone discusses the weather. It's that all purpose fluff topic that can be discussed with anyone, and is generally safe. A discussion of the weather fills any lull in a conversation. Furthermore, everyone has an opinion about it. In France, everyone is completely confused when I explain how in the Summer it was usually about 95 degrees with 85 percent humidity, but the winter was 50 below with snow up to your armpits. French weather, on the whole, is more regular and temperate.

Generally the climate here is what we always hear about in the Pacific Northwest. Two winters was the coldest winter in about 10 years. Where I was in Brittany, it never got below 20. They never sprayed the saltwater on the roads, much less dumped sand and salt mixtures on every major highway. It snowed twice or maybe 3 times since I've been here. It was chaos. Entire towns closed down. Marseille got snow and had to beg Grenoble and Lyon to send snowplows. All this, for about 2 inches of snow. Summers though, are wonderful here. It never got above about 85, outside of the day we chose to move of course.

Weather in general is a different beast here in France than in the US. First and foremost, weather in the US is, while in France is makes or does. In English, we would say that it is beautiful outside. In France, il fait beau! I still am not exactly sure how to discuss the temperature though. In German, I just remember the standard line, wieviel grad ist es? I have tried every approach, but I'm still unsure how to ask in France. I always feel odd about asking. It doesn't really matter, as Celsius was that system other people use.

There's an elaborate system for converting between Fahrenheit and Celsius that involves dividing by 5/9ths and opening the portal to the first boss fight in Quake, but I just learned it this way. Below zero is the approximate temperature that a baguette can be used as a weapon. Zero to 10 degrees is when French people crack a window in their home or open a door in the lobby to smoke. 10 to 20 is when French people put on scarves. 20 to 25 French people wear decorative scarves. 25 to 38 means that you stay off any road that might possibly link to a beach, because it will be clogged. Any higher and French people are in their houses with sparkling water and the blinds closed, because it's about too hot to move without sweating.

Another problem has always been making sure I use the right word for weather terms. In general, when you see the weather on TV, French people call it la météo. The forecast itself makes more sense to me as it's called la prévision. when you're actually discussing the actual weather, though, it's "le temps." After that, it's pretty much the same. There's hail (grêle), snow (neige), rain (pluie), etc. One kind of neat thing is freezing rain and sleet in English. They are both classified as la neige fondue; melting snow. I just think it's funny of how we look at the same thing and see it backwards. Something I still get wrong to this day is making sure not to use pleurer (to cry or mourn) when I mean pleuvoir (to rain). I would constantly say Il pleure (He's crying) when I meant Il pleut (It's raining). There are other differences I'm sure I'm missing, but for now, I'll do my best to translate what I cannot change, the courage to correct myself when I can, and the wisdom to know the difference!

Of Credit Cards and Picture Frames

2011-09-08T16:45:00.000+02:00

Yesterday is the most stressed out I think I have been in well, a long time. My debit card expired a while ago and I thought it would be good to talk with my parents and have them send it over. I also had to ask them to find partner's Carnet de Santé. He brought it to the US, but never actually needed it, so we just left it in an accordion file under the bed when we were at my parents. Now, of course, he needs it in 15 days or he can't continue with his program. It was time to bite the bullet and finally talk with my parents and get that around. It turns out they had never received it. I had to call the bank at that point and figure out exactly where what went wrong.

I explained the situation to the teller who answered, and she called over to accounting to see what the problem was. Apparently my parents had returned my mail to the post office and as a result, I no longer had a correct address listed with my bank. My parents address is the only address I still had in the us. Now that I know the problem, I need to know how to regulate the issue.

They, unlike the bank I had back in Columbus, cannot simply resend the card. They have to reissue a new card. That's great! How do I do that? It turns out I need to come to their office and sign a notarized form. Since it has to be notarized, I can't even sign and send it back. So then the teller mentions that maybe I can give control to someone else to sign for me, and then I can just have that taken care of. However; that requires another signed, notarized form. So after exploring a few more avenues, it's basically a dead end. No new debit card for me. The entirety will eventually be taken out in what they call a relationship fee, 3 bucks at a time. I was pretty disgusted overall. So whatever.....

I went into the bedroom to bother Partner, who was hard at work. Our day pretty much works out to waking up at 6:30 to have breakfast. After breakfast, I go back to bed for an unstated period of time. Whenever I get up, I take a shower and start the job hunt. No point in resting on my laurels. I need to do some work on that end, and find some more sites for some petite boulot. I just don't think Craig's List is going to cut it here. I have no idea how to do it otherwise. I found most of my jobs on Careerbuilder, which exists in France, but is longer term. Alor, qui sait? Certainement pas moi...du tout...

The next day was pretty light. Partner had his morning classes and came back after. We had a light snack, and he took a nap while I spent some quality time with the computer. I hadn't really had much of a chance to check some stuff, so I enjoyed myself. While he was studying, I hung up a few pictures we framed ourselves. What would we do without IKEA, eh? So now, the old posters that we had, Partner's favorite: Sailor Pluto and the perennial favorite Lulu and Yuna, are looking better than ever. We also got some really nice looking Da Vinci Lithographs at IKEA. So I'm pleased.

Now, it's quiet nights of quiet stars! We'll probably head out to Alma tonight for a change of pace. I told partner he needs to get his nose out of the books. Malibu Stacy said it best:" Thinking too much gives you wrinkles."

Moments of Pause

2011-09-07T11:04:00.000+02:00

Sometimes when I'm speaking or reading French, I have to stop and take a moment of pause. I call it this, because I literally have to stop and turn my head like a confused dog. Mostly it happens when I run into a word I don't know, which is unfortunately more often than I'd like to admit. Like any language though, it's not always just words. Sometimes it's an entire syntactical idea.

The most common word when this happens is "déranger." The word comes from an Old French word, "rengier," with the prefix "dis." Obviously, at its base, it simply means to put out of order, but it's constantly used in French. Most commonly it means to bother, and is often used to excuse oneself for bothering someone, most commonly said, "Je suis désolée de vous déranger, mais . . ." or "I'm sorry to bother you, but . . . ." The first time I saw it, I had to laugh at the use. The idea of someone becoming mentally unhinged because you asked them where the bathroom was.

The one thing that screws me up constantly is the negation system in France. As most people who have studied the language know, most if not all Romance languages do what's called double negation. It means you start with "ne" before what you're negating, and finish with pas immediately after. Well, most of the time. It is apparently exceedingly common, and was even done in English, but disappeared over time. As a teacher explained it to me, it has origins in pas, as in a footstep. However; I didn't understand it all that well, so I guess I'll leave it to the better equipped.

Just remembering "ne . . . pas." isn't all that difficult. What complicates matters is the case of personne, which means either someone, or nobody depending on use. When preceded by "la," it means somebody. Without the indefinite article, it means no one. When negating, it usually comes at the beginning of the sentence and works as single negation.

The most difficult for me has always been the use of "jamais." When you say it, you may mean "never" or "ever," depending on use. Most commonly, it means never. For example, if you wanted to say that you had never been to France, you would simply say, "Je ne suis jamais venu en France." That makes perfect sense for the idea of double negation and with the general function of "jamais." Conversely, when you want to say something like, "This is the best meal I ever had." you need to say "C'est le meilleur répas que j'ai jamais eu." Until I figured out the use, I had to say this in a pretty roundabout manner. Additionally, you may need double negation, but both seem to make sense. One may be more formal than the other.

For now, that's what I can think of, but don't think this list won't grow. Today has been the first real day of relaxation. We'll probably have a nice lunch together, and then head to Alma for a bit to enjoy ourselves. Hope you're all doing well!

The Last Few Days

2011-09-06T19:21:00.000+02:00

We left Ploërmel Sunday and went on a final massive build spree. We put together the last shelves and the groceries we had bought the day before. We were just happy to be pretty much ready to be finished. When we were done, we went to Dell' Arte over in Columbier. It was wonderful to realize that we were installed and everything was going to be done. We came back to the apartment, and went to bed.

Monday was partner's first day of med school, which meant he was up at 7 am. That morning was kind of a disaster. We found out that morning that the microwave wasn't working. So he gave up on the dream of warm milk with his cereal and took a shower. After that he went to work, and I went back to bed for a half an hour. Then I got up, turned on the computer and waited for the internet boxes to be delivered.

They said they'd be there between 9 am and 6 pm, which meant no leaving the house so that I didn't miss them. It was really all the same as partner had school until 6 that night. It's not that I didn't want to go out, but more that I wasn't sure about walking around too much. I feel more reassured with him around. So I spent the day listening to music, and watching movies. I was satisfied really. I felt a bit lazy, but well, no internet, television or phone means not much to do.

The hours passed, and eventually partner got back. He said his first day was a little bit of a shock. Overall though, he's really happy about it. He spent some time in the bedroom working through what he had that day. Most likely we'll talk a bit, then he'll go to work on that. He's taking this pretty seriously, so I'm proud. If I know him, he's working to be first in his class. So we'll find out how that goes.

Free didn't show up, so we went out that night and got a printer. It's an all in one wireless printer for only 50 bucks. It's an HP though, so I am concerned about the cost of ink. It came with the starter cartridge, but we're looking at 30 euros per cartridge. We saw a canon, but it was just a printer. I like canons, not only because the ink is a good price but I've also never seen people have problems with canons. Epson though, I have seen first hand the path of devastation they've caused. Very happy with the purchase.

We also got a sweeper, a microwave to replace the broken one, and lots of small stuff. I was most satisfied with the knives we got. I am also fascinated with Géant. It's really identical to a Meijer or a Wal-Mart, but unlike Wal-Mart, I don't feel dirty going in. Also, we finally got coffee filters. Jerry rigging a coffee filter with paper towels yesterday morning, not all that much fun. We had nems for dinner and then went to bed. Tomorrow, partner had to be up for class at 8, but he would be home at 3. So much better than yesterday. At least I'd have someone to wait with me.

The next morning was much better, and went much smoother. Afterwards, I went to bed til 8:30 again and got some breakfast. I went down to check the mail, and surprise surprise, what should be waiting there but a notice that UPS passed when we weren't there. They came at 6:30 last night. They said til 6, and so I was pissed. I waited in front of the building from 10:45 until they finally showed up at 2:45. I went back upstairs quick and got the PSP, and lo and behold, I had Abres los Ojos saved on it. So I watched that, then listened to music, and then went through some old pictures. The UPS guy got there, I picked it up, and went back up.

Partner showed up about 5 minutes later, so he helped me get everything running. We have internet and television now, which makes me happy. I also hooked up the printer, and now, I can scan and/or print from either computer in the house wirelessly. I feel special!

Tonight, I don't know what we're going to do exactly, but in any case, I'm satisfied with today. I may have found some hits for work, so yay on that! I'll let you know when I find out more!

Bénabar to keep you company.

2011-09-04T10:41:00.000+02:00

Ok, today is the final push. Monday partner starts med school, and we'll be officially living in Rennes full time. I am probably not going to have internet for a few days, who knows when UPS will finally show up since it's already been delayed once, but to keep you company until then I have another selection of songs.

The collection in question this time is three songs by Bénabar. Since it's part of the Chanson genre of French music, the lyrics are tantamount. So here's hoping you all have a great week, and that I see you before the end of the next week!

First, some funny, Y'a une femme qui habite chez moi, which translates to There's a Woman living with me. The whole song is about a man who wakes up and finds that there is a woman living with him. In reality, it's pointing out how his bachelor's life has changed since his girlfriend moved in with him. Lyrics available here!

Next we have Le Diner. It's a song about a guy who doesn't want to go out to dinner, for a diverse group of reasons. It's a tribute to the excuses we tell ourselves to avoid going out on nights when we're feeling lazy. It's absolutely hilarious Lyrics available here.

Finally, my absolute favorite song by Bénabar: Bon Anniversaire, or Happy Birthday. The song follows a weekend birthday trip among friends to Brittany. I started listening to it for that reason. I love the song for how accurately it describes how we feel as we get older. It's loaded with French idioms and cultural references. The first line I learned was, "même les pompiers au regard si franc sur un calendrier n’ont rien de rassurant." Or in English, "even the stern stares of the firemen on the calender don't reassure me." Full lyrics here!

This is part of a tradition that firemen in France raise money by selling calendars with pictures of the local fire crews on them. Not like the American calendars with hot firemen. It's just a group picture of all the local teams in the village, fully clothed. Most of the firemen in France you wouldn't want to see in a state of undress anyway.

So I hope to see you all soon! A plus!

Gender Studies

2011-09-03T17:47:00.000+02:00

http://tbiet.blogspot.com/2011/08/france-gender-studies-80-deputes-ump.html

Once again, not a lot of time today, but I thought this was pretty incredible. Gender studies in France were going to be getting new textbooks, which were then pulled by the minister of Education, Luc Chatel. Surprise, he's from the UMP, the same party as Sarkozy. Bascially, they're French republicans.

The books would have explained differences between sexual orientation and gender identity, as well as explaining current theories on sexuality. Of course, Catholics were outraged. (I just wanted to mention quick that most people are "Catholic" in France. They don't really go to church or observe holy days. In truth, they were raised Catholic. What can you expect from a country that still gives people the Ascension and Pentecost off as holidays?)

But continuing, the main thrust of the argument was the same that we get in the US: It should be up to the parents to discuss this with their children. While I do agree that it would be best, most times, for parents to discuss these issues with their children in the home. Quite frankly though, most parents either don't feel comfortable discussing it with their children, or they are ill-equipped to do so. A lot of times parents don't even bother to discuss it.

The problem is that I remember hearing the word gay for the first time when I was in the first grade, said by some of the older kids on the playground. I had no idea what it was, other than in insult. I remember that it was the best way to make someone stop in their tracks. I didn't understand what it meant until maybe fifth grade. So you have all these kids running around saying terms like gay as an insult.

In my opinion, the bigger problem is that the people who are actually teaching their children are the people who consider it a sin, and tell their children how wrong people are to be gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgendered. The main solution is to catch kids early. Chaz Bono on Dancing with the Stars would help.

The answer is always Dalida

2011-09-01T20:03:00.000+02:00

I don't know how often I am going to be online in the next week. We had to switch providers for internet at the last minute, so I don't know when everything's going to be set up with Free. So logically, here's some Dalida.

She has a fascinating life story, and I think is possibly the biggest French gay icon, but I may be wrong. Dalida, born Iolanda Cristina Gigliotti was born in Egypt to Italian parents. She sings in Arabic, Italian, and French. She can stand shoulder to shoulder with any other Diva in my opinion, and her songs are beautifully deep.

We'll start off with Gigi l'Amoroso

The next song is "Paroles." It's about a woman who ends a relationship after tiring of the meaningless words her lover tells her.

By far though, my favorite song is "Pur ne pas Vivre Seul." I believe it was actually written by Georges Brassens, but I could be wrong. It's just a beautifully sad song. It's about how we live with each other to have the illusion to not be alone in the world, but when we die, we all die alone.

Unfortunately, Dalida died before her time. She committed suicide, leaving a note that read "La vie m'est insupportable... Pardonnez-moi" which reads "Life has become unbearable for me... Forgive me.

There's also a statue of her by her tomb.

Déménagement sans cesse

2011-08-31T19:09:00.000+02:00

Tomorrow begins the final countdown. We'll officially be moving into our new apartment on Sunday, the 4th of September. Before that, partner has a half day of med school Friday, which I assume is orientation and scaring the crap out of students to make sure they take this seriously. Tomorrow we'll be renting a truck to move the last of our stuff in, and on Friday we'll take the things that we're too scared to casually put in the back of a moving van. Saturday will be our one day of solitude before the final push on Sunday to make sure everything's taken care of.

I spent today intermittently getting my hourly hit of email, bit of a net addict, I admit, and bagging up what we have left. All of our clothes that we have in this country fit into a single box. The largest is our blue IKEA sack full of video games. Believe me, it's entirely indispensable. I still have the game consoles to pack up, but they won't be leaving until Friday, so I've got a day on that. If it really comes down to it, I can pack them up tonight. I already packed up the monitor and keyboard for our desktop because we're taking the desk tomorrow.

As I was putting stuff in boxes, I realized that this is my fourth move in 2 years, and moreover eleventh move since 2002. Now since some of those were between college and home when I lived in the dorms, we may have to remove 3 or 4 of those, but still I think 6 moves is still pretty impressive. I also should mention I'm one of those people who loves chaos. I have seriously just thought about throwing on a backpack and disappearing sometimes (which is still more reasonable, I think, than my brother's "move to China and become a Shao-lin monk" idea.) but I always had something to hold me back from doing it; college, family, friends, debt. I guess maybe I should just take it as a sign to enjoy manageable chaos, and leave the real stuff to the experts.

If it were just boxes and sacks, that would be one thing. I have learned to hate moving furniture ever since the enormous dresser fiasco of 2004. Admittedly, the first moves were nothing, because I had no furniture. Even when I moved in with partner, I was over at his place constantly anyway, I still didn't have to worry about furniture. However; my partner is not like me. He needs to be comfortable. He can't sleep on a couch or a mattress on the floor. He needs a bed. The truth is, he's spoiled me! The first time we moved into the place that we chose together was the first time I ever had to rent a truck. We got everything in and it went pretty quick. I was never happier to be done though. When we moved back with my parents before the move abroad, we had so much that we had to leave some stuff behind.

I like to take moving time to simplify my needs. That's a fancy way of saying not having to schlep six boxes of Dark Shadows cassettes across multiple time zones. There are always exceptions, though. We have an entire messenger bag full of cords, connectors, and adapters. Since moving to Europe, we've had to by a fleet of connectors and adapters. The bigger problem I have though is the crippling inability to get rid of cables and connectors, especially the ones that we don't even have any use for, but you never know when you might need it. I blame my father for this instinct.

Should something ever happen and I have to move back to the US alone, don't be surprised if you see pictures of my apartment online, and I have a beautiful matching set of milk crate with cushion chairs, bookshelves from the design house of Plank and Cinder Block, and a desk made from two sawhorses and a car windshield. However, if I can get FiOS, you know I will!

All right, it was a nice break. Now back to packing....

Je Veux Du Soleil!

2011-08-30T12:33:00.001+02:00

Just a song I like and haven't been able to get out of my head. Enjoy.

Advertissement!

2011-08-29T19:31:00.000+02:00

One of the things we've heard all of our lives is about how certain things are "a sign from God." I myself am even guilty of taking missed buses or a stubbed toe as some sort of supernatural warning. We've all made predictions based on something inconsequential and saying that it is ordained in the heavens to be such. Lately though, it's not so much small things that are captivating the attention of people as a sign from above.

Michele Bachmann (Can you tell how she's the final straw when I write something political?) recently said that the hurricane and earthquakes that have recently effected the eastern seaboard are God letting us know that he's displeased with the politicking that's taking place. She actually told a crowd in Orlando that "now it's time for an act of God and we're getting it." But of course, she's using it to grandstand. It's something all politicians of all stripes do, especially when he or she is falling in the polls.

For years, there have been numerous examples of not only religious extremists meddling in political affairs, but moreover religious extremists wanting to blame any natural disaster on whatever the cause may be. Rabbi Yehuda Levin recently announced in a video that the Virginia earthquake was due to the legalization of same sex marriage on the east coast. Although Rabbi Levin may appear to be a front runner, let us not forget about our christian friends. Pat Robertson blamed Hurricane Katrina on abortion and later blamed the earthquake in Haiti on a "pact with Satan." John Hagee, a well known and highly respected minister on the right famously stated that Katrina was God's wrath for Southern Decadence, a gay pride event in New Orleans. Clearly the years of practice have really placed the good reverends in a higher position of understanding, but maybe we can take something from what they're saying. The truth of the matter is that God is creating natural disasters to tell us to get our shit together and improve or repair the crumbling infrastructure we have or God will knock it all down to show us where we have failed.

I remember winters back in my hometown. There were times when school would close for a week because the wind chill was so low, you could not stand outside for more than five minutes without getting frostbitten. In Defiance, I think most people can tell you what Thundersnow is, if they haven't seen it. I remember listening with my brothers and sisters as they would announce school closures the night before because they knew how bad the weather was. Sometimes it wasn't even directly because of the weather that school closed. It had gotten so cold that the diesel used to run the buses had changed from a liquid to a gel.

Summers were no different. Without school, it most likely meant that there would just be some days where we would be in the basement waiting for the all clear after a tornado warning. The sky would change to yellow or pink, and even sometimes shades of green. My mother always told me that pink meant hail, green was a tornado, but she never had any idea about yellow.

The one constant among the natural disasters we faced growing up had one common point, we would almost always lose power. Sometimes it would last a day, but other times it meant that we were happy that Dad had kept his camp stove charged. It meant no going outside because we couldn't clean up after. This is not unusual though, as we did grow up in the middle of nowhere. This is something that we just learned to deal with.

However, my life since moving to a city hadn't changed much. There was still always a chance of losing all power in a natural disaster, but there would be times in Columbus where the campus side of High Street had power, but the public side didn't. (Ohio State had its own power plant.) Back in 2006, I remember that a good deal of the eastern half of the country was in a constant brownout stage for at least a day. I remember when the entire city lost power after Hurricane Ike. I had friends who went a week or more without power, and this was in central Ohio.

We have people in positions of power blaming imaginary beings for what's happening to us in the world today. People like Bachmann or Robertson may very well believe that this is some sort of divine retribution, but the bigger problem is the devastation that these disasters leave behind. The Eastern Coast got lucky this time that Irene wasn't as big of a disaster as it could have been. Although highly unlikely, we could use this latest disaster as a wake up call. There's no excuse for the state of our electrical grid among other infrastructure problems in the first world country we supposedly are. It's disappointing that this opportunity is being squandered by people who prefer to deal with imaginary beings than those directly effected.

The Poetry and Insanity of French Roads

2011-08-29T17:00:00.000+02:00

Frankly I have found myself more and more at peace with the idea that I will most likely never drive in France. I have seen too many shenanigans in French city driving and on highways to ever wish to risk it. I'm sorry, but when you actually have to consider whether or not to buy a car because it may be too big to get down the street, that's when it's a problem. Most cities in France predate any kind of city planning so sometimes roads will only be wide enough for one car to pass, or your car may just be too wide for the road. We're not even talking like a hummer though. There are cars the size of an Impala that can't navigate some roads.

Also, most cities have roads named for World War II. In Rennes, there's a section of town where all the streets are named after allied countries. Ploërmel actually has a side street named for the day the city was bombed during the Occupation. I think every city has a road named after Charles De Gaulle and usually General LeClerc.

One thing you can be sure of though is that if you miss a road that connects with another, you will need to turn around and catch the road coming back the other way. There is no simple way to reach a road once you've missed it. As all the roads predate actual planning it's just a mass of twisting paths that come together however people decided they should be laid out. Sometimes, you'll just be driving on roads and they will spontaneously change names.

Like in the US, there are a bunch of divisions for roads in France. Most of what I've discussed so far is for communal roads. Those are the roads that connect the cities of a commune. A commune in France is a collection of cities and villages that work together. The roads are usually denoted with a number preceded by a C in a black rectangle. It's kind of like what we could call township roads. The next step up is the departmental roads. These are denoted with a D before the road number in a yellow rectangle. They're something like a county highway. After that we have Rue Nationale, which are more similar to American State and National Routes, commonly denoted with RN before the number in a red rectangle. The largest grouping by far though is the Autoroute system, which is comparable to the Interstate System.

The strange thing is, most of the signs are blue on the Autoroute, while they are white or green on all other roads. There is the exception of point of interest signs being in brown, and they're usually a lot nicer than what you'd see for the point of interest markers in the US. However, the markers between departments are really basic. They just have the departmental seal and the name of the new department. Regional markers that I've seen usually aren't much more impressive. It is neat that on the Bretange sign, they actually put the Breton phrase for welcome on the sign (Degemer Mat.)

They do have a system as well that takes you around cities, but it's not like in the US where you have a 2 or a 4 before the number. They have what are called Rocades. It just translates out to beltway. The main issue is that it's not one continuous road. Basically there are 4 rocades that intersect at certain points. So you have the north, south, east, and west rocades. The connections are just exit ramps, so you really have to know the road you want to take. (Hence the problems coming out of IKEA.)

They also don't just list the largest city like from what I remember with 270 around Columbus. You head North, and you're headed towards Cleveland, South/East is towards Wheeling, and West was towards Cincinnati. Around Rennes the Rocade will take you towards Caen, Le Mans, Lorient, Vannes, Brest, St. Brieuc, St. Malo, Nantes, and Angers as possible destinations. It doesn't really explain things well, so you can get lost pretty quick. All of these routes are accessed through Portes. There are 22 Portes that take you to different places, and not all of them take you to different cities. Porte d'Alma just takes you to Alma Shopping Center. It's a quick way in from the South though, and if you take the opposite direction, you can get to Angers. All of this is saying nothing of actually learning to drive in France.

Almost all cars here are manual transmission, and to actually drive an automatic, you have to get a special permit that allows you to do so. Most French people also consider automatics for old women who don't want to be bothered with shifting gears. Another obstacle is the shear cost. My partner said he probably paid about $2000 to get his license. He had to take first aid courses, and before he could get in the car, he had to pass what's called the code. I have never seen anyone speak positively of the code. It's an essay test first off, so it really makes our multiple choice test for a permit look pretty ridiculous. After you pass the code, you can start driving with an instructor or your parents. After you feel confident enough to take the test, you have to take it in a car that's provided by the examiner's station. It's a nightmare because every manual transmission has a different clutch. Finally after all this, should you pass, you have to have a sticker on the back of the car that denotes you as still learning to drive for 2 years. That's what the red A is on the back of French cars. They're not adulterers.

So I'm more than happy to take a bus or a subway and be nice and safe. It's a great system and I'm more than happy to oblige. If you are from the US and decide to brave it, you can get a 6 month driving permit. After that, you'll need to get a full license, but I'm not sure how that process works. I'll write more when the inspiration strikes.

Inscription Day

2011-08-27T20:01:00.000+02:00

We had been planning on going up to Rennes just a few hours, we had thought probably about 5, or somewhere around that. We left around 10 am because we wanted to do a few things in the morning at the Caisses d'Allocations Familiales, which will now be abbreviated as CAF. I looked up where it was in the morning, right next to the Charles DeGaulle stop on the metro, so we wouldn't have to look around for it. We estimated we'd probably be there until about 1:30 pm, when we'd have to leave for partner's inscription into med school, which was set for 2. Being realistic about time constraints, we figured we'd get the CAF done, go to the inscription, which would take about 2 hours, and then finally talk with Numericable at the store in Columbier. After that, we'd have dinner, and get back home around 9 or 10pm at the latest. So much for planning.

We get to the CAF and gird our loins for what we expect to be at least an hour wait, and maybe an hour of paperwork. Since he was just requesting student housing assistance it went much faster. We were finished pretty quick. After that we had some time to kill, and mother-in-law remembered that she saw a lamp at Pier 1 that she thought would look great in our place. As usual, she was spot on, so we bought it then and there. We put the lamp back in the car, and made it to campus around 1.

I had remembered my orientation at Ohio State. It started on Thursday night and ended on a Sunday afternoon. I had to fill out all my student loan information. They talked to my parents about letting your children go, an how hard that might be. (This was the fourth time they'd done it, so well, old hat really.) I got my student ID, met people from my program, and got a big talk about how wonderful OSU was, the history, etc. I was expecting one thing, and got the other.

This was an inscription, not an orientation. We came in, and there was only one other student registering at the same time. Since partner was doing continuing education, he was classified differently, and they did everyone in his classification the same day. They took him and his mother in, and they worked out everything. It was all good. He had all of his info, his student ID, and we were in and out in about an hour. I also want to mention, hint hint every American University, that partner's entire bill for a year of med school was less than 200 euros. It makes me sick to think of the 30 thousand some debt I have from a State School. Bitterness aside, it was all good.

On the way back, we got a few more forms filled out that we weren't expecting to get done that day, and we had some extra time. We also decided to get the cable taken care of then too. We got 100megs/second internet service with 150 TV channels, unlimited telephone service to French land lines and cellphones along with unlimited international calling to 100 countries (cellular and land lines), an unlimited cellphone SIM free until December with unlimited calling to French land lines and cellphones, for 40 bucks a month. To top it off, we got 2 months free because we went to the kiosk. So we still had more free time.

Like that, we had a chance to grab some lunch. There was a place nearby that had a lunch offer, but only one left. Mother-in-law took the lunch offer and we had these really good pizza thingies. Any time someone puts coppa, roasted tomatoes, and mozzarella together, I'd call it a win! Then I got a pain chocolat and a coke. We ate in the car, and thought since it was only 4:30, we had time do to some more things to lighten the load later.

The logical solution was, of course, that we should go to IKEA to look for dishes. We didn't need anything more than that, and it would be quick to do. It was right on the rocade and it would take all of 20 minutes. We'd take that stuff back to the apartment, have dinner, and head home. Everyone agreeing this is a logical way to save time, we go.

When we get there though, we do realize that we'd like to buy a piece of artwork for the walls, and we don't really have any silverware. We still didn't have any pots or pans to cook in, much less tupperware to put leftovers. Remember how I said this would be a quick shopping trip to IKEA? The store is designed to prevent a quick trip. We got distracted by pretty pretty things, all of which we did need all and all was gorgeous, and ended up staying at IKEA for, wait for it; 3 hours. We had two carts worth of stuff. We had a carpet, a framed art piece, a lamp, silverware, plates, a dish scrubber, something for next to the sink, two of those metal hook things that hang on the back of the door for coats, etc. Somehow, we got everything into the 106, which was better than playing tetris, and we finally got it loaded in to our apartment. By the time we got back to the apartment, we were all dying of thirst and starving. It was 9pm, and we needed to go get food or we would all die.
Not so fast there bucko. There was still the slight problem that we still needed to get groceries to last us til Wednesday, partner's last day of work. There was a Carrefour close by, so we did our shopping there. It's good to know because of how close it is, and especially because of how much cheaper it was shopping there. Usually for a weeks worth of food, we spend about 50 euros. If we hadn't bought school supplies, we would have spent 35 total. With how small our refrigerator is, we will not be able to buy much. So every few days it's a trip to the market. We were among the last people in the store, but we got it done. Thursday we'll have to go again, but at least it won't be as insane. Soldiering on, we finally make it to the restaurant.

We had a nice relaxing dinner. We went through 5 carafes of water; three of them before the food arrived. We talked about a lot of stuff with moving, and how much we'd gotten done that day. Also, the schedule for moving is becoming cramped, and we'll have to rent a car to move up the last things from Ploërmel. While we're talking, partner looks over at a table and then tells me to look at the second person from the right. I look at him and I realize I'm starting at the French doppelganger of my older brother. He had the same hair, the same facial expressions, and I was just floored. I spent the rest of the meal trying to stop looking like some kind of creep staring at this guy I didn't know. It was so positively strange. We finish our meal, pay, and look at the time. We leave the restaurant at 11:30pm. It's an hour trip home...

That's how Friday shaped up for me. I hope you all had a great weekend, and there's probably going to be at least one story coming out of building IKEA furniture tomorrow, on Sunday!

Vamos a la playa

2011-08-26T17:00:00.000+02:00

(Just a side note; are all of Loona's songs pretty much about partying, dancing and the "rhythm of the night?")

Through some sort of fluke of nature, my partner had his weekend off, and after spending the entire afternoon lifting IKEA the day before, we decided to go to Carnac. For those of you who have never been to Bretagne, maybe just Morbihan, Carnac is a town along the Gulf of Morbihan with 3 or 4 beaches. It's also where most Bretons go for a day trip in the summer. It's always packed, always warm, and I've never left without going in the water. (Even the first time I came in December of 2004, we walked along the coast in Carnac, and got wet. I wanted to be able to come back and be the first of my brothers and sisters to be able to say I'd been on both sides of the Atlantic.)

The car ride was a little rough, I'll admit. It takes about an hour to get there, and there's no direct route despite the traffic. However most people who come there are actually staying a while. There's lots of Germans and Dutch, but the most common are the English. I have never gone an entire day without hearing someone speak English there. Luckily though, it was nearing the end of vacation, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Plus, my niece was ready to see the nude beach that we had jokingly told her we'd be going to. her natural question was,"You mean everyone will be able to see your zizi?"

So we set up on the beach close to the railing so we would be sheltered a little bit. We had brought a few things to eat and some water, so we put the cooler on one of the towels to keep it down. The others we held down with sandals and the like. We didn't really have to change as we had just worn our suits under our clothes. There aren't many places to change on the beach, and after last time when I had to change in a car, I wasn't looking to repeat. So we unfolded the transat and left our stuff with my mother in law while the four of us went swimming.

I don't remember if I mentioned it before, but the last time I had come to Carnac, I got burned really bad, and it lasted for a week. I could barely move my arms or my neck and my partner laughed at me. I wasn't about to repeat that week, so I used the sun block my sister had taken with them to Spain. If SPF 50 wasn't going to stop my ass from burning, I don't know what would. So I did the best I could to cover and I had to brow beat my partner in to putting it on. He's lily white to begin with and works 5 days a week in a lab. When he's off two days, we stay inside and play video games. The only time we leave the house then is for groceries, and even that doesn't happen sometimes. He doesn't tan, he burns. I won't say I'm a thousand times better, but I wasn't the one refusing to wear sun block. So we coated ourselves, and went swimming.

Now, it was very warm as I said, so I figured that with the temperature being about 32 (90), the water should be about 25(80). Yeah, no.... It was about (20)70! Oh, but it was the ocean, and when would we see it again, so we went slow, and eventually just gave up that plan and jumped in. It knocked the wind out of you at first, but the longer you stayed in the nicer it was. We played around and acted as bouys for my niece for a while. It was low tide, so we walked on the rocks looking for crabs or starfish. It was a bust. The water was too cold to have jellyfish, luckily, so we celebrated the small victories. After about an hour and a half, we came back to the shore.

My sister and mother in law tanned for a while and talked while my partner and niece were building a sand castle. I went with my partner for a bit, but my niece got tired of it pretty quick. We hadn't taken anything to dig with or buckets to make the sand castle with. So she wanted to go back with her mother. I was ready to seize the opportunity to take a nice quiet walk with my partner. We walk about 30 feet away and we hear my niece calling behind for us to wait for her. Apparently whatever my sister and mother in law were discussing wasn't very interesting to her. So we went out on the rocks. So we started looking and my sister in law came over with my mother in law. I started looking for rocks, because I'm a geek like that while my niece was looking for crabs with my partner and sister in law. They found a few very small ones. Of course my niece refused to touch them, and would run screaming when they found one. I talked with my mother in law a bit when all of the sudden we heard my niece screaming!

She had found something living in one of the shells! She found a very small hermit crab in a shell probably only about an inch long. In French, they're called bernard-l'ermite, and my niece kept saying Bernard Bermite, like it was his name or something. So then began the controversy of what they ate, to which the answer we responded was plankton. She had no idea what that was, so we just told her little things in the water. Then she wanted to find some way to keep him alive and take him home. So she puts the poor thing in a shell with some water and takes it up to where we were. So my sister in law tells her that it's not enough water in the shell and that she should put some water in the bottle. So she runs back to the beach, all proud and fills the bottle full. But the hermit crab needs sand and a little bit of air at the top. So she runs back a second time and does it. She even added some seaweed, even though she refused to touch it earlier because there were crabs hiding in it. She was determined to take that bad boy home with her. She said that she could just give it some water from the tap, but then we had to explain the difference between seawater and freshwater. It was getting complicated and we needed to start thinking about getting back, so her mother told her to put the poor thing back in the ocean, which she did, in the most disappointed 8 year old manner she could.

Afterwards we took a final swim, and then started packing up. I took back some rocks and my niece a fistful of shells. We through out poor Bernard Barmite's now empty home on the way
back to the car, distracting our niece with the two things that could make everything better: churros and ice cream.

I think it's pretty straightforward, but I am not sure how familiar the audience may be with churros. I had never eaten churros growing up. That may have had something to do with my parents never wanting to take 5 children to the county fairs. I can't blame them. I really didn't know much about carnival food until I started high school and I had to go because I was in the high school marching band. Pretty much, churros are the same dough used for Elephant Ears and funnel cakes, but they are long pipes and after they're fried, they're rolled in sugar. I actually didn't learn about churros until I watched someone make them on food network and ate my first churro in France.

We got four churros with a tub of chocolate sauce for dipping which was an excellent appetizer for the main event. The igloo ice cream stand is the biggest in town. They have something ridiculous like 150 different flavors. They range from the normal chocolate and vanilla, to the not so outrageous blackberry or currant, but getting to the out there chive and curry flavors. The line is always around the block, so you have to pay for what you want first, and then you stand in line for service. I got two scoops, one blackberry, the other black currant. My niece couldn't finish all of her's so I ended up finishing her brownie ice cream. I tend to like sorbet more than ice cream, but I was satisfied.

After that, we headed back home. We'll probably spend the week recovering from the weekend, and this Friday we'll be going back up to Rennes for my partner's med school orientation. I don't really know what if anything we'll be doing other than that. I think the next post will probably be about the French highway system anyway. I seriously am bothered by it, if the IKEA Saturday wasn't an indication.

Rennes, Caen, and other IKEA adventures

2011-08-24T17:00:00.000+02:00

I should probably mention that Saturday was the hottest day of the entire summer in Bretagne. We decided to move what we expected to be three carloads of IKEA flatpack furniture in 31 (88) degree weather. I, being the genius that I am, decided to wear a black long sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I didn't want to look like hell and it was just fine back in Ploërmel. I neglected to remember that when I wore this shirt there, it was never over 20 (70.)

I should also mention that we had already decided on everything we were going to buy a couple of weeks ago. We'd gone to the store, took all the references, and we were just really going to pick things up. It wasn't going to be anything spectacular, but it would all be good quality stuff that could last a while. So with our lists in hand, I'm all done up with cologne and all that, we all get into the little Peugeot and make the trip up to Rennes.

We meet my sister in law at our apartment, we show things off and plug in the refrigerator to keep things cold while we get all the rest of the stuff around at IKEA. They had just gotten back from a trip to Spain a few weeks ago and they had brought stuff back for us. I might mention that if you stood my partner next to his sister, you could tell that she'd been out in the sun, and my partner had been hiding in a bunker somewhere. We're more inside people. So we take the rocade north from Alma to catch rue national 12 to get to the IKEA. It took us maybe 15 minutes to get there. We park our cars, and go grab some food first at the cafe.

After grabbing something quick to eat, we get into it. So we're going through the references when Mathieu's sister says we should come over and look at something. We got this couch for half price. It's much more modern than the one we picked, and it's a convertible. Vendu! We take down the reference, and forget about the other couch. We also got a very nice TV stand. It was more expensive, than what we had originally imagined turning on the side and buying a couple of storage boxes inside it like drawers. So I'm pleased that we got something more adult. The only other big ticket item was the bed, which I can't find a picture of, so I'll have to take some apartment pictures.

I know you're all thinking the same thing I was. How the hell are we going to get this back. We had my sister in laws 9/5, but even that wasn't gonna hold all this. So with the first load, we got everything but one part of the couch. We're already starting to sweat, so we decide that we would let my niece and mother in law stay at IKEA with what was left, and we'd start putting stuff in the apartment. So we pack the first load, and she says she'll follow us.

Like I said, it took 15 minutes to get there, so you'd think logically the same time back, right? If you know where the hell you're going, yes, that's all it takes. However, we did not. I want to blame the majority of it on the rocade system in France and especially on Rennes while factoring in the area around IKEA is exceptionally poorly laid out, none of the signs make sense, and the area around IKEA is a black hole or the Bermuda triangle. Take your pick, it adds up to fuck all. The first time, we took the Rocades to follow towards Le Mans and Caen.

We're just happily driving along, and all of the sudden Mathieu asks me what color the signs were. I responded with blue. I don't think I had ever heard more shouting and cursing in French than at that moment. "J'en ai ras le bol de cette--!" is about all I can actually print because of how fast he spoke and content. So finally, he stops to catch his breath and I ask him what's wrong. We were on the A84, headed towards Caen! So I said, thinking logically, why don't we just turn off at the next exit, and he said, this is an Autoroute, there are only exits for major cities! We lucked out though, and we found an off ramp. Of course, we were in a Peugeot 106 that my father in law has had since 1995. It's not wise to push it up to interstate speeds. So, an hour and a half later, we're at the apartment unloading.

So we get cak to IKEA, another 15 minute trip, and we take the second load. We asked my mother in law what would be best to do this time. She said to take Rennes-centre. So we take it, sure and it's a nice scenic drive through town. 45 minutes later, we're there. We're all starting to get suspicious about how long this is taking, so with the third load when we're all coming back together, we try another exit, this time towards Nantes/Angers. 15 Minutes.... Third time's the charm, I guess. At least I'll have to tell myself that so I won't end up in the bathtub with the cake mix. So that was that.

There is another adventure to tell while the family was together, so I'll talk more about that in the next post, and probably talk more about the highway system in France after. I hope this finds you all well, because I'm still recovering. I'll tell you this, the next post involves churros!

Bestioles!

2011-08-22T17:00:00.000+02:00

So lately here in Brittany, we've been dealing with an infestation of what everyone here calls la guêpe. I had seen these same things back in the US, but I fear anything that buzzes and flies in my general direction, so my logical solution is to hide behind my partner. He kills it, and we're fine. So I had worked out in my head that these were what we calle honeybees.

Now, in my mind, there are two real groups: bees and wasps. Among the bees, the smallest we called sweat bees, because they were attracted to sweat and would land on the back of your knees and in the crook of your elbows. Then you would move and they would sting the crap out of you. After that, were honeybees. These little buggers would hide in clover and sting the crap out of you when you walked on them. The next size up were hornets. After that, came bumblebees. Among them, were yellow jackets and blue jackets. The second group were wasps. I never knew any name for them other than wasps. They might be black, brown, purple and yellow; I hate them all.

So I decided that I needed to get my head about all the different names I had heard for these things, so I started by looking up the word guêpe. It was not a honeybee in the French mind, in fact. They were calling honeybees wasps. There was no such thing as a honeybee, I am still not sure what a frelon is. Bumblebees though, are called bourdon. They're almost identical as to the ones in the US, but they're darker in color. There also only seems to be one kind. Big and scary. Also, what I always called wasps apparently don't exist here. Did I mention how happy I am about that, because I hate wasps, ever so much.

Most commonly in France, you run into honeybees, or at least what I call honeybees. I had always heard that we actually never had honeybees in the US until they were imported from Europe with flowers or by bee keepers. In fact, I believe that's the reason they're called honeybees. Obviously some were bound to escape from the beekeepers and made it into the wild. So as I understood it, that's why we had honeybees in the US.

Looking up these pictures though, I was apparently wrong in how I differentiated. Apparently what we always called wasps were actually mud daubers. It's a type of wasp, but apparently what we always called hornets are actually wasps too. Apparently French people don't worry about killer bees coming up from Africa. I always remember hearing about the killer bee menace from South America and how they were already in the South and it was only a matter of time before they made it up to Ohio. So, anxious child that I was, I assumed that I was going to die in a killer bee attack. Highly logical, I know. Step on one honeybee one time in your life, I was 5, and this is what happens.

So time marches on, I still hate bees, and someday, I will win the war against them.

-asse

2011-08-20T17:00:00.001+02:00

So with my niece having been here, it made me think about some of the previous times she came. I love her to death, but she's 8 years old and a girl. I just can't get into playing Barbies or Smurfs myself. Give me a pack of Hot Wheels and I could amuse myself for hours probably, but I digress... So she loves to play Barbies, and it's always the same stories. I think a lot of kids do this though, because I remember the soap opera that my brother and sisters and I had going. Ask me to explain about "the Cute Bunchies" someday. Those are stories that will curl your hair.

So naturally, with the three of us here, my partner often is drafted into passing sometimes 2 or 3 hour sessions of Barbies. Considering how well he can stomach it, I have no doubt who will be playing with our daughters. Now normally he has a good time, but there are some nights where he was just exhausted. He worked an almost 12 hour day, and now he comes home and gets to spend two hours minimum recounting the previous episode of "Winx" that she just saw on Teletoon. But she wants to play with her Ton Ton, and I can't blame her. But well, her uncle is exhausted after work, and the other one has to ask you to repeat what you just said. So finally, one night, the four of us decided to play with my mother in law.

So, I'm expecting it to be very calm and very story driven, and I was thinking this was going to just be a nice little story about some happy little thing. Well, it started out that way, but I could tell that my mother in law was getting a bit tired, so she started making the story interesting for herself. So it's actually starting to get good now, and I think it's hilarious, and as we're playing, my mother in law has one of the Barbies say, "Tais-toi, blondasse!" My partner and my niece were on the floor laughing.

Now thinking of the word, I had worked out that it had something to do with the fact that she was blonde, but I had only had a few experiences with words ending in -asse. For Francophones, the first two that may come to mind are the ever popular connasse, and the less directly said pétasse. These words are not for polite company. Knowing that, I was a bit taken back that she would use them so freely with her fairly young granddaughter. However, my mother in law actually was born speaking French, so maybe I'm missing something.

Asking my partner about it later, he told me it's just like what you would call a bubble headed bleach blonde in English. From what I've seen on the internet, they translate it as a brassy blonde, most likely to mean a fake blonde. So as near as I can tell, it's like calling someone Paris Hilton or Anna Nicole Smith.

Now, like I said most other words in this classification are not for polite use. Connasse, for example, basically means dumb bitch. Connasse is the feminine form of connard. It comes from the widely used Indo-European root meaning vagina. In English, it shares the same root as cunt. Pétasse, conversely, is more about being slutty. It's roughly the equivalent of slut, but from when I've heard it used, it tends to mean a piece on the side. It is very similar to the British English slang word slapper. It originates as a form of péter, meaning to break.There's also the more familar radasse, which would probably just work out to ho, much like the ever interesting putasse.

There are a few other words that fit in this category. One that has always amused me is poufiasse. Technically, it works out to the oft neglected English word floozy. I have heard the word in three places I can think of, but I really believe it's an underused, and beautiful word. Another fun word is grognasse, meaning a grumpy bitch. Chaudasse usually means someone who has sex a lot, so my preferred translation is ever classic hot pants.

However, words of this group don't necessarily have to have a sexual connotation. In fact, -asse as an ending is really only a familiar form. Bonasse usually works out to meek, and fadasse is used for dull. Feignasse is usually translated as a lazy ass, but cocasse tends to mean comical. Dinde and asse put together make dindasse, or more simply put in English, stupid like a turkey. Hommasse is the equivalent of butch, but more like tomboy than lesbian. Finally, one you'll hear more often is godasse, which is like saying kicks instead of shoes in English.

In truth, when you see -asse at the end of a word, think familiar, and in some cases, low quality. The real functionality of -asse is mostly just to denote familiarity, and as a result of that familiarity, a lack of respect. I am sure there are other forms, but these are just the one's a found the most amusing. These are words you'll hear, but in reality, it's best to avoid if at all possible. The best advice I can give you is when you hear one of these words, smile to yourself, and keep it going, because if you use it yourself, someone's going to correct you.

The Ghosts of Apartments Past

2011-08-18T17:00:00.000+02:00

I decided that I should include this, just to give a preface to where I was coming from before moving to France. I grew up in the middle of nowhere. There are seriously 3 fields around the house I grew up in. It takes 20 minutes to get "to town" by car. I grew up where distances are measured in time, so it takes an hour to get to Toledo, and three to get to Columbus. It took 3 minutes to get to my high school if my mother drove, 45 seconds if it was me. I could not wait to get to an actual city when I went to college.

Now, I went to Ohio State for a few reasons. Number one, it was still open enrollment at the time, so it was my safety school if I couldn't get into Penn State. Penn State wanted me to start at a satellite campus, and I thought fuck right and never looked back. Number two, from what I had heard, Columbus had a huge gay community. Clintonville apparently had a higher concentration of lesbians than New York, and the Short North more gays than the Castro. This excited me.

I lived in the dorms my first two years of college. The first year was with three other guys, and the next year in an apartment like place. I loved being in the center of everything. I always had a roof over my head, food in my mouth, and a bus ride away to get to movies or shopping. Wonderful, it was.

After tiring of dorm life, I moved into my partner's place because the rent was much lower. Of course, it was also a 500 square foot studio. We could take the bus directly onto campus, most of the people there were grad students so there was virtually no noise whatsoever, and there was a strip mall with a Kroger and a Raising Cane's on the corner. I also had just got a car, and he already had a parking pass, so it worked well at the time. Eventually though, we decided we wanted to have a little more.

We started looking around for apartments in November, because we would need to be out of our old place by the end of May that year. (In Columbus, if you don't have an apartment by February, you probably won't have a place to live. Apartments fill up fast!) So we looked around for a bit, and we found these places that were beautiful, but were they $1100 a month beautiful? In our old place, we were paying $500, but that was with utilities included. Most of these places had individual water and gas. So we kept going. We found a place a bit further north that we were looking at, and it was also ridiculously expensive for what you got. So with tears in our eyes, we headed back home.

Well, we would have if I hadn't gotten turned around. It was snowing and I was getting hopelessly lost. All the roads looked the same, and I kept getting turned around, when we came out onto this one road, and we looked across, and through the snow, we saw this grouping of townhouses. They looked really nice, and my partner said we should go check them out. I told him I could tell they were going to be just as expensive just by looking at them. He said there's no harm in looking, so, we did.

I was completely wrong. We ended up signing up for a beautiful 1200 square foot apartment; crown molding, open floor plan, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a terrace, and a private entrance to a mall larger than the city in which I grew up, for less than $700 a month! Everyone was impressed, and to this day I don't think we'll ever have as nice of a place until we buy or build it ourselves. We were over the moon in love.

Of course, lots of crap happened before. I remember frantically getting our contract up to them to get signed, worries about credit scores, and the move in day was a disaster. Imagine two gay guys, each less than 120 pounds lifting a 250 pound, 6 foot long dresser into a U-Haul, and after getting there, one locks the keys (the only set of keys) in the car. We figured out that water bills are always more expensive than you think, and that satellite dishes are considered an eyesore by most apartment complexes. But it was really our first place that was really ours.

When we left, there were some tears, and an all out rush to pack five years of our life into a u-haul, a neon, and an impala. From that point on, we had our lives spread across two continents. Still bitter about that.

Two enter, One Leave

2011-08-16T17:00:00.001+02:00

If I haven't scared you enough with the realities of looking an apartment in France, allow me to finish the job with explaining the nuts and bolts behind it. The realities of the market have changed slightly from before. Now at least you may not have to pay to see the listings for apartments. The internet saw to that. There are more places available now than there were before, and for more reasonable prices. It should however be noted that if you're looking to buy an apartment in Paris, you'll pay on average around 8300 euros per. square. foot. I wish I were joking, but that is far from the case.

Looking for an apartment online is one of the easier ways to go , but then you run into dealing with the particuliers. Particuliers are private owners that see no problem with coming into their apartment whenever they feel like it. Sometimes with no notice. It is their property and they.re completely allowed to, but when you're never sure how people will react to seeing two guys sleeping in the same bed, you learn that it may not be the wisest route. So in that case, your only real option is going through a real estate agency.

As I mentioned before, a few years ago you couldn't even get to look at the listings of available apartments without paying a fee of anywhere from 30 to 150 euros. This didn't even guarantee you would find an apartment, but you could see if there was one that interested you. In a day, you might spend 500 euros just looking for a few apartments.

In the system before, after you found a few you liked, you'd need to make appointments to go and see them. The availability of appointments at places where they still practice this method varies depending on the time of year. The worst time tends to be after college students get words on their scores from the baccalaureate, the national exam for your high school diploma. It becomes even more complicated in late July and August as most people are taking vacations, and some people are pressing to get it done before they leave on vacation. So you may be able to make an appointment the following week to when you come in. There's sometimes better availability, but it's better to check ahead than get screwed out of a place you really like.

Most places now will simply give you the keys to check out on your own. The only thing they require is that you leave a form of ID at the office so that they can contact you should you run off with the keys. I find this to be the preferable method because then you can be as truthful as you want. You don't have to smile and find something nice to say. For this process as well, take a map or a GPS with you, unless of course your from the city. I can't tell you how much gas we burned trying to figure out which streets crossed which.

After you've visited a few places and decided where you will live, the next step is the application. Basically, they will ask you for everything short of a blood sample. They want proof that you have a bank account, your pay stubs, and a copy of your ID. If you're a student, they want to see a copy of your acceptance letter, and if you work, they want a copy of your employment contract. If you have a co signer, they want copies of his bank statements, income and property taxes, and a copy of his ID. The place we went to had 3 copies of the contract that all had to be signed and initialed multiple times. All this, and you may have to possibly pay a fee for submitting your application, which you won't get back if they reject you.

Should they deem you worthy of living in their property, the next step will be to pay for your first month's rent, the security deposit, and my personal favorite; the honoraraires. The first two are totally reasonable, and exist internationally, but the third just pisses me off. You had to jump through all of these hoops, with a smile to boot, and then they have the gall to expect you to pay 90 percent of the cost of a month's rent for all the help they supposedly gave you? Vive la France! It's enough to make you question your sanity. So then, you have the apartment, right?

Well, yes and no. You technically don't have the apartment until they've given you the keys, and you have to wait for everything to be accepted. You may get a call telling you that they need something else signed, or something needs to be done initially, so just watch out. Should you make it beyond the thunderdome, you're almost home.

The final hurdle to clear is the état du lieu. Some places consider this, the check in inspection, a formality and are quick about it. Other places take a special joy in picking apart everything they find. It's a matter of knowing what kind of organization you're dealing with. It's best to take the best possible care of your apartment, and in the end, things usually work out ok. Remember, if they find anything wrong with the apartment when you leave, it comes out of your security deposit.

So you get the keys and you're all set, right? They may not give you the keys if they don't see certain other documentation. Every person who rents is required to have renter's insurance in France. If you can't prove that you've taken it out, you don't get the keys, and you may lose out on your place. Renter's insurance isn't very expensive though, so no worries about that. you should be able to get it for less than 20 euros. You also need to make sure you take the readout on your apartment's electric counter, and possibly the water meter too. Elecricitè de France will ask you for it, along with the former owner's name before they allow you to start the new account.

The processes can wear you out, but it's worth it in the end. I also never understood how apparently easy it is to get out of a contract. Usually the agreements are for somewhere between 1 to 3 years. No one seems to worry too much about breaking it in the middle though, so really once you've taken care of getting the apartment, there's little that can stop you after. Just make sure you've got your i's dotted and your t's crossed, and you can make it as painless as possible.

L'appart

2011-08-14T17:07:00.000+02:00

So with all of the taches ménagères taken care of for the day, I can now sit down and regale you with my sad sad tale of the frantic apartment search that's been going on now for two months. Yes, I kid you not; two months. Now, for me, as an American, this seems unreasonable that the search would take more than maybe, two weeks. Of course, I also haven't looked for an apartment in the US since before the housing bubble burst, so that may or may not have something to do with it. It became a necessity though.

Now I don't know if I had already explained it, but currently I live in Ploërmel, a city of around 10,000 in the department of Morbihan (56) located in the region of Bretagne (Brittany), where we live with my mother in law. We have what's called a Type 2 (usually abbreviated simply as a T2) that's around 157 square meters, which works out to around 613 square feet. Apartments and houses are always smaller in France. It may have something do with having 90 million people in a country roughly the size of Texas. For three people, two of them sharing a room, it works out pretty well, but it's definitely a change.Recently though, my partner got final word on his acceptance into medical school at Pontchaillou in Rennes. So we were really happy about this, but of course, the question became, where were we going to live?

So logically, with it being a 40 minute drive to Rennes, we'd need to move to the city. The question was still where? The logical first thought was close to the medical campus, which is in Villejean. It's a fairly nice part of town, and it would really cut down on the commute. At first, we had decided that it needed to be there. So we started looking at places around the campus.

Now, I guess I should explain a little about Rennes. It's the capital of Brittany, located in the department of Ille-et-Vilaine (named for the rivers that run through it) [35]. It's the smallest city in the world that has a subway system. It also has high speed rail service and an IKEA. (IKEA makes me happy, and I believe it should make all people happy.)

There were a few problems in this search. One: my partner worked 5 days a week, which meant no extended amounts of time to take trips to see places. One of his days off was Sunday. Two: the Rennes housing market is insane. If you see something you like, you have to take it immediately, or you will never see it again. Three: my partner got his results exactly 5 days before the baccalaureate results came back. Rennes has 60,000 students between two universities and about 6 écoles supérieures. Everyone and his brother was looking for apartments. So every Wednesday, we were furiously driving up to Rennes to look for and at places.

We started looking in July, and we were pretty precise about it. It needed to be in either Villejean or Beauregard. We were looking for a real kitchen, what they call a "cuisine américaine" if possible. (All it means is that the kitchen is open to the rest of the apartment.) It needed to have some storage, and it would be nice to have a balcony. A terrace would be nice too, but was unessential, just a nice bonus to have. I wanted something a couple floors up, after remembering the horror that was living on the ground floor in our old apartment in Columbus, and the bedroom absolutely had to be separate, so that took out all the T1s, studios, and T1 bis offers. All this and more for under 500 euros!

So as we looked, you could literally see our crests fall. They all had kitchens open to the rest of the room, sure, but that was because the French idea of a kitchen is a sink, a refrigerator, and a hot plate. Some only had a sink. None of the places we saw had a cupboard, much less more than about 3 inches of counter top. Closets, in the French mind were a luxury. There were places for sale, and I joke not, 18 square meters (a little less than 200 square feet) for 380 euros a month! The first few were funny, but eventually the sad reality of the situation started to sink in. So we started to expand the search.

So that Friday, we made an appointment to see two places. One of the two candidates we eventually decided on, was in Villejean, just a short walk from the university. It had a separate bedroom, and a very nice bathroom. The kitchen left something to be desired, but overall, we were pleased. Excluding the kitchen, it seemed to have everything we wanted from the pictures we saw. So we made an appointment to see it.

The pictures, much like the cake, were lies! The neighborhood was really industrial, and the building was dirty. It had that church smell to it, like the rectory or convent at the catholic church back home. there were closets, but the bedroom was about big enough for a bed, and that was all. The kitchen opened into a room too small to make an actual living room, but too big to just leave as a kitchen. So overall, the first place was just disappointing.

Now, we weren't in very high spirits coming to the next place. The first good and bad point was that it was in the Lorient/Saint Brieuc neighborhood of Rennes, really close to what's called Les Trois Marches. It was across the street from a motorcycle repair shop. We were unimpressed from the building, and the staircases and elevator as well. So we persevered.

Never judge a book by its cover! The apartment had a separate living space and bedroom, plenty of cabinets, a fully equipped kitchen with plenty of cupboards, and it was completely redone! After the last place we saw, we said we'd take it on the spot! So we asked if we should sign something or what was the next step. The realtor asked if we could come back tomorrow to fill out the forms. My partner, having one day off that week, had to work, and couldn't make it back until Wednesday. So she said that she would hold the place for us, and we could come back with all the paperwork and get it done. So all proud and excited, we headed back home.

Two days later, I'm talking with a friend back home on the computer, when my mother in law opens the door and tells me that she just got a phone call. Apparently another agency had the apartment listed, someone else saw the apartment after us, and they had all the paperwork signed on Monday.... So my mother in law and I battened down the hatches for when my partner would come back for lunch. There was no way to properly sugar coat this, and no amount of pastry was going to make this any easier. He took it about as well as expected....

The week after, he didn't want to look at any of the places we showed him, and when he did, he would immediately find fault with it. We tried to tell him that we were all sad about losing the place, but it wasn't going to do any good to cry over spilled milk. He came out of the funk in a few days, but time had been wasting. So we started looking again. We found two more candidates.

For those of you playing along at home, you might notice a pattern. We saw a place in the same neighborhood as the one we liked. It was on the way into town, right next to a bus stop, which turned out to be a bad thing really. The neighborhood was kind of run down. None of us were impressed with the ambiance. It went downhill from there....

We had come to a group visit to an apartment that looked like it hadn't been cleaned since the late cretaceous. The kitchen had a refrigerator and freezer (replete with mold, perfect for my partner to take a sample to college to identify exactly what strain was making our flesh drop off.) and hot plate. The floors were filthy and the radiators were covered with what I hope was just grease covered in dust. If it was anything more than that, I had no intention of finding out. My personal favorite though, had to be the clothes line that was hung over the toilet! I think the best French word to describe it was crade!

The problem was that it was a group visit, so we couldn't really speak our minds. In our case it wouldn't have been speaking so much has howls of laughter at the sad predicament we were facing. The realtor herself was turning seven shades of red at how angry and embarrassed she was at the state of the place. She kept apologizing, profusely for the state. The worst part was is that there was a couple that was looking at the place and seriously considering taking it. I have never wanted to hug two people and let them know that things get better more in my life. No one should have been living there, and really the only way to clean that place up might have been an exorcism. At least after we left, we had a good laugh.

Now that we'd seen the gamut, we had pretty much abandoned all hope of ever finding a place and just decided that we would go live in IKEA. (Yes, I read "From the Mixed up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankenweiler" too many times as a child, but tell me who wouldn't want to live in a museum!) At least I would have Orangina Sanguine whenever I wanted it, and Swedish meatballs galore! We went to Columbier and distracted ourselves at Fnac until it was time for the final appointment.

We got there a bit early, so we decided to check out the neighborhood. There was lots of open space, parks all around, Centre d'Alma was about a 15 minute walk away, 3 by car, and all the roads were named after allied countries. I was already liking this place. The building itself was recent construction, and after reading a little more about the information sheet, we found it was the biggest apartment we'd seen yet at 56 square meters (a little over 600 square feet.) So things were looking up.

It wasn't as nice as the apartment we lost out on, and it was in Brequigny, so that meant about 8 stops on the metro. There was a bus line that went up that way too, and if it really came down to it, you could probably get there in 10 minutes on the beltway. It had a nice entry way with lots of closet space, and the bedroom was plenty big. There were no closets in the bedroom though, and not a lot of built in arrangement in the kitchen. Overall though, it was pretty good. So we decided to go with it.

So we'll officially be moved in the second week of September. I'll be more mobile, and also looking for work. So if anyone has any suggestions for work in Rennes, I'm all ears! I'll be posting more about this in the coming days, and actually get into the nitty gritty of the process of apartment hunting and the contracts here in France, and also give you a little more info about my background. My 8 year old niece will be visiting this week though, and my sister in law will be coming to pick her up this Saturday, so this week is going to be complicated!

Do as I say, not as I do.

2011-08-11T18:33:00.000+02:00

So since I've been here, I love how French people will do something or say phrase, and think nothing of it. However, if you as a foreigner do it, you get corrected. I think this is something that would frustrate me less if I weren't 28 years old, and sometimes being corrected by people 5 to 10 years my junior. Then again, it doesn't take much to get under my skin if I'm in the wrong mood.

One of the most normal problems I run into in France is discussing time. Technically, all time in the strictest sense should be discussed on a 24 hour clock, which is what they use in France. Not a problem, in general. I learned military time when I was a kid. We had a VCR that only ran in it. Of course, in English, we'd say 4 pm as 1600 hours in that case. But no, France has to be well....French about it. So should you be discussing 6 PM in French, you write it as 18h. Now that's perfectly reasonable, but I did start to notice something.... No one says "dixhuit heures." Everyone instead says, "six heures du soir." So in reality, they're using the exact same AM/PM system as the US, but if you as a foreigner were to say "six heures du soir," expect to be corrected at least once.

There are also words that you're not supposed to use in French, especially when discussing money. Earlier I had started reading manga translated into French. I had picked up some words, among them was fric. I decided to use it when discussing something with my niece, and she was quick to correct me. The best word to use is argent. Now, that wouldn't be so bad, It's really the difference between saying money and dough in English. Here's where it gets more complicated though. Almost no one uses fric. It's a possible translation, but when people want to be casual in discussing money, the word of choice is poignon. It's about the equivalent of saying bread as far as I can tell. The hierarchy of words for money in French, as far as I can tell (from most to least preferable) is argent, liquide (which is only to be used when talking about cash), fric, and finally poignon. The correction stung slightly less, as she was in her twenties.

Just as a final reference, I was studying some books for a French exam here, and one of the first things I remember learning was that in French, you're never supposed to end a sentence with "avec." It's kind of the same sense when in English you're not supposed to end a sentence with a preposition, but it's just avec they tell you specifically to avoid in French. So a few nights later, I'm watching TV and there it is. A national television ad for what I believe was a bank, ending their sentence with avec.

So the moral of this story, or at least some sort of takeaway, is to take everything people tell you under advisement, but personally, I wouldn't trust it further than you can throw it. Although there's a French Academy of Languages, no one actually listens to a word they say unless they're writing for Le Monde. Much like English, new words are minted every day. If the language isn't changing, maybe someone from the Academy would like to explain to me the historical origins of "meuf."

I plan on having a big article this weekend about the Hunt for Red October, also known as the mad dash to Rennes every day my partner had off to find an apartment. We get the keys this Saturday, so we'll go from there.

So she's the terminator?

2011-08-07T17:46:00.000+02:00

(I apologize for the flippant nature of the title, but well, it's not every day you get to type that.)

While reading through a few articles the other day, I came across this article from the New York Times: http://www.nytimes.com/2011/08/07/us/politics/07repubs.html?_r=1&ref=us which discusses the beginnings of the republican primaries. All things considered, most of the article is information I have already read. The focus of the article is on two candidates. Tim Pawlenty, a former governor of Minnesota, who made a comment to which he received silent agreement when he said that republicans have the advantage, and the fastest way to lose is to choose "the wrong candidate." Conversely Michele Bachmann, a current representative for Minnesota, garnered what was described as thunderous applause for her comment that "Behind this dress is a titanium spine!"

One must admit, not only is it beautifully crafted but it does a delicious job of satisfying so many wants the republican party seems to have now. The primary process is always chaotic, but it seems that this round carries more weight. After riding high from midterm elections, the luster of those representatives has worn thin. They have thoroughly proven that they were not the promised change in Washington. In fact since the mid term elections, the party is screaming in all directions.

The republican party needs a leader. They need someone who can reassure all stripes that their interests will be heard and represented. They need someone who is wiling to roll up his or her sleeves and get dirty. Additionally, party needs change but cannot afford to change horses in mid stream. Therefore, they must find someone among the candidates who can strike that balance to satisfy each faction, all while appearing to remain evenly keeled. This one well crafted phrase functions to separate Michelle Bachmann from the crowd while simultaneously convincing the nation of her down to earth nature, all the while reassuring elite conservatives concerned at losing their first estate representation.

First and foremost, the structure of this phrase leaves something to be desired. Bachmann begins this declaration with "behind." Technically speaking, the idea of having a titanium spine behind the dress would mean it to be outside of the body, outside of the material of the dress itself. Colloquially though, behind often serves as an alternative to beneath. Most speakers of English couldn't tell you the last time they used beneath, but behind conveniently has a much higher frequency. With this single word choice, Bachmann has proven herself as the every man.

One might also find it curious that Bachmann would specifically mention that her spine is behind a dress. Before I begin, I should say that this point is not an indictment of all conservatives, but specifically evangelical or fundamentalist conservatives. For this class of conservatives, more so than the general public, has a definition as to how women should be attired; often influenced by if not taken directly from biblical codes. There are private, usually christian, universities where women may actually face disciplinary actions for wearing pants. Even in the military, there are rules in place that restrict females from gender neutral attire. For some conservatives, the idea of a woman wearing something that does not conform to their standards is not only an affront to them, but moreover to their God.

Concurrently, although it should have no place in politics, the general public judges a female candidate not only on issues, but on her fashion choices. Looking back on the 2008 election cycle; remember that the media was incensed because Hillary Clinton wore pantsuits. Even after the democratic primaries finished; the conversation switched to Sarah Palin. She presented herself in a far more palatable manner as she wore skirts and dresses. With that single move, she fell into what is expected of a woman and thereby sidestepped any questioning of her fashion sense. Michele Bachmann, following Palin's lead, avoided this pratfall by presenting herself in an acceptable way to the media.

Bachmann's use of a titanium spine could be compared to the famous quote from Elizabeth I at Tilbury. Both reference parts of the body, but each works as a code to a specific audience. In Elizabeth's full statement she said that she may have the body "but of a weak and feeble woman;" but"the heart and stomach of a king. Although, the queen's reference to the heart is straightforward, one could interpret her reference to the stomach as to say that she can "stomach" the troubles that come with being a ruler. Bachmann, in her case, is using the code of political spinelessness. In having a titanium spine, she's saying that she will not bend to the interests of others.

Admittedly few would think of a reference to an obscure speech by an English queen, especially in the United States. In my case, I would not know the reference unless I had taken a course on Elizabeth and her court. Without blowing too much smoke, only those with higher levels of education would recognize the connection. Therefore, the Elizabethan reference serves a second function, what some call a "dog whistle," to let the educated know that she is far more shrewd than she may appear.

Messaging like this is really what a candidate with such a questionable background like Michele Bachmann needs. Such simple but effective phrasing will allow her to show herself as calm and responsible to those who need to see a candidate of that nature. She is also able to show conservative circles that she knows their belief of where a woman's place is. Bachmann also speaks to both a more conservative and educated audience. Bachmann can use what she has built with this single phrase to position herself as a break from the perennial choices of Paul and Romney. Maybe more importantly, she can show the party that she, like Elizabeth, can weather the battle and come out the victor in the upcoming war.

Keep Your Distance

2011-08-06T17:10:00.000+02:00

I always dread when I either meet someone new, or when I see someone I haven't seen in a while here in France. If they're family or something like that, it's not nearly as stressful, but I always feel a bit awkward when meeting someone. Should we just shake hands? Is it proper to "faire la biz?" I have always found the easiest way to handle it, obviously, is to let the other person take the lead. Then you know exactly where you stand. I never thought about how complicated this is when meeting someone until I had to learn a system that doesn't always quite line up to my American notions.

First and foremost, I should admit that even in the US, I'm a bit unsure of what to do. Nine times out of ten, I'll nod my head and say "'s'up" and just leave it at that. If it's someone I'm trying to impress, of course there's a handshake, but well, you know, it's complicated. It's not that I'm shy, but more that I never know how to deal with people when I first meet them. I really think the best phrase I ever heard to describe how Americans generally interact from each other comes from Scott Adams: "I was raised in a country, where touching meant you're standing on the same carpet. Any closer, and you were engaged."

When I came to France, his family understood the nature of the relationship between my partner and I. The first people I met were family, so pretty much the rules worked out the same as with my family. The best way to handle it, is of course to let the other person decide the necessary proximity between you. After all, you're on the outside of this culture looking in. It's rude to act like you know the rules. If the other person extends a hand though, it does send a pretty clear message.

I was meeting my partner's aunts and uncles when we came back for the first time. The aunts and the female cousins who were there did the kiss thing, and husbands was a handshake, as with all the males there. Though one aunt and uncle weren't able to make it until later. So we talked about a lot of stuff, and the night continued swimmingly. So the uncle comes in first and makes the rounds, and it's a handshake of course. The aunt though, was as well.

So I was a little puzzled, but the night continued. We talked some more and eventually we went to see the aunt and uncle's new house they had built. So we were over there, and they started asking questions of course, and well, as it continued, I kept noticing that they were directing questions at me and using vous. It took me two or three questions to realize that they in fact were using the second person formal vous, and not referring to my partner and I, or to the three of us including my mother in law. By the end of the night, we were saying tu, and closed the night with the kissing thing, and that was that.

This also may be something I haven't really defined before, so stop me if I've already explained about how the kissing thing works here. When you kiss on both sides of the face, you actually don't kiss the person's cheek. You only make the kissing noise on both sides of the face. The only exception is if you are close enough to the person, usually blood or marriage, where that situation changes. You might kiss anywhere from 2 to 4 times. It varies by region, age, and affectation.

Now, when to vouvoyer. when to tutoyer, is hard enough to remember, but throw in that you have to keep using the same form consistently (Happily people are understanding if you make an effort, and are usually pretty cool about it.) and it's enough to have you sobbing between bites of baguette So the question becomes; how does know when one is cleared to start using the informal tu? The easiest way is to listen when they speak. If they use tu, you're golden. However, the clearest way to know for sure, will always be, much like Betty Everett sang all those years ago, it's in his kiss.

Now originally, the concept of two forms of reference comes from royalty. As we all remember, the queen's famous line, in the US at least, "We are not amused." Sometimes, we call this the royal we. Most languages of Indo-European descent have this remnant. For those who studied German, it's called duzen und siezen. English is one of the few languages that ditched the form. In fact, depending on where you are in the Spanish speaking world, the terms change. On the mainland, there's vosotros, but in South America, you need to say ustedes.

The one thing that always bothers me about this though, is that I remember my German teacher calling it "the respective form." Now, in reading this, it partially makes sense. This is the form you're supposed to use with someone older or a boss.   It's showing respect to the other person. If you are really annoyed with someone, you show it by using the tu form if you don't know them well. People will be horrified if you are a native speaker of French and don't use vous. Using tu with a stranger is kind of like saying, "I have no respect for you."

Vous though,can be taken much more strongly. Vous implies not only that you don't know the person, and therefore you're forced to give them standard politeness, but furthermore you have no interest of making his or her acquaintance.

So in France, social distance is something hugely important. If you're in douby, let the other person decide where you are to be kept. It's safer for all concerned.    And remember, no matter what your teachers and professors may tell you, tu and vous function less about respect, but more the ability to push someone away with a single word.

So who am I translating this for...?

2011-07-30T17:50:00.000+02:00

Wednesday was absolutely hectic! My mother-in-law was leaving for a trip in the morning, and then in the afternoon we had to go up to Rennes to submit the paperwork for our new apartment. That meant we had to take showers and be out of the house by about 10:15 at the latest. Now this doesn't sound like some feat for most people, but well, I have severe issues with having motivation some days. Seriously, nothing is ever as simple as it appears to be.

But well, we get my mother-in-law set to go, and we head out in the car to Rennes. I took the iPod with me because even though we'd talk the whole way up, I like to have music. So we talked about nothing important and everything necessary at the same time. We finally get to Rennes, and that's when we have to whip out the map to get the right way around.

We park the car and agree that after he's submitted the paperwork, I'll just meet him. Of course, where is the logical question. I can't drive, and I have no way to get around the city. Plus we didn't know how long it was going to take. So looking around for a second, I tell him I'll meet him in front of the bar down on the corner. He says that he really doesn't want to have to go in, and I said, "no problem. I'll check outside every now and again." So he goes into the agency and I head back on what I think is the street, which it wasn't. So whatever. I find the right road and I'm on my merry way.

Now as I'm walking back, I start thinking about what I know of French bars and brasseries. They're never terribly nice affairs. Most always have this gritty feeling to me. They may be in the most chic sections of town possible, but they always smell of cigarettes, coffee, and if the weather's warm enough, sweat. So there I am thinking about all this and realizing that I really don't want to go in there myself now, but as I'm walking, I notice a place just across the road. The sign above it even has my favorite word in French; patisserie! So I walk across the street and they have this cute little patio area, so I have to go in!

I order a coffee and a croissant, grab a paper and sit down. I am just reading through the articles, of course the paper is about a week old, but like I really read the paper enough to know otherwise, and am slowly drinking my coffee. (This is one of the awesome things about places like this. If you bought something, you've pretty much paid for your spot for a good 3 hours minimum.)

As I said, I'm reading through the articles, though as I progress I start to notice how slow I seem to be going. I looked at my watch and realized that I had spent about 20 minutes reading the same three paragraphs in this article about the Tour de France. I mean, I've been here almost 2 years now. This didn't make sense!

So, unfazed, I continued my search for the problem. I went back to reading, a little more self-aware this time. I read over the text again to see whats holding me up. No, I know all the words. The sentence structure isn't anymore complex than normal. I keep trying to fire off reasons why I might be so slow at this. As I'm re-reading the same three paragraphs for the third time, I suddenly figure out what the problem is. It was something I had always done so I hadn't even thought about it until that very second. I actually had to chuckle to myself when I came to the realization that whenever I read something I would first read the French and then translate it into English before I comprehended what was actually on the page!

When I first came to France and could barely understand what anyone was saying, due to the fact that I had never really spoken much French before, in addition to being baffled by subjunctives, I used to read everything I could. If there was a sign, I would try and think how to translate it into English. I could tell you what every sign between Route Nationale 24 and Route Nationale 10 meant. I figured if I could translate what everything said into English, then I'd make the connections and it would all come together.

I'll run you through a quick scenario. Whenever we go to Rennes, there's a sign that says "Guer: Porte du Morbihan." (Guer is a small city right as you enter into the department of Morbihan [56] in this case coming from Ile et Vilaine [35] where Rennes is located.) If one were to translate it directly, it would simply be "Guer: door of Morbihan." However, that doesn't flow as smoothly as it could in English. So one starts to think about what "porte" really means in French. Well, "porte" can mean door, but as I figured out when passing the signs on the Rocades and the Rennes soccer stadium, it can also mean gate. So now we have a better understanding of it being a gate, but well, that's still a little strange. In English, usually a gate doesn't take of, it tends to take to. So we correct in our mind to "Guer: Gate to Morbihan." We can do better than that though.

The meaning of gate in this case is a figurative gate, not an actual locking door that closes and makes entry impossible. So in this figurative sense, it could be said that the city of Guer was welcoming one to the department. Therefore, it would have to be something relating to a gate, but less imposing. So what is there in English that would be representing a figurative boundary between two places, but in a welcoming sense? Of course, a gateway!

I'm a sucker for a language mystery, so while I found all this absolutely intriguing and very much interesting, it starts to wear other people out, the more often you ask for translations. You start to internalize this process, and it becomes second nature. You don't even realize that you're turning "desormais" into henceforth/from now on/now as the situation calls for before you actually comprehend what you've read.

So I started reading the article without translating. I still got all the sense of the article and I probably got through 3 or 4 more in the time I had spent on the first. I was pretty impressed, but decided I should check if Mathieu was there. He was, and not looking too happy, so I paid quick, and got out of there. It turns out we needed more paperwork... So we went back home, drove another hour back, gave them the paperwork, and then had some fun in Rennes. We were so exhausted at the end we just came home and had Mc Donalds.

I've learned my lesson now, and I hope this serves as a cautionary tale. The next time you're reading an article in a foreign language , check to see how you're going about it. It may be time to ask yourself: Who exactly are you translating for?

the sliding scale of connotation

2011-07-25T18:17:00.000+02:00

I think one of the most fascinating things I've noticed in French, that exists in every language but one never notices in one they've spoken all there lives because that's just how it is, is the sliding scale of word strength. For me, never was this more apparent than having a conversation with a friend of my mother-in-law's at the foot of the stairs. We were talking about something, and she mentioned that it was "carrément bien." The conversation continued, but while we were talking, the hamster got on his wheel.

I had thought back to other conversations I had previously with not only her among other friends, but also with other members of my family. There seemed to be a class of words, all meaning various degrees of "really" that could be used almost interchangeably with a slight change in meaning. I am sure there's a technical term for this among Francophone scholars, but I liken it to what I jokingly referred to with my brother once as the sliding scale of sexuality. This, however; we'll call the sliding scale of connotation.

So this is by no means an exhaustive list, and if you can think of others in French I would love to hear them, but this lies in the case of really. Now in some ways, this really functions exactly the same as the English adverb. Crazy as it might sound, you take two languages as inextricably intertwined as English and French, and wow! --They're related! Quel coincidence! So the list that I came up with in my head was: "franchement," "carrément," "vraiment," and "vachement." Each has the core idea of truth, but each carries a slightly different tone of connotation.

When one sees the word "franche" in French, it tends to be most directly translated as "frank." For a variety of reasons, I find this far more amusing than I have any right to. First and foremost though, there is the element of historical assumption in all this. As I said, this is assumption on my part, but the word "frank" is assumed to descend from the Old French word "franc" which in turn finds earlier roots in the Latin word "francus," meaning "free." Logically, we can make the leap that one who is free would be able to say things in a frank manner. Therefore, if something is described as "franchement" it can be inferred that the person is also able to speak candidly, openly, or any other variant that we have in English.

Another interesting side point: France itself or parts of France have been given variants on the nomenclature of "frank" and "franche." Of course, that varies by country of origin. For example, in most Germanic languages, the name of France often incorporates some variant on "free kingdom." In German, it is known as "Frankreich," Dutch only varies the spelling and pronunciation slightly with "Frankrijk," and Norwegian about the same with "Frankrike." Even languages like Welsh use some form of the original "franc" in its word for the country.

Also, there is a region located in the east of France known as "Franche-Comté" which translates to "Free County." It was originally a free country of Burgundy, and changed hands numerous times being taken by France first from the Burgundian Dukes, then taken by Austria, then Spain, and Finally returning to French control with the Treary of Nijmegen in 1678. It is comprised of four provinces (Jura, Doubs, Haute-Saône, and Territoire de Belfort) and has two dialects of spoken French (Langue d'Oïl and Arpitan) both falling under the Franco-Provençal sub group of the larger Romance family.

Getting back to the bloody point (don't tempt me because I could easily blow a load over sub-languages in France. I'm in freaking Brittany for pete's sake!) carrément, in my opinion, seems to be the most devoted to truth, I most often find myself translating it as bluntly. However, one of my favorite ways to look at it is as "the unvarnished truth." If something is described as "carrément," there are neither two schools of thought nor two ways to slice it.

The root word "carré" is most often used when discussing anything square. For example, in math when you want to say square root, it's simply said "carré." When you're looking for an apartment, all the sizes will be described in metre carré instead of square feet. Funny enough, a person can also be described as carré. It's kind of like saying someone is big boned in English, but almost always if not always refers to a male.

A word I've had some difficulty differentiating is carreau. Carreau also refers to square things, but in this case, they are more tangible. Floor tiles would be described as carreaux, the plural form of carreau, as well as the suit of diamonds in a card game. However, it should also be noted that if you live in France, the most dreaded use of carreaux will be in "faire les carreaux." This literally means to wash the windows, but that's where the similarity stops. If it were an Olympic sport, France would be a force to be reckoned with. Americans break out the Windex and we're good, but the French are going old school with a squeegee. Conveniently, you'll learn the all important phrase combination of "Putain, ça m'enerve!" while doing it and the even more important "faites chier!" if it rains the following week.

Vraiment, you would assume, is the most straightforward of the bunch, but such is not the case. In general, vraiment implies a sense of truth or actuality. The French word for true is baked right in there, after all. However; it also most commonly works out to the intensifier really. This form is the most pure sense of reality of the group. I know it's strange to say one word implies the truth but has less to do with reality, but it's not always the case that truth and reality go hand in hand.

Now for my personal favorite of the bunch (purely for its level of inexplicability); vachement! Translated literally, this means "cowlike." I kid you not; "cowlike." For those of you who have studied French, you're probably familiar with the phrase "Oh, la vache!" This phrase implies that something is incredible. (I am sure that others out there have probably seen the Monty Python Movie and the famous quote "Faites chier la vache." I'll let you translate that gem on your own. I have no idea why something would relate to a cow as wonderful, but then again, I'm only two-thirds French and pretty far removed at that.

Now there are all sorts of intersecting ideas here, and I'm sure there are other words that come in here too. As I said, these are the impressions that I have gotten. I am by no means an actual scholar of French further than I am learning as I go. Mais pour moi, je vais vachement bien, et j'espère qu'on parlerait très bientôt! à plus tard!

So wow...

2011-07-24T18:50:00.000+02:00

Did something ever just get completely away from you...like for a really long time? So I'll say that's what happened here. I'll try and be more faithful about posting. I find it incredible that people actually joined after I stopped posting, so well, I'll try and be less disappointing in that respect. A lot's happened, and I think a lot more will be happening.

So I'm no longer in Loir-et-Cher. We've moved since to Morbihan, and have been here for a while. A lot's happened and I don't care to explain it all, although I have more post ideas now, and a much better grasp of how the French language works, but it's important to remember this is all for fun. I'd love to know if any of your Francophones think this is an hilarious little blemish to your language. Allez, devinez!

I should be moving to Rennes coming up here in a few months. My partner has decided to return to medical school, as it's impossible for him to do what he really wants without it. So we'll see how that all goes! Expect more in the future, and maybe even some ridiculous attempts at more explanations of French things! So we continue. For those who are knew, bienvenue, or Degemer Mat, whichever you prefer!

Joyeuse Pâques!

2010-04-04T23:27:00.000+02:00

So today I had an incredible meal at my brother in law's parents. Seriously, incredible eating. As with all French meals, there were multiple courses. First there was the aperitif. We had champagne and batonette, feuilletée wrapped sausages and empanadas. Pretty good way to start out if I don't say so myself. Then we had the pâte au Pâques. To explain, because this has to be explained, it is similar to a pâte feuilletée surrounding more farce, sausage I think, surrounding an egg. It's cut up so that all pieces have a little of everything. For the main plate there was a vegetable quiche, rabbit stuffed turkey breast, and mousseline de carrot.

Mousseline is this really velvety puree that's strained extra fine and is without lumps. I can't explain how wonderful this is, so you will just have to believe me. It's good with carrots, but I could imagine it to be Jesus when done with potatoes. Apparently, you can make a mousseline with a lot of different things. I was looking up some more stuff about it, and someone was talking about a mousseline de Coquille St. Jacques (scallops,) So it's a mad world. We'll just leave it at that.

So after that there was cheese. There was a Corsican cheese, which was damn near incredible, manchego, which is always incredible, and goat cheese, which I could do without myself. Ah well, 2 out of 3 ain't bad. But yeah, there's something about good quality cheese with bread that's just well, amazing. So yeah, we move along.

Now dessert was the kicker. There were two finger desserts. there was one that was pieces of pâte à choux covered with chocolate, sliced toasted almonds, and orange zest. It was very good, and very light. It was really perfect after a meal like the one we had. The other, was even lighter, if that's possible. They were like what we Americans would call cream puffs (profiteroles for those more brave) but they weren't filled with that god awful pudding, neither ice cream nor whipped cream. I desperately need to learn how to make the cream they were filled with, which is called Creme St. Honore. (Honoratus)

Now this is kind of an interesting story. The reason why it's called Creme St. Honore is to honor the Saint, obviously, but more than that, St. Honore is the patron saint of bakers and pastry chefs. I found this incredibly amusing, but at the same time, it felt a little like St. Prada, our lady of accessories.

Creme St. Honore is a pastry cream, so something like Creme Anglaise, that is mixed with stiffly beaten egg whites. It ends up something like an incredibly light, uncooked meringue. It's incredible. Seriously, look it up and make it. Just eat it out of the bowl. Totally good enough to do just that.

Of course, would it be Easter without an Easter Egg hunt? So my youngest niece, being 6, searched around the jardin for the eggs. She found them all, and spoiled her appetite. She's little, it's what kids do. She ate some, and of course had room for dessert, but she didn't eat much of the meal. All told, we spent about 6 hours there. We talked a lot, and had a great time.

I should have some new stuff as we will be going on a week long trip to Tours. I will have pictures most likely, as well as some videos up on youtube. So hopefully you'll find something to your liking. I am very excited about it. The first meal in Tours? You guessed it: Quick!

Happy Easter to all, and I hope you celebrated to the best of your ability. (For some, that means one Irish Car Bomb for each of the 12 apostles. If you can walk after John, Peter and Paul are on the house!)

-aine

2010-03-30T13:43:00.000+02:00

My partner and I were in the supermarket the other day and we were looking at buying some charcuterie for the week. We always buy a fair amount of chorizo, as I could probably live off the stuff. So we were talking about how much we would need, and we decided on about 12 slices. So when he was speaking to the charcutier, may partner said "une douzaine." So of course, this directly translated in my mind. It was too similar to a dozen to not make the connection.

Now a week later or so, we were with my sister in law. She was buying something and we were talking about how many we would need. So we were thinking about how many people we were buying for, all that, and eventually we decided on about 10. So when she's speaking with the woman at the counter, she uses the phrase "une dizaine." After realizing she had not in fact said "douzaine," my little American mind was blown.

Apparently this is something rather common in France though. The "-aine" ending can be put on just about any number of things. So you could have about 20 of something, resulting in French to be described as, "une vingtaine." You can do the same with any number in the tens, except once they start to get too high. However, once you're back in the hundreds place, you can do it again. Let's not go crazy with this theory though.

That's all on this end for now, but I should be back with some interesting information on filming in France. I'm going to be in a movie here! I have lines to learn and all that kind of stuff. I will try and post a link when/if it's available.

Oh, that's Alsace!

2010-03-24T00:20:00.000+01:00

Pauline Lefebre on the Elections!

If you go to about 18:00 into La Partie 2 you will understand. Well, really, if you heard about the French elections that happened on Sunday, it was a pretty thorough rout of the UMP (Union Mouvement Populare), and a pretty solid win for la PS (Parti Socialiste). The clearest victory was in Poitou-Charentes for Ségolène Royal. She took 61 percent of the vote. Overall, the popular vote finished the second round with 49 percent for the PS and and 35 percent for the UMP. The other party that was involved in the elections had a pretty miserable showing, but for them, 16 percent was pretty impressive. They are known as the Front National.

French elections are quite a bit different from American elections, especially in that a party is outright calling itself socialist. They also vote twice and by popular vote. The first vote is to determine who makes it to the second vote. So in the first term there was the UMP, PS, Front National, MODEM (Mouvement démocrate), Front Gauche, and Europe écologie. Out of these different possibilities, only the first three continued through. So in the second election, you could only choose from between the UMP, PS, and FN.

The UMP is the main conservative party in France. I should really say the more conservative party because even some of the stuff they believe in wouldn't fly in America. They are what we could consider center right, to right. They are also the party of the current president, Nicolas Sarkozy. For most of the French people I know, he is basically George Bush, Jr. with a brain. There have been a lot of caricatures of him, much like Bush and really any world leader, but lately there have been a lot of Petit Nicolas references. One thing that may really be none of my business to also mention is that shortly after his campaign he divorced his wife, and married Italian model turned French chanteuse Carla Bruni shortly thereafter. Carla was his third wife. Did I mention he ran on a family values platform?

The PS is the main left party in France. They are more of what we would call Progressives in the US. The best known is, of course, Ségolène Royal. She ran for president against Sarkozy and did fairly well. Being a Progressive, this is more of how I see my self and how I would vote in France.

There are a variety of other parties here. The Front National is the extreme right party here. It's headed by Jean-Marie Le Pen and his daughter Marine Le Pen. It's a pretty nationalist outfit. They want to take things to extremes. The MODEM party is the center party, but probably what we would consider center left. Front Gauche would never do well in the US. They are beyond Progressives. Europe écologie is similar to the Green party in Germany. I would say the Green party in the US, but they accomplish nothing, especially if they keep putting Nader on the ticket.

I am generally pleased with the outcomes. Lets see where it takes us.

St. Patrick's Day

2010-03-18T20:00:00.000+01:00

I will already tell you, there was no big thing for St. Patrick's Day here. No hangover, no green beer, and that would be unthinkable to do to wine. I also don't think you'd really want to drink naturally green wine. On the positive side, no pinching and no blatant expositions of Irishness. No decorations either though, which was nice. My mother tends to take the holidays a bit overboard. It's reassuring though. Should you ever have a psychotic break, you always know what month it is.

So what I did find amusing is that even though St. Patrick's Day isn't "observed" in the US, they do have saint's Days. In fact, there are lots of saint's days in France. For example, my name although there is no saint who directly bears my name, my name descends from St. Francis of Assisi. So my saint's day is October 4. I am not sure how exactly it's determined though, or if you can choose. That may be something better left to a priest. (It also may be St. Peter if you go off the name which I took when I was confirmed. My mother is catholic and it made her happy, so I did it.) So therefore, you could possibly have people calling you up on your saint's day and wishing you a happy saint's day.

More likely than not though, it's meaningless. People may comment on it, but you don't really get presents. It's more of a trivia thing. I asked my boyfriend when his was, he knew immediately. It's like how we have horoscopes in the US (which France also has) or blood types in Japan. It's not something commonly known or discussed, so don't be surprised if you ask someone and they have no idea when it is.

It's funny though, if you ever get your hair cut in France, you may see a pile of them sitting on the counter where you get it done. Often they are paired with cologne/perfume samples. It's something more for the novelty of having than something to take seriously of course. I have never met anyone who took them seriously or really cared about them though. More of a trivia thing, and it's more common for the older generation to know, or even say something about it to the younger generations.

Just something I thought about today. So Happy Saint Patrick's Day. Who wants to go run some snakes out of some countries?