Ah, Technology. Oh, French.

Last Sunday I noticed a strange crackling noise coming from the area near the laptop, and when I investigated I noticed that the power cord had twisted and frayed right at the point where it connected to the computer. When I attempted to twist it back to normal, it sparked and smoked a little. So I disconnected the power cord and left a message on my brother's phone, telling him to order another one for me, stat. Amazing how attached one can get to technology. I have been without a calendar, very near without media (thank goodness for the iPod), without liberal Internet access, and have no way to add pictures to this blog. It has been torture, no lies. What to do, what to do? I can't access my Westminster email from these stupid French computers, the keyboards are all weird, and I can't watch movies (I'd been renting French movies to see if I could build up my comprehension. Don't think it worked, but the movies were pretty entertaining). I tried to go see about ordering a replacement power cord from a local electronics store, but I couldn't understand what the man was saying and there were some people waiting behind me, so I just said "No, thank you," and left.

I've come to the conclusion that I seem rude to a lot of people because I don't have the vocabulary to be polite. For instance, some guy approached me on my way to a class and was asking for who knows what. Something about joining an organization, and there was money involved; I didn't have the time to sit there and ask for him to speak more slowly, and I didn't want to give him money anyways, so I just said "No, thanks. Good day," and walked off. I couldn't think fast enough to give a good explanation, so I just came off as abrupt. Or weird. Like when I went shopping and tried to tell the next lady in line that I was finished using the dressing room. Rather than "J'ai fini," or "I'm done," what actually came out of my mouth was "Je suis fini." Translation: "I'm dead." The lady gave me a little smile, like I just attempted to make a really bad joke about the pressures of shopping, or she could tell I was foreign by my accent, but she seemed to understand that the dressing room was no longer occupied. Success?

And for my last completely random note, what is it about seeing people urinating in parks that strips them of their environmental poetry? The last time I went jogging I ran around to the side entrance of the Jardin des Plantes, and there was a guy standing off the side of the path, urinating into the bushes. I had to chuckle, because the past took me right past and around him so he had to keep turning to avoid exposing himself to me. The encounter took about five seconds, but it was just so absurd that it's stuck in my memory ever since. I've also seen it late at night, after a festival and there were a whole bunch of drunk people stumbling around, and once when I got lost and cut through a park to get back on the main road. That guy was a little more discreet, and had taken his stance behind a sizeable topiary, but I saw him nonetheless. Parks are supposed to evoque a sense of tranquility, of communion with nature, etc. Not memories of people who can't wait till they get to a bathroom to go. Then again, maybe that's how those three men felt they could best commune with nature. I didn't ask them.