Friday, October 27, 2006

Quick Note

I decided today that it is high time I catch up on my American music pop culture, so I went on YouTube and began watching music videos. Feel free to contest or echo my sentiments. Just in case anyone was wondering how I felt about this season's batch of media:

"Long Way to Go" by Cassie: Why is that girl always dancing in front of mirrors? I know she was a model and all, but I don't think the directors of her music videos should cater to such narcissism.

"Fergalicious" by Fergie: I will never eat cake again after seeing Stacy Fergeson rub it all over her body.

Girls: Who knew Beenie Man had such a washboard stomach? It does not, however, redeem him. And shame on him for allowing Akon in his video. Two ugly men surrounded by beautiful women…the everyman's dream, no?

"Jump" by Madonna: She looks like a Pink impersonater in that outfit. And she dances funny. Gotta give her credit though, she is 48. Maybe when I'm 48 I'll run around in tight leather outfits and dance around like that too. It might just be what happens at that age. My parents sure hid it well, though.

"Hurt" by Christina Aguilera: what is she doing on that elephant that merits a standing ovation? Nothing. I could sit on an elephant and no one would do anything, save for maybe permanently bar me from the zoo. Awfully melodramatic. I'll do an impression for you sometime, and it will mostly be me crying and falling down and reaching for no one in particular. Oscar material.

Letter to 50 Cent concerning his presence in "Hands Up" by Lloyd Banks: Dear Fiddy. You cannot sing. Please stick to what you're good at, like rapping and getting shot.

Rihanna's "We Ride" reminded me of Kae Chopin's book "The Awakening," at least in the beginning. I am also not impressed with her voice, her dancing, or her production. I begrudge Rihanna her fame.

"Promise" by Ciara: I want to figure out how to make a microphone do that gravity-defying trick. When God made Ciara, he said to her "Thou shalt have deadly dance moves, ridiculous abs, and always wear black." Ciara, the saint, rarely defies this decree. However, when God created Paris Hilton, he told her not to tease and tempt pubescent boys in her music videos. She didn't listen very well. I feel that her "Nothing in this World" video should be a little bit illegal.

K-Fed's "Lose Control": What can I say? He's hard now. We all knew this. I do not, however, condone rapping about money that he only recieves in his allowance from Britney. So what if his Ferrari cost more than my Sable? At least I bought it, stupidhead.

I also watched a black-and-white video of a guy dancing to Nelly Furtado's "Afraid," and was saddened by how cool he was trying to be. But I highly suggest it to other viewers. I got some great dance moves from it.

Monday, October 23, 2006

The Citrus Problem

Today, as in about ten minutes ago, I decided that I was in desperate need of a hot drink and a snack. I went with my camarade de class Rachel to our "Stand Up" café, and decided on a coffee drink called "Totally Toffee" and a slice of lemon coffee cake. I do love moist cake. First, I asked the friendly worker behind the counter for a Totally Toffee. She looked at me for a moment, then said, "Ah, un totally tofEE!" Okay, so I said it with an American accent. I usually feel like I'm making fun of the language if I say English words with a French accent, like Steve Martin in the new Pink Panther movie, but the French do it all the time.

I was determined to do better the second time around. The lemon coffee cake was entitled "Cake," so I asked for a piece (the pointing helped), then wanted to confirm that the cake was, indeed, lemon-flavored. Thinking of limonade, a Sprite equivalent, I asked "C'est limon?" The lady just looked at me. I tried again. "Le cake, est-ce que le goût du cake limon?" She stared. Third time's the charm. "Quel est le goût du cake?"

"Ah!" the lady said, "C'est citron."

For the love of great-grandmother's teacups. I had been saying "lemon" with a French accent (and a darn good one, I must say), and thinking I was making good use of my French vocabulry. I genuinely had no idea that I was trying to speak Franglish. Rachel laughed and laughed and laughed, and the lady behind the counter tried really hard not to let me see her smirking at me. It's as if I had walked into a Starbucks and asked for a "citron-flavored cake, please." I'm an idiot.

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Voyage to Gay Paree

I came, I saw, I took pictures of ornate buildings. The Office of International Relations organized a day trip to Paris specifically for the exchange students, and I paid my 40 euros and signed up. I stayed up till 1:30 am reading a book that I hadn't realized I like that much till I saw the time, went to bed, and woke up at 4:15 the next morning to shower, pack a lunch and some snacks, and jog to school so I could be on the bus at 5:30. Sometimes my briliance and common sense astounds me.

After three sleepy hours we stopped at the Tour d'Eiffel and gave our legs a good workout. It was cloudy that day, so the pictures I took from the tower weren't fantastic, but I was amazed at the amount of time I spent simply looking out at what seemed like an endless city.

I had not thought to be surprised with Paris, having seen just about all of it in movies. But it was huge! I got tired just looking at the Louvre, and for some reason I had thought the Notre Dame would bear an unimpressive resemblance to FUMC in Tulsa. Hah. I gawked just like all the other tourists, took pictures because I didn't see the sign saying you weren't supposed to, and was a little glad that churches now aren't nearly as ornamental—anyone with even a mild case of ADD would never hear a word of the sermon. There is so much to look at, and it's wonderful to see the care with which churches were constructed. No moving into an old Walmart for the Catholics.

I saw the Moulin Rouge, and was only impressed with how many sex shops the French have managed to fit on one street. And here I thought that one was as good as the next. I saw where Chanel and Gucci and Louis Vuitton house their wearable art, and maybe someday I'll work up enough courage to set foot in one of those shops. Porbably not, though. I took pictures of many ornate structures (and now have no idea what they were), tried not to yawn when I realized that I had been awake for the majority of two whole days, and climbed a lot of steps at Montmarte. There were some angry men who tried to sell us some string, and my friend Ronan got caught by one of them until I went back and literally tugged him away while the guy yelled after us.

The Sacre Coeur was my favorite stop in Paris, despite the impolite African string men surrounding it. There I did see the sign that said no pictures, and I wandered in hushed awe through the massive chapel. It's an experience that is beyond words, so I'll not ruin it for anyone else by attempting to verbalize it.

All in all, there was not a whole lot to say about the trip, though I did manage to take 97 pictures. There was the Eiffle Tower, the boat tour of the Seine, the Notre Dame, the rest of the boat tour, the bus tour, Montmartre, back on the bus for a five hour trip home that took us three hours going the other way. I did get to see some wicked break-dancing in the streets, then hear the other students gush about how ripped the dancers were for the whole way home. So that was fun.

Friday, October 06, 2006

By the way

My sweet brother sent me another power adaptor for the laptop, so the day I got it, last Sunday, I spent a grand total of five hours wasting time on it. And that was without internet access. On Monday, a day without classes, I went to school , got online, and spent nearly seven hours on the computer. Yesterday my only class was canceled, so when I finally swung my legs over the side of the bed at 2 in the afternoon, I stayed on the computer until about 2 in the morning, save for food and exercise breaks here and there. I don't think it was a waste of time at all. God bless technology. And Barron.



Triumph! Small French children like me! My landlady's granddaughter, Perrine, is five years old and is as cute as a button (and believe me, buttons are cute), but she always seems intimidate by my presence. Perrine has meet me about four or five times, but never says anything more than "au revoir" when Mme Rey orders her to tell me goodbye. I was a little disappointed that I couldn't find a way to bring her out of her shell. I am an education major. I should know how to deal with children, right? But I could never think of anything to say to Perrine, so I would just smile and wave, and say "Cool!" when Mme Rey would tell me what they had done or were going to do that day. On Wednesday she was at the apartment again, and I was determined to find something to say to her. She was drawing, and so I complimented her color choices and her family of suns. I asked her what she did during the day and she said, "Ahm," and hid her face in her hands. I imitated her and asked, "So you did 'ahm' today? That is exciting." She giggled, I ran out of words, so I went back in my room.



A little while later I heard a knock at the door, and when I opened it, there were Perrine and Mme Rey. "Oui?" I said. Mme Rey told me that Perrine had wanted to say something, but now had her tongue tied. Perrine stepped right up to me, and Mme Rey said Perrine wanted " te donne un bisou sur le joue." She wanted to give me a what? But I bent down, and Perrine gave me a noisy kiss on the cheek. "Mer ci, Perrine," I smiled, and they left. But hey, even with less of a vocabulary than a five-year old child, I can still get bisous sur la joue. It was a small thing, but after over a month here, I figure it was high time all those toothy smiles I give paid off.



The guy sitting next to me just said that America has more of a culture than Canada does. Is this true?

Monday, October 02, 2006

The Nantes Trip

This past Saturday I went to Nantes with six other girls. I was excited, since there was a chateau and an old church to visit, and it was going to be my first excursion specifically to experience a little more of French history and culture. Four of the girls were from my school: Andrea (another American and the organizer of the trip), Fiona, Rachel, and Lisa (all British). The other two, Julie, a Canadian, and Nicky, a Scot, attend one of the grandes-écoles on the UCO campus for business. Well, we all set off on the 30 minute train ride, and I quickly discovered that our purpose in Nantes was not of a historical nature, but that of a consumer. In other words, we were going to go shopping. Internally I whined Why? We can shop in Angers. I held my tongue, not wanting to put a damper on the trip. Besides, I hadn't purchased any souvenirs for the good people back home who deserved them, and I was sure Nantes would have some quaint stores with a good selection of French memorabilia.

When we got off the train it began to rain, not good sight-seeing weather, and I immediately spotted the chateau and a pink tower that had been recommended by some students who had visited Nantes previously, plus there was a gorgeous park right across from the train station. When I pointed them out, the other members of the said no, they wanted to find the shopping district. We took a left. Into the ghetto. Made all the creepier by the overcast skies and the lack of people to be seen on the streets. Only Andrea had a map (of the tram routes, not particularly helpful, but it worked), and I learned that I was one of two who was able to find my cardinal directions. I took the map. I felt like I was back at camp, leading my cabin of 13-year-old girls on a hiking trip. We even had The Whiner in the group, who shall remain nameless, but by golly I wanted to give her a good smack. Plus, you'll probably figure out who it was by the end of the post.

We found the center of town, I coached them across the tram tracks (The Whiner reminded us constantly that trams have no brakes. But the light was green, there was no tram in sight…GO, woman!), and I announced that I was hungry and wanted to find someplace to eat. The majority of the group agreed with me. So I stopped us and asked whether we wanted to eat then find the shopping district, or find the shopping district then search for a café nearby. They wanted to find the shopping district first. However, we came across a small square with about six brasseries, some Kebab stands (not shish kebabs), and a couple more cafés.

Brasserie: A pub that serves food. The menu is limited, and usually one orders from a "formule," which basically states that for a fixed price one can order an appetizer and an entrée, or and entrée and a dessert. Your drinks are on your own. Part of the fun of ordering from places such as these is that I never actually know what I'm ordering (same as a French person probably wouldn't understand "Oriental Mandarin Gilled Chicken Salad" or "Iced Vente Half-Caf Skim Mocha Frappuccino"). It always tastes good, though, so I was eager to tuck into some French food. My party wandered around the square, squinting at the menus the brasseries had sitting out on the sidewalk. They wanted to eat someplace inexpensive (fine with me), have a fairly large lunch to tide them over until after our 6:37 train ride home (even better), and sit inside so that we wouldn't get rained upon (fantastic). Almost everybody complained that they couldn't understand the menus, or that there weren't enough choices. I reminded them that the point of a brasserie was not to provide an overwhelming array of food choices for the customer, but to serve a small selection of well-cooked food and an overwhelming array of alcohol (and believe me, even at 12:30 a stunning selection of alcohol was starting to sound appealing, if not necessary). We walked around and around. until finally I cried, "WHERE are we eating?!" The answer: McDonald's.

McDonald's? Mickey D's? Macdo? We're eating where? My outward response was, "Wait, are you guys serious?" They laughed: oh, Laurel, you're so funny. I smiled and pretended I was famished for a vanilla shake and fries (which did taste good, I admit). When we finished eating we went back into the square and passed a large Fnac, an electronics store. "Does anyone want to stop here?" asked one of the girls. I laughed, because who would want to stop at a store we already had in Angers?

Thirty minutes later we were still in Fnac, waiting for Rachel to get a French SIM card installed in her phone. Admittedly, they did give her the run-around, but I was already tired of standing and it was only the first store in which we had stopped. and in the back of my mind, a mean little voice whispered Now, why couldn't she have done that in Angers? The SIM card was acquired and we set off for the shopping district. I was starting to loose any illusions I may have had about the purchase of souvenirs, even more so as we went into clothing store after clothing store, often with products from American companies like Vans and Quicksilver. We went jewelry store with Claire's-type jewelry (if you don't know what I'm talking about, think: cheap, gaudy, easily broken), we went into a Sephora (a perfume shop. We have TWO of them in Angers), and a cosmetics shop (a novelty, I'm sure).

I did enjoy talking to the two girls from the other school, and in Sephora I convinced one of them, Nicky, to try a "Lip Injection" lip-plumper gloss, which worked in a terrifying manner. She complained that it was hurting, and her lips were turning red and looked swollen. I theorized that the gloss somehow broke capillaries, which is what caused the pain she felt and the swelling. We immediately set out to get the other girls to try it, and found Rachel and Lisa perusing a selection of lip glosses.
"Hey," I said, "you guys should try the lip injection stuff. Nicky did."
"It worked, too," Nicky added. Julie voiced her agreement.
"I had been wanting to try it," said Lisa, pulling a tube of the marked "Tester" off a shelf nearby.
"Do it," I said. We giggled as Lisa and Rachel liberally applied the gloss.
Not a minute later Rachel and Lisa both were rubbing their lips and complaining that it felt as if they were being poked with thousands of tiny needles. Julie, Nicky and I laughed out heads off. See, that's what happens when I get bored shopping and am surrounded by complainers.

I digress. We had decided to give ourselves an hour to find the train station and get on the train for Angers, and if we missed it we could catch the very last train to Angers for the day, which left about and hour and twenty minutes later (basically, at eight pm). The Whiner kept saying "I just have to find the H&M," which is apparently a big clothing store, and since I was walking at the back of the group I felt free to roll my eyes in a most liberal fashion. I had a raging headache, was hungry again, tired, and really prefered to find a café, have some coffee, and find the quickest route back to the train station. At about 4:45 we found the H&M. It was packed, and and body heat was almost visible. Yuck. Nicky, Julie and I decided to find a café and have that coffee I wanted so badly, and told Andrea that if they finished before we returned, that she should send one of us a text message.

We walked around the corner and immediatly found a nice little brasserie. I ordered Chocolat Viennoise, which is like deluxe hot chocolate with a sprinkling of extra goodness on top. Libreral whipped cream, made with real cocoa, and slight skin on the milk—it was perfect, and took the edge of my hunger and headache. We all three admitted to being a little disappointed with the outcome of the trip, and that we wanted to come back on a sunny day when we could see more of the historical sites around the town. It was obvious that none of us wanted to be the one to say, "This has been a complete waste of a day," but we did talk about what we should be doing on days like this: reading, drinking hot tea, watching TV, snuggling up in a fleece blanket, etc. At 5:40 we decided that it was time to return to H&M with the rest of the group, who would undoubtedly be ready to leave. Nicky mentioned that she wished she could run back to the cosmetics store (also around a corner, but a different one than the café) and get a mirror she had seen. I encouraged her to go, and told her that since it was on our way to the train station we could swing by and pick her up. Off she went. We had 50 minutes to get to our train.

When Julie and I got back to H&M, Rachel and Lisa were sitting outside on a stone bench. They informed us that the other two were still inside, probably just getting out of the dressing rooms. Rachel decided to go look for an ATM, so I told her to find Nicky at the cosmetics shop when she was done and we would meet the both of them. About 20 minutes after Julie and I walked back to the department store, The Whiner came out and started complaining about how Andrea was still in the store, and had at least eleven things to try on, and how we were surely going to be late because of her, and how The Whiner hoped Andrea certainly had decided not to buy anything, since that would definitely make us miss our train, and on and on. I sat through five minutes of this before sending Andrea a text message to ask where she was. She gave Lisa a call to let her know that she was in line for the cash register. Ten minutes later The Whiner was still going on about how she was hungry and tired and didn't want to sit down and get her trousers wet, and how she hoped that Andrea was buying a lot of clothes to make it worth the three-quarters of an hour she'd waited, because she'd kill her if Andrea had just gotten a scarf or something. I declared that I was going to go find Andrea, get the map of the tram lines, and figure out our quickest route back to the train station. I resisted the urge to shake The Whiner and yell, "YOU were the one who HAD to find the H&M! You brought this on your own head! And you haven't been waiting for 45 minutes, the rest of us have, and for a good part of it we were waiting on you!" then maybe shove her and her trousers into a puddle.

It took me two minutes to find Andrea, who was just beginning her transaction with the cashier. She was quick to remind me that I had taken the map (oops), and asked the cashier how to get back to the train station. The cashier pointed out the line and told us the direction in which we were to take it, then I went back outside to inform the others/get out of the sweltering heat. Nicky came back right before Andrea exited the store. I assumed that since Rachel and Nicky were not together that Rachel was still looking for an ATM. We waited for a while longer, The Whiner now blaming Rachel for what was surely going to be a missed train ride and a delayed return home. I asked Lisa to call Rachel, who then informed us all that Rachel's cell phone was dead. The Whiner said surely she could still turn it on long enough to recieve calls, right? How in the world was Rachel just going to know that we were calling her, and turn on her phone?, I wondered. I said I would go get her, since she was probably waiting for us down at the cosmetics shop. Andrea came with me. Before I left, I suggested that we prepare ourselves for missing the train, since we only had about thirty minutes to find the station and buy tickets. Andrea said that we should still try to find the station anyway, just in case we could make the train. We all agreed, and Andrea and I set off to find Rachel.

Rachel had just started walking back to find us, so within two minutes we were back with the group and hurrying back to find the area where we had seen all the trams earlier. The Whiner wanted to stop and find food, since we were probably going to miss the train since Andrea and Rachel had made us so late. Honestly, now. Rather than give her the swift kick in the pants she deserved, I told her that we needed to find the train first, just in case, and if we missed it we could find a resaurant nearby. It would do us no good to stop, try to fit a three-hour French dinner into one hour, then attempt to find the train station and get on the very last train to Angers within thirty minutes. Again. Lisa recalled seeing a café in the train station itself, and recommended eating there if we missed the train. Besides, we could buy snacks on the train itself if we made it in time. The Whiner grumbled, but acquiesced.

Back to the tram tracks. Again, "the trams don't have breaks!" "should we cross now?" Me: "the trams are stopped. Come on guys, people are still boarding them, let's go now." Them: "Laurel, do you have a death wish?" "Do those people realize that trams don't have breaks?" "When can we cross without getting run over?" Me and Andrea: "Now. Come on, we just missed a tram to the station." The Whiner: "We're probably going to miss the train. I'm starving."

By the time we got to the train station, we had ten minutes to get on the train. I was the last person of our group in line to get my ticket, and by that time we only had five minutes left, and we didn't know our way around the station. It was small, though, so Lisa and Rachel said they would hurry and look for it, then call back to me (I was standing in the open door to the platforms) when they found it. I sent Andrea and Julie in the direction of the other two, then asked where the other two girls were. Julie told me that [The Whiner] had decided that she needed to buy a pastry, and Nicky said that if [The Whiner] was going to, she would, too. I rolled my eyes and shooed the girls on, saying I would watch where they went and lead Nicky and The Whiner to them.

Right as the final two girls finished buying their pastries and started toward me, I saw Andrea and Julie start running. "Dépêchez-vous!" I yelled at the remaining two. "Hurry, come on, the others are running!" I started jogging. The Whiner groaned as she and Nicky followed suit. We hopped on the train, found seats, and not a minute later the doors closed. We breathed sighs of relief. The Whiner commented, "I don't see why we had to run." I smiled, clenched my teeth, and sat on my hands. Was it wrong of me to be relieved when she said she was going home rather than coming out to eat with us?

To top off the experience, yesterday I saw The Whiner, who asked me what I thought of Nantes. I hesitated and she laughed. I told her that I would like to return someday when it was nicer and see the historical sites. Her response? I paraphrase (I have to leave out the curse words).

"Yeah, I was disappointed that we didn't get around to that. I didn't think much of the city, but my boyfriend said it is really pretty when the sun's out. I want to go back and see some museum-y stuff."

I do not paraphrase "museum-y." That was her word of choice. I murmured something agreeable in response, and she went on to complain about the students who talk in class (a common occurence in continental Europe, which I had been warned about at Westminster. Thank you, Dr. Schaneman), and went on about how the Germans were the worst, not even bothering to lower their voices. There was no tactful way to tell her that the student sitting next to me was German (or spoke it, at least), and could understand English better than either The Whiner and I could understand French. I was tempted to take her by the arm and walk her away from the area, and then give her a concussion to remind her not to be so pig-headed. But I let her ramble on, laughing at all the appropriate times, trying to shoot apologetic glances at the German girl who kept looking at us from the corner of her eye.

Here's my souvenir from that long day: A picture of the creepy church beside the Camaieu (another store we have in Angers) where the group stopped. This is what I brought back with me from Nantes. That and the resolution that never again will I go on a trip with The Whiner, and I will always make sure that whoever is coming along has the same purpose as I. I made a mental checklist of people with whom I did not want to associate much in the future, and The Whiner's name is at the top of that list. Well, she and the guy who was peeing in the park. To God be the glory for giving me patience and the self-restraint to overcome my violent urges. Amen. Selah