For Today

I will not admit that I am a bit homesick because I am living in Paris. It is just so freaking cool here. Eiffel Tower, wine flowing through the streets, the most beautiful language in the world… what is there to miss around this time of the year?

- marshmallows (necessary for hot chocolate and those yummy corn flake wreaths).
- peanut butter and Hershey's kisses. Peanut butter blossoms, my favorite cookie.
- crackling fires
- board games and other unusual happenings with dearest friends
- snowflakes
- reading on the couch in the company of pets
- marathon prep for holiday meals
- overeating every day from Thanksgiving to Christmas
- a person whose name starts with a J
- my family
- belonging

Born to Teach? Probably Not.

I have been having more betterish/better days at school lately than bad ones. Kids can be cool. Like the one that asked me if I go back to Chicago everyday after I am finished with school. That's cute.

But still at least once a week, I am completely wiped out and frustrated when things don't go my way. And sometimes I feel like a bad person. Today, I made a kid cry. Really, it wasn't my fault. He was being bratty all class. I told him to cut it out, and he didn't. I brought him to stand in front of the class, and he still didn't stop. So I put him in the hallway, where he cried. He was just bugging me, and I was stick of reprimanding him. But really, I had no idea that standing in the hallway was so traumatizing. If I had known, I wouldn't have put him there.

The kids have their days, just as I have my days. Sometimes our good and bad days match up in terrible ways, but sometimes, it's pretty okay.

But I know this isn't my passion, and I was reminded of this when a friend emailed me a story to look over. As I read the article, then read it again many times and wrote comments, I missed writing so much. Sure I write this blog, in my journal, posts for a website. But this isn't the kind of writing I get the most out of. It's not the kind where you are hunched over your computer perfecting a sentence word by word, delete, retype, think, think, think, what am I trying to say, and why does it matter? Hours of this is just as exhausting as hours of teaching, but at the end, I feel more accomplished in one than with the other.

I am inspired to start writing more, and with the heaps of free time I have on my hands, I'm going to do it. Maybe the warm and fuzzy feeling I get will trickle over into my teaching, thus making me a better teacher.

sorry :-(

Have you been looking for updates? Sorry, I haven't been giving any. I moved a week ago, and my new place doesn't have internet. This has been an excellent lesson in how I waste my time and in how truly necessary 24/7 internet access really is(n't). But I am ready for this lesson to be over.

Leaving the cozy comfort of my home to seek out free crappy wifi or to purchase decent wifi is not fun. Neither is working on a French computer at school, because those machines are soooo slow. Also, someone switched all the keys on those computers, because they are not where they should be.

So. We have received our router in the mail, which is a big big step. But now we are awaiting for the password for our network. The other roommates have been trying to secure an internet connection in the apartment for THREE MONTHS. So this almost-here-internet is a bigger deal for them than it is for me. Still, this past week has felt like three months. Internet, please come soon.

Condé Nast in the kitchen

Tonight is a Thanksgiving potluck at my new apartment, but I didn't feel like trekking all the way to the uncessarily over-priced American foods store. I've already paid them my $10 in Libby's Pumpkin and PET evaporated milk, and I don't feel like doing that again.

So I was thinking cheesecake for tonight. A simple cheesecake. Because I as much as I love to experiment, most of the time it doesn't go well (ask Jake about the Guiness cupcakes. Disgusting, which was all my fault). And when I must translate measurements and temperatures to metric… uh… forget about it. I need easy.

Back when I was a young student still in college, I learned about epicurious.com in one of my journalism classes. This is a website that pools together all or most of the recipes published in Condé Nast magazines.

It is there I found this yummy recipe for Deep Dark Chocolate Cheesecake. I actually don't know yet if it's going to turn out. It's still in the oven. But the uncooked batter was scrumptious. Just don't tell anyone I didn't use Scharffen brand, which the recipe INSISTS upon. I will take a picture and add soon.

Little Successes

When you start learning a language, it's easy to see improvement. It's a very steep learning curve, in which is there no way to go but up. Once you get to a certain point, the curve flattens dramatically. I know my French is better than it's ever been. But I feel I've hit that learning flatline. Eeking closer to fluency is a slower process now, with very little evidence to show if I'm getting there or not.

Last night, I watched a movie with my host family. Now I've probably watched more French movies that any non-French person I know. I always, always miss something. There's slang, multiple story lines to keep straight, weird French names to remember, cultural references, and so on. And once I miss some minor yet important detail, it's hard to force myself to concentrate.

Last night, I decided to focus very very hard so as not to miss anything. And I was able to follow it all the whole way through. I felt very content at the closing credits, becauce I think this is the first time I have competely understood an entire French film. It's nice to be able to see proof that I'm getting better at this.

Mid-November Goals

In the theme of change, I am moving in less than a week. I think it's also time to set some new goals for myself. I arrived with a few, but I've accomplished them. So time for some more:

1. Be nicer to my family
2. Budget wisely so I can blow all my money on my European vacation in February.
3. Go to one Paris museum every week. Or maybe every other week. Just more museums in general because Paris has a ton.

Thief

I was riding the train home from Paris. The guy across from me was experiencing varying levels of triumph and defeat on his PlayStation Portable. At one stop, I noticed a kid shuffling slowly down the aisle. I wondered why he was walking so slowly.

Then he ripped the guy's Playstation from his hands and dashed out the door. The guy chased after him, but the thief had surprise as his advantage. He was too far gone and only a minute later, the Playstation-less guy returned to his seat on the train. And that was that.

This whole 10-second event ruined my day. I've had things stolen from me before, but never from my hands. I would like to trust that people are good. I hate to admit that people so selfish and conscienceless exist in this world. But they do exist. I just saw one. That's just sucky. I hate you thief.

Etiquette at a Reading

I saw David Sedaris read his work last night. It was on the tiny second floor of a popular English language bookshop in Paris. I will spare you the annoyance of gushing about how funny, and down-to-earth, and insightful he was, even though that's all true. Instead, I dedicate this post to things that really super duper annoyed me, none of which concerned the author himself.

1. People who handed him 3+ books to sign. I think even two books is pushing it. He is probably sick of signing books, especially after just finishing a 33-city tour. So just give the guy one book and get on with it. That huge stack, one for yourself (Laurel, like Lauren, but with an "L"), one for your mom (Kirsten), one for your stepson (would you mind adding something like "to a fellow writer, because he wants to be a writer too") and another for your best friend… ok no. There are plenty of other people here and you are wasting everyone else's time by being greedy.

2. People who get really good seats but don't deserve them. I was within spitting distance of David Sedaris, and two people sitting by me hadn't read any of his books. (They intended to though. Because all their friends said he was great!) People who arrive the earliest get the best seats, I know. But I am sure there were many latecomers who deserved more to sit there, people who actually appreciated the author because they had taken the time to appreciate him by reading his work.

3. People who do not care to respect the author's wishes because they are more important than said author, obviously. David Sedaris requested that people refrain from taking photos. They're distracting when he's trying to read. The woman behind me took a photo. I wouldn't have known if she hadn't approached David Sedaris afterward and apologized, but "it's for my stepson." Huh? How does that make it okay that you blatantly ignored his request? That just makes it more rude. Also, I couldn't help but entertaining the idea that her stepson doesn't really care if he has a blurry photo of David Sedaris. So I will go on to assume that the photo was a waste.

Long Day in Line

Today I tried to make an appointment to apply for my residency card. I braced myself for it not going well. It did not. I went to one place, where I was told to go to another place, where I waited for three hours to be told to go back to the first place. Went back, and it was the correct place, yet I didn't have any of the documents I needed. So It was a wasted day.

The whole process was completely ridiculous and genuinely French. Doing anything of importance here requires 1. waiting in line, 2. being sent elsewhere, and 3. heaps of paperwork. If you're not from France, it's exponentially more difficult. I almost feel guilty for saying so, but this is a xenophobic country. It's not a stereotype. France chokes at the thought of outsiders coming in. So they purposefully make it hard for the non-french.

Even though today was miserable, I wasn't too bothered. France is France, with its gorgeous architecture, rich history, beautiful language. Oh, and also its sucky bureaucracy. It's part of the package. I'm not going to appreciate it, but I'll stomach it.

Cover Band

Last night I accompanied my host sister to see her work colleague's band play. I get kind of ick when I have to hang out with a room-full of unfamiliar faces. But I had nothing else to do, so no good excuse not to go.

I assumed this supposed cover band would play on the side while people chatted and drank 33cl beers. However, in this typical Parisian bar (read: tiny), the 12-man brass band overpowered any hopes of conversation. I never expected to hear renditions of "Toxic" and "Gangsta's Paradise" with so much heart and soul. While the audience started dancing salsa, there was a lot of emptying of spit valves on the makeshift stage. It was hot, and dancey, and fun.

The worst part of the evening was when we missed the last train home. So we had to call home and have my host dad come pick us up. It was really cold and awkward to stand by a train station for 20 minutes at 1:30 a.m.. But we eventually arrived home, safe and sound.

Ignorant

Does anyone remember when I mused about not knowing who Jean Nouvel was? Well. I need to give myself a big fat kick in the shins. Because he is a big freaking deal. He's a world-famous French architect who has designed hundreds of stunning buildings and recently won the Pritzker Prize. Opera houses, apartment buildings, museums, offices, restaurants… he has done them all, and they're always, let's be cliché here, breathtaking.

When I mentioned I was going to his book release, people were really impressed and expressed a tad bit of jealously. My host sister wondered if it would be totally ridculous to bring her portfolio with me (she just graduated from architecture school). My future roommate mentioned that she is doing her second internship in the Jean Nouvel office, but I'm not sure if she's met him before. This was actually a public event, and anyone was welcome. But I was the only one I knew that went.

His book was awesome, two volumes of photography highlighting all his work, with clever captions. It was also €500, so I didn't purchase it. And after I got there and snapped a few blurry photos, I really felt I should have him sign something. But I didn't bring a book. And I didn't want to buy something small and meaningless there. So I whipped out my Paris Moleskine and flipped to the back cover.

When it was finally my turn, I handed him my notebook. It's not a book, I told him, but this is where I keep all things France, all my thoughts and ideas. I said something about really liking the Lyon Opera house. He signed his name, for some reason wrote the date as 30/08/08, and then apologized for messing it up.

Now I am really excited about adding his buildings to my must-see list. And every time I see one, I will open my notebook. 'Look! Look!' I can tell anyone who is willing to listen. 'The same hand signed this notebook AND designed this building!'

Interview

I'm trying to think back on any job interviews I've had, and nothing memorable sticks out. Typically nervousness isn't an issue, when I've got a resume and a bit of self-confidece to fall back on.

But being interviewed as a potential roommate? This almost makes me ill. I saw an apartment last week that I loved. The people, location, price, apartment, all were great. But in order for this to work out, I had to pass the interview.

When competing for a job, you can always tell yourself that maybe someone had more experience, or knew someone who knew someone. There are all these factors that you can't control. But when competing for a roommate position, it's entirely personal. If they don't pick you, it's because they didn't like you. They did not like the person you are. When you think you're a good fit, this is pretty tough to stomach.

I got "called back" for a second interview last night for this apartment. I was so nervous. I was taking deep breaths and trying to make myself focus. Focus on being myself, I guess.

But I made the cut. I was the top pick. I don't know how many emails they sifted through or how many people they interviewed, but it felt good to be The One. I don't move in for another month, but I'm okay with that. This housing search has been stressful and time consuming. I'm glad to finally remove Craigslist from my homepage and delete my profile on all those housing sites. I'm excited to move to Paris!

Photos

Here's a sampling of some of my photographs thus far.

Sci-Fi Film

The initial excitement of being in France has worn off, and now I am starting to be grumpy pants when things don't go my way (which is often). Thankfully I had an unexpected distraction this weekend: shooting a sci-fi movie.

A friend was in Paris to help two friends shoot the film. These three persons made up the majority of cast and camera crew. Other characters were played by a drunk girl we met at the Eiffel Tower and someone who had replied to a Craigslist ad. A majority of the props were purchased from the dollar store. These included glow-in-the dark stars (weapons), wigs (for character changes), and a singing airplane toy (spaceship), to name a few. It was probably everything you would expect a low-budget sci-fi movie to be.

I never really caught on to the plot, but I did catch that it took place in the future after earth had been annihilated, there was Planet Tolerance, a mission to save something-or-other, a love triangle, and murder.

My contribution to the film was standing by bags to make sure no one stole equipment. I also waved glowsticks in front of the camera to create a space-like scene and covered a table in tin foil to set the Control Center scene. I felt mildly useful, and even got a free McDonald's lunch as a thank you for all my hard work.


The Filmakers.


The "Control Center."

Sample Post

This is the sample I submitted for the mentioned-below internship. Not my masterpiece, but whatevs.


"Barack Obama, Change & Progress"
Dorothy's Gallery

Bastille is unlikely destination for the marriage of art of politics, but if you turn down the right street, you'll find it. Dorothy's Gallery, 27 rue Keller, boasts a well-lit, blank canvas for its current exhibition, "Barack Obama, Change & Progress." The dozen or so pieces, created by both American and French artists, represent interpretations of what the Democratic candidate has brought to the American election, and what the artists hope he will have opportunity to bring to the United States. Several mediums are present. Some, such as the shadow box that lights an image of Obama's head, put his face front and center. Other pieces, such as the tiny Obama silhouette with a wooden leg, challenge more reflection from viewers. All of it is patriotic, reds, whites and blues so bright, you almost forget that one of the most important colors of the exhibition is black.

Will Write for Free

I applied for an internship at GoGoParis. They already filled the position, but the editor in chief really liked my resume. She said they couldn't offer me anything because the budget is so tight, but they'd happily take me on as an unpaid writer. I said absolutely.

Maybe I already did my time. I've had how many unpaid internships? Enough to cram a resume full. But did anyone go to journalism school to become rich? "Rich" and "journalism" don't belong in the same sentence. That's, like, grammatically incorrect, or something.

The reason I'm doing this teaching thing is because it came with a salary. It's not a lot, but it's enough to live on. And it leaves me extra time to do stuff I like. I like writing. I like poking around, learning something I would never have been interested in otherwise.

My first assignment is to cover the release of Jean Nouvel's new book, which spans his complete work of architecture. Who's Jean Nouvel? I dunno. But I will find out and write about it and not get paid for it. Happily.

Mean Landlady

The search for an apartment has begun. Or shall I say the miserable, disheartening and exhausting search for an apartment has begun.

Today I went to see a room rented out by this lady. Based on my keen journalistic sense (or because I saw a saint-like image in stained glass), I deducted that the building was at one time a priory. This would explain the many rooms with shared bathroom/toilet/kitchen and sink-in-room situation.

Anyway, the room was sweet. Hardwood floors and a huge Parisian window with lots of light. Awesome location very close to central Paris. The only uncool thing? This woman who owned the building was absolutely wretched.

She insulted my French constantly, and at first I wasn't sure why. Then I decided it was because she was hard of hearing and refused to admit it. While she was putzing around being old, mean and deaf, I snuck into the kitchen and chatted with a girl who lives there. I was able to get some good information. "She's strict," and "she likes money."

Okay forget it. I am not living under the iron fist of a greedy old French lady who is mean to me. I'm an adult, and I make my own decisions. Decisions such as… I will not live there.

And so. The search continues.

What the *&#$^?

I had my first Freak-out France moment today. Where I got all mad at France while peering through my American-colored glasses. It happened in the computer lab at one of my schools.

I spent about an hour last night preparing a Halloween wordsearch. Lots of clipart and stuff. Not hard work, just time consuming. Then saved both a pdf and word document onto my jump drive, with the intention of printing it off at school today.

Problems: Finding the someone to give me the key to the computer lab. Five minutes later, finding him again for computer's login information. Windows98 operating system. Locating jump drive on computer. Already existing hatred for PC computers worsening because this one is in French. Discovering several minutes later from fellow teacher that jump drives do not work. Last night's work wasted. Making new Halloween wordsearch. Internets slow. Keys on french keyboard all in weird places. Typing things such as 'It,s Hqlloween." Missing lunch.

The real problem is I'm spoiled. I own a MacBook Pro (well my credit card company owns about half). Those ancient days before wifi are kinda fuzzy. I guess it's not really fair to expect any primary school to have a magnificent computer lab. I'm lucky they have one at all. With a color printer, nonetheless.

Slice of Life

I was at a local grocery the other day, a small one with two checkout aisles. One cashier was working.

A mother came in with a stroller. She pointed out to the cashier that the stroller's bottom rack was already heavy with groceries. The woman was just grabbing something quick, and didn't want the cashier to charge her for the stuff on the bottom.

"Leave your baby up here with me," said the cashier. "I'll watch her." And so the mom did just that. She left the baby in the care of the grocery store cashier and disappeared into the store. I was gone before she finished shopping. But I'm sure the baby was perfectly safe.

Teaching; Reflections

I have eight classes, 20+ kids in each, 45 minutes every class period. After two days, I have seen all my students. I have introduced myself as Miss Betsy in front of them all, instructed them to write their names in BIG letters on a teepee-folded piece of paper, and directed the repetition of "Ello my nam iz…" more times than can possibly be counted. I will give rewards to those who keep their name cards the whole year, because I cannot possibly remember all the Margauxs and Axels and Maximes (boy's name) and Anaïses.

The key for my own success and sanity will be preparedness. For each class, I know I need to have 12 activities, ready-to-go to pull from my pocket, even if we only hit nine of them. Kids will take advantage of 10 empty seconds by chatting or flicking each other with their rulers. As soon as you turn to tell someone to shut his mouth, everyone's concentration is lost.

I also worry about gaining the respect of the teachers at my schools. I'm younger, and have officially been teaching for… mmm… two days. I don't have a closet-full of tried and true teaching methods, so I'll have to develop them. I hope the other teachers don't snicker at me along the way.

So here's to 9 months of getting back to the basics of my native tongue, drawing and photocopying so many worksheets I begin to dream about them, and making both kids and adults respect Miss Betsy.