finals and the cowardly lion

i recently had the following conversation with someone who styled my hair: 

"do i look like the cowardly lion?" i asked.

"no," she replied, "you don't have orange hair."

imagine a dark-haired cowardly lion having a temper tantrum.  and on top of that, i look 15 years younger with this hairstyle and can go without makeup and still look presentable.  why the temper tantrum?

i am starting to think i am a spoiled little brat.  i had a temper tantrum because of the amount of work.  no, no, hear me out.  i don't mind doing school work (that is, after all, the reason i am here), but the misuse of a conjunction by a professor in the GLOBAL COMMUNICATIONS DEPARTMENT is infuriating.  will i need to play schoolhouse rock's "conjunction junction" video in the future?  there really is a huge difference between "and" and "or".  ok, i'll stop ranting and back up.

i have two classes that are interdisciplinary that i absolutely love; i adore both professors (who i consider brilliant) and the subject is fascinating.  i have been very good about looking at the syllabi and keeping track of the work, etc.  on the syllabus for one of the professors (the global communications professor, mind you, who is a native english speaker from the state of washington) is written that we have a choice of either writing a paper, giving a presentation, or creating a project.  i, of course, chose a paper, and the other professor (computers) suggested a topic which i altered to something more stimulating to me (that professor wrote that he was looking forward to reading that paper).  along came professor #2, the native english-speaking communications professor who informed us that we had to do all three things.  now, it seems odd to me that a communications professor cannot communicate properly!  really, there is a HUGE difference between AND and OR, and you just don't make that change two weeks before a project is due.  i have been fit to be tied and have been having a temper tantrum (of a sort).  i told the sensible professor that i was having a temper tantrum (which i did by simply pouting and stomping my foot, which i'm hoping looked as adorable as i think it looked) and then had to define the term "tantrum" (which really makes it lose its effect, don't you think?), after which i stomped off.  ok, not stomped, but i did give an exasperated look as i turned on my heel and left for my next class.  (ok, there might be a bit of exaggeration here too; would my one reader who was a witness like to give his version of the events?)

meanwhile, i'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown from all of the work.  i need to alter the space-time continuum (Q, where are you?).  also, i'm so looking forward to not having to see two students in particular 5 times per week!  one of them mocks me quite often, so never seeing her again will be, well, one of the best things in the world (up there with a great lemon tart)!  

my neighborhood is getting dressed for the holidays - pictures to come (i promise).

next day:  the due date for the paper has also been changed (thank god we've been given more time)!

i get to play with legos!

when i was a child, there were two toys that i absolutely loved to play with:  tonka trucks (which i will still run to if i see them, especially the cement mixers) and legos; yesterday, i was able to program a mini-robot car made of legos!  i know, i know, i'm an (ahem!) adult, but i just love certain toys (kid's toys, people, get your minds out of the gutter), and i don't want to grow up.

so, there we were, the class of fourteen people, sitting in the rows at the computers, all very excited about being able to play with, i mean work with the lego robots, when the professor told us to break up into four groups.  the person who sat next to me and i work well together, so we were excited to have someone else join us.  others were calling out for certain students to join them, so there were three groups of four and my group of two.  the professor asked someone to leave one of the larger groups and join my group, and the general response was "no."  he finally went around and asked  a number of people by name, and ALL said, "no."  as amusing as i found it to be yesterday, i cried about it today.  i am looking forward to not being with these students next semester; never have i met a ruder bunch of people, and i have five (5) classes per week with them.  by the way, i'm back to finding it amusing, and the other girl and i finished our projects first.

[as a denouement, i spoke with the professor of the class about this, and he said i was merely exaggerating.  had this been the first incident with these classmates, it would not have bothered me as much, but i was not the first time i've been harassed by members of this class and it was extremely hurtful.  as i have five (5) classes per week with them, seeing them in the next class was extremely difficult, and i look forward to the end of the semester.]

the apartment

I really wish my building had a bathroom somewhere between the first and third floors, or rather, on any one of the first three floors.  I don't know what it is, but by the time I mount those five flights of stairs (there is an elevator, but I don't have the key) and open my door, I am doing the "pee pee dance" and can barely make it to the bathroom on my own floor in time.  Because the bathroom uses a real skeleton key, I think it best not to carry it (the key) around with me (although I wonder if I would be able to use it in any other lock in the city - hmm, must research).  I've been considering getting to know at least one neighbor on each floor in case of an emergency of the bathroom kind.

Of course, considering my response to one of my older neighbors, I'm sure they've all been warned that there is a crazy American lady in the building and would probably bar the door if they saw me coming.  I was overwhelmed one day in September because I had spent the day in classes and had to go to dinner with classmates and professors across town.  I was feeling the pressure:  I had to get up those stairs, change my clothes, do something with my hair, refresh my makeup, and get back to campus in 25 minutes, so when my nice elderly neighbor asked, Comment allez vous? (how are you), I didn't hear him correctly and thought he asked Où allez vous (where are you going) so I told him, wondering why he was asking me such a question.  I couldn't understand why he looked bemused and kept backing away from me until two days later when the realization hit me; I now hang my head in shame when when walking through the building, avoiding everyone's stares.  I think I have the same reputation "Lucy Ricardo" had when she visited Europe; let's home I don't get into a fight when stomping grapes. 

No description of my apartment would be complete without talking about the shower. You know, it's bad enough that I don't have a bath.  As some of you may know, one of my favorite luxuries is to read in a bubble bath; I have spent hours in the tub, emerging only to look like a prune (sorry for putting that picture into your head).  Alas, I have no tub, and my shower stall is so small that if I were to gain twenty pounds I would not be able to fit through its doors.  About those doors.  They are held together by magnets, and every morning is a battle to keep them closed (I didn't realize magnets, like some people, lost their attraction.); sometimes, I spend 5 minutes trying to find the attraction between those magnets because I do not want to risk getting my avocado green desk wet, nor the similarly-colored wardrobe.  Also, the thingie that holds the shower head in place is broken, so I have to hold the shower head to wet myself down, turn of the water, soap myself up, and turn on the water to rinse.  I'm from the drought years of California, so I'm fine with that; it saves water and is efficient.  But, there is another aspect thing to add to this.  Some weeks the drain works, and some weeks it is rather slow, and on the latter weeks, there is another step to the shower-taking process.  After the initial rinse, I get out of the shower, run the water in the tiny sink next to the shower, plunge it (to create the necessary vacuum to help the shower water drain), and hope back into the shower in order to soap and rinse.  Those weeks seem to coincide with lower temperatures, so I stand there cold, wet, and naked plunging the sink to get the shower to drain.  I find the ridiculousness of the scenario rather amusing.  And then there is the gurgling.  The first time it happened was in the middle of the night.  I initially thought Nessie had swum down from Scotland, crossed the Channel, and somehow ended up in the pipes below my shower, but was disappointed to discover the sound was caused by water backing up into my shower every time a neighbor used their faucets.

This apartment is, to say the least, colorful, and as much as I love my little apartment and feel it is perfect for the first semester, it is for my first semester only!

So, having begun my day with the battle of the shower, a couple of days ago I looked outside of my window into the courtyard and there were a few clouds in the sky, but it looked as if it was going to be a nice, warm day. By the time I walked down those five flights of stairs, it was raining.  Hard.  I was running a bit behind, so I had neither the time nor the desire to climb those stairs and grab an umbrella; I began my school day looking like a wet rat.  Thank god for waterproof mascara, and my brand really works.  As it is, my flat iron isn't working here, so my hair already has a tendency to frizz, even with product.  Imagine what it looked like with the product rained out of it.  Well, at least I didn't have to handle the nozzle for that shower.

Here's a little bit of good news, one of my professors is kindly allowing me a few extra days to complete an assignment because I am in the play, AND he's insisting on attending the play despite only returning to Paris from a conference at which he has to give a presentation the day before (I am including this information because he is now a recipient of these missives).  Frankly, I think he wants to see me looking simply bovine in that muumuu.  Actually, I greatly appreciate this because having to memorize those lines, write three papers, and the myriad of other things was starting to freak me out, and we happened to be discussing mnemonic tricks in class that day when I asked him (after class, of course, because I don't want my classmates to hear that I'll be in the play for fear of heckling) if he knew of any tricks to memorize lines in ways besides thinking of chocolate covered lighthouses (don't ask, but I bet you'll never forget that, will you?).

Bisous (kisses) to all.

omg, what have i done?

(sent 10 november 2009)

really, what have i done? it's not as if i have enough time to do what i have to do, and i am now performing the role of the crazy neighbor/psychic in the school play deathtrap. did i audition? no; i thought about doing it but decided against doing it in september. opening night is 27 november, i received the script today. need i say more? (i should be playing the role of the girl in oklahoma! who can't say no.) what is wrong with me? in case none of you know this, i have terrible stage fright (which is why i preferred doing film); well, i'll just have to suck it up, and as many of my classmates hate me anyway, what do i have to lose? (no, i'm not exaggerating.) at least i'll get to wear a mumu (moomoo; either way, i'll look simply bovine).

so, i'm playing "helga" the hungarian neighbor (exactly how much makeup will i have to wear?) who doesn't have many lines, but who is, well, eccentric. i can do eccentric. and she's over-the-top; i don't know if i can do that, being so shy and retiring and all. i'm hoping to be able to remember my lines and not (literally) fall flat on my face. if i can manage those two things, i'll be fine. now, if i upstage the rest of the cast, it's not my fault.

updates: my neighbor is not a zombie in the traditional sense of the word, but his lack of sensitivity (i.e., stomping down the hall at 3 a.m., and then talking loudly with his girlfriend, slamming his door, and other various loud acts) makes me wonder if he is a philosophical zombie - without consciousness. so, he is alive. phew, glad that's been cleared up, and i'm glad my brain is not in danger (especially since i'll need it for the memorization).

midterms have come and gone, thank god, and finals are just around the corner. i am looking forward to being able to sleep in during the reading days.

by the way, i went to the rehearsal and blew everyone away. as a matter of fact, when working on the final scene with Nick, a fellow knitter and thespian, the professor who was teaching the room next door came in to ask us to lower the volume a bit. as i threaten him with a knife in the scene, i can only imagine what they must have thought.

as soon as we take pics, i'll include them.

finally, pictures!

view while walking to school, the corner of

boulevard de la tour-maubourg and rue st. dominique

Sunday: it was absolutely beautiful today, so after sending the latest e-mail to everyone, i decided to study out on l'esplanade d'hotel des invalides. there i was, sitting in the grass, reading descartes when two guys came along playing football (known in the states as "soccer"). "uh, oh," i thought, "this might be dangerous for me or for them." needless to say, they eventually took their game elsewhere after running over a man laying in the sun and almost hitting me with the ball (i never said a word; i merely looked at them from behind my sunglasses). then, a couple tromped past me to sit and started screaming out to their friends in hindi. this time, i moved, but they were so loud that i returned home to study. it really doesn't matter, because this is the view from my desk, which i find charming and lovely. (by the way, you do realize, i hope, that i am writing right now to procrastinate, don't you? i'll get back to rené in a few minutes; there's just so much to him that my head is about to explode and i needed to get the artichoke started, since it's huge.)

the "hair pants" (air france) building on the esplanade of

les invalides

hotel des invalides, the final home of my famous neighbor, napoleon, taken from where i was almost hit with a soccer ball

i refer to this as "my bridge" because it is pont alexandre (my

middle name is alexandra)

THIS is my building, and it's a lot nicer inside than out

the recycling here is out of this world; we recycle everything, and the recycling bins are twice as large (and there are four times as many) as the rubbish bins. saran wrap? recyclable, as is aluminum foil. all plastic bags are recyclable. it's really fantastic. i have some professors who are so into not using paper that everything is done online, which is perfectly fine with me. and yet, the school does not recycle. that, of course, will be changing while i am here, and i've already made that known in the admissions office.

i just read today that quite a few buildings in paris have rooftop beehives. isn't that great? they're trying to combat the problem of the disappearing bees by using the roofs of public buildings. of course, anytime one is outside eating, bees help consume lunch, but it's worth it, isn't it? now that i know this, i really need to get a bee epi pen. if i manage to survive the peanuts and the bees, it will be spectacular.

Still Sunday: as i'm sitting in my room reading descartes (still!) with the window open, i could hear the sounds of dinner conversations, flatware touching plates, and someone practicing a jazz piece on a piano. marvelous.

the view from my desk

my new plant

I think my neighbor might be dead, and he is (or was) really cute. he disappeared around the same time the hallway started to smell like what i've been told is a dead person (the only dead bodies i have been around were embalmed, and as those smell like formaldehyde, they aren't helping), i am genuinely concerned. i told my landlady (madame fusco, who is like a pocket grandma with fabulous shoes) yesterday (saturday), and she suggested i knock on the door, explaining who i am. i didn't have the heart (or the french vocabulary) to point out just why that wouldn't work: if he is dead, he wouldn't answer; if he's a zombie, i wouldn't want to disturb him because he would eat my brain, thereby adding the smell of my own decomposing flesh to the hall. madame did tell me that his father lives in the building and that she would have him look in on him (thereby saving my brain from the potential zombie). yes, yes, i know, there's probably no such thing as zombies but, really, do any of us really know? and i probably scream with an american accent, so no one would understand that i was in danger; i need a local to take care of this.

Monday: while discussing descartes, my professor mentioned zombies. see, even descartes knew they may exist. ok, i just got an assignment asking that i research whether cartesian thought on dualism justifies the possibility of a zombie, or a body without a mind. isn't this hysterical? i'd never even written the word before yesterday, so now i really should not knock on that door! oh, and the hallway stinks again (of zombies?).

until the next one....

invitation to a fashion show

On Monday, I started my work/study job in the admissions office. On Tuesday, I met the person who is in charge of the student workers (it must be Tuesday). Everyone else is perfectly lovely. As a matter of fact, on my first day, one of my coworkers in the office invited me to a fashion show at UNESCO. How cool is that? It should be a lot of fun. Of course, I have to build a model of the American first floor of one of the buildings, read, attend clubs night, and sign up to run for a position also. Ah, the live of a student.

So, I finally got a phone, and I have free calls to landlines in the United States (and Paris, but as none of you are in Paris, I am sure that does not matter to you). Do you all remember the state of my phone before I left Chicago (i.e., a non-working 4, a call button that only worked when I breathed correctly, and no ability to send text, although it would confirm said texts)? Well, I now have a Blackberry, which will heretofore be known as the gooseberry, cloudberry, crackberry, boysenberry, razzleberry, or any other name of that ilk. They give them away free here with a plan. Isn't that hysterical? The problem is, I don't yet know how to use it, so I am like a monkey with a computer. As others "oohed" and "aahed" over the fact that I got it for free, I was still trying to figure out how to change the darn ring tone. Meanwhile, thank goodness for those coveting students, as they have shown me how to set everything on it.

Today I purchased a plant for my room, a pink (does THAT surprise anyone) begonia that I shall attempt to keep alive through the winter (hey, I kept a basil plant alive through last year, so this might just work). It's lovely on my windowsill.

As I have two burners and no oven, I also purchased my first roasted chicken today. An interesting difference I've noticed between chickens here and there: French chickens have longer legs and thighs than their American counterparts and smaller breasts. By the way, the flavor is really, really wonderful.

The fashion show was beautiful; the designer is an Iraqui designer who creates lovely pieces that were so beautiful, I wanted to cry. Her head pieces were just exquisite, and the embroidery and hand work on the clothes were like something out of Arabian Nights. I feel so lucky to have been invited by a colleague, and admissions counselor who has taken me under her wing. While sitting at the fashion show, it came to me that we could do that for the school, and she and I immediately started planning one for the Spring. For this first year, we've decided to make it a show that includes contemporary designs from all over the world, but when I plan the one for next fall, we will focus on one region of the world, rotating that every semester. The thing I love about the university is that everyone is encouraged to follow their dreams and given assistance in doing so. When I told my adviser that the Grande École for art history is not the Sorbonne but, rather, the Louvre, he didn't look at me as if I was crazy, but rather suggested we look at what its requirements are and do more (including studying computer programming (which i am doing), as it is the wave of the future for museums). I really do love it here. I hope to eventually be like the Don Hewitt of the Louvre.

As I was sitting at the fashion show, I thought to myself, "Wow, look at my life in Paris!"

Meanwhile, I was forced to not attend a class this week, much to my disappointment. In spite of me informing the class that I was deathly allergic to peanuts and could not be in the same room as them without having a negative reaction, I was sitting in class with the same students on Tuesday afternoon and smelled peanuts. I immediately asked, "Is someone eating a peanut product?" to which a fellow student responded, "Well, it's only a peanut butter sandwich. Does that count? Is it okay?" 

"This is not okay," I responded while running out of the class. I waited outside the class in order to tell the professor what happened (without revealing any names) and that I could not attend class that day. (There was also a huge party that night at Regine's which I could not attend because of the incident.) I was so angry because my choosing to skip a class was one thing, but my inability to attend a class because of someone's stupidity is another thing in that my parents are not paying for this, I am. (By the way, the peanut-eater has yet to apologize.) I'm starting to wonder if this school allows developmentally disabled teenagers to attend.

Have I mentioned that neither my flat iron nor the camera seem to be working with the converter? You can only imagine my hair, and that is the reason for no photos, although, with the new cloudberry, there is no excuse for the photos.

By the way, two weeks into the semester and I feel behind already! I'm spending this weekend catching up on the oodles of reading I need to do. This is absolutely crazy - I have a paper to write for Tuesday, a project on Descartes to decipher for Monday, and exercises done for computer programming. Isn't it grand?

I discovered Thursday night that I am going to re-start the university's knitting club; i've also decided to run for the position of art history rep with the student senate. Does anyone think I'm doing too much (tee hee hee)?

Until the next installment of this crazy little thing called life....

am i blue?

 

hello, everyone.

first, let me reiterate that i am not at all sad, but i made a rookie mistake and managed to turn most of a load of laundry blue.  albeit, a lovely shade of ice creamy pastel blue, but my new white tee shirts are now blue.  aargh!  (does anyone know how to reverse this mistake?)

the first week of school was glorious.  i adore all of my professors, and the classes are fantastic.  i will be able to go to the louvre six times this semester.  [*sigh*]  isn't life grand?  the school is located between les invalides (where napoleon is buried and also down the esplanade from my apartment) and the eiffel tower, so every morning as i walk to my first class, the tower looms in the distance.  how can you not have a fantastic day with that daily view?  my art history class is in the building on bosquet that has cherubs carved into the ceilings and doors of the classrooms.  (had it been any other class than art history, my mind would have drifted to the exquisite architecture.)  simply amazing.

here are things i love about paris:  shopping daily at the outdoor market for very fresh produce; cheese shops that find out what time you will serve your cheese and then squeeze each one until they find the one that will be perfect at that time; watching an older woman stand outside of a building gossiping with her friend inside the building; the hot chocolate at angelina's, cafè de flore, and les deux magots (i prefer it in the last two cafés); the caipiriñhas at le fumoir, although their mojitos leave much to be desired; the yarn shop around the corner from school that sells bouton d'or yarn; the buses that make a trolley car bell sound as they approach the stop (the first time i heard it i did a double-take); how polite men are here (except for the one i met who bickers with me like cary grant did with rosalind russell in his girl friday (he started it), and who better not be the famous movie person his friend said he is or else i will be furious because i have absolutely no time to deal with an ego like that); how ham sandwiches are ham and butter instead of ham and mayonnaise; financiers, simply the best cookie in the world, and i've never found one stateside; speaking french; the cute, inexpensive clothes over here; the fabulous boots; place saint germain; my adorable landlady (she's like a pocket granny); that i have seen more men knitting than women (2-0 (unless i include myself, but the boys still win)); kissing everyone hello; 2-litre bottles of water for 0.19 euro; the phones that do so much that i might marry one, or at least entrust it with my homework; the way children dress here; the yogurt; antiques; the way it stays light so late.  ok, i'll stop.

i am really starting to feel comfortable here.  my professor is always late (always, always, always), so today the class thought we'd play a trick on him and i started teaching the class.  he walked in, said he had to enroll a new student into the class, and left me to continue teaching for another five minutes, giving me a total of 15 minutes of discussion on descartes.  it was very funny, and the class actually had a great discussions about descartes.  i wonder if this school will ever be the same after i leave?  oh well, it's too late to go back now.  professor talcott was not at all upset over my antics and found them quite amusing.  actually, after last monday's class, he asked me to help him out, so i was merely doing what he asked.

ok, gotta go for now!  i miss you all!