Public Transport Strike, Day 1:
Wake up early to no sounds or light, but to unbearable cold. Fingers are numb and mind is too. Can think of little other than strong desire to go back to sleep. Team slowly assembles in apartment, hovering around the oven for warmth. We eat quickly and silently on the little food we still have. Once we're nourished we pile into the only automobile for miles. Thomas takes the reigns and Chantal assumes duties as navigator. The first to leave is Mathilde. She stumbles out of car in search of knowledge and friends. I can only hope she has found both. Thomas goes next with a similar mission. Chantal takes reigns of automobile. I finally separate from the team to head on my journey, facing the elements entirely on my own.
Traverse across the Jardin de Tuilleries and start to feel my mind slipping. Thoughts become progressively less sophisticated and ultimately borderline insane. The light is still low and the temperature still frigid. I don't doubt the safety of the rest of the team, though. Their knowledge of the region is strong. Mine is less so. Must rely solely on instincts.
I arrive far too early and start to feel my fingers and toes again. The others stumble in. They are like me: wearied by a strenuous journey through the cold. Used to the comforts of the metro and bus, few of us were prepared for the difficulties we needed to face. By 9 o'clock, I'm one of four who have completed the long journey. The struggles are immense, but the will is strong.
Only seven make it by day's end. Waiting on news from rest. Can only imagine the hardships faced. Walk home is painful but manageable. Many are enduring similar difficulties. The bitter cold does little to help situation. All pray for change in the future. Without the metros, buses and RERs Parisians will continue to drop. We need all the strong people we can get out here. Please send more food and mittens. Will contact soon with more information.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Piano Lessons
I just finished my second piano lesson, and I think the lessons are interesting enough to write about. Thad Carhart (the author of The Piano Shop on the Left Bank-- you know, that book I loved but couldn't get anyone to read) would be quite proud of me.
So every Thursday my French-Russian teacher, Dmitri shows up at the apartment. He puts his things down, and goes to the bathroom to wash his hands. He refuses to use the sink in the kitchen, because the soap isn't satisfactory. He's very pleased with himself because everyone in Paris seems to have a cold right now except for him. Anyway, he's somewhat tall and very slender, almost frail, with an aging person's buzz cut. He dresses extremely properly.
The lessons consist of a series of exercises that revolve around me getting better at playing "The Entertainer." (Ironically, the piece I had randomly decided to try and figure out on my own, The Entertainer, is the most famous Ragtime song and his area of expertise is Ragtime). He demands that I sit with a straight back and with relaxed shoulders. He doesn't allow me to bite my tongue or lips while I play and today, he insisted that I straighten out the stool on which I normally slouch. By the end of all the lessons my back and neck are tired, so you can imagine what my hands and fingers feel like.
Today we worked on a number of exercises that required me to push the keys using only my wrist, my entire arm or just my fingers. By the end my hand was literally shaking with fatigue. Dmitri charged ahead with the next exercise seemingly unaware of my state. He also seems to be unaware of the fact that it takes me on average 14-15 seconds to process that "Do" is "C." It then takes me another 4-5 seconds to realize that "C" is the on next to the black keys, in front of the three black keys on the left. I think he assumes that because I was able to figure out the beginning of The Entertainer, I read and understand music well. He's sadly mistaken. What actually took places was a long and tedious process of memorization that came as a result of having about 9 hours of free time a day. The saddest part about this, is those 9 hours have been seriously diminished recently so I'm not able to practice as much as I'd like.
Long story short, my lessons are pretty much nothing like they were at the Music Center when I was 11. They seem extremely "real" actually. I'm not sure, though, whether I'll learn any songs or anything, but I know that I'll be able to push them keys with style.
Anyway, tonight I think I'm continue with the whole music thing and head to a jazz show in the 18th. If it's interesting, I'll post about it.
So every Thursday my French-Russian teacher, Dmitri shows up at the apartment. He puts his things down, and goes to the bathroom to wash his hands. He refuses to use the sink in the kitchen, because the soap isn't satisfactory. He's very pleased with himself because everyone in Paris seems to have a cold right now except for him. Anyway, he's somewhat tall and very slender, almost frail, with an aging person's buzz cut. He dresses extremely properly.
The lessons consist of a series of exercises that revolve around me getting better at playing "The Entertainer." (Ironically, the piece I had randomly decided to try and figure out on my own, The Entertainer, is the most famous Ragtime song and his area of expertise is Ragtime). He demands that I sit with a straight back and with relaxed shoulders. He doesn't allow me to bite my tongue or lips while I play and today, he insisted that I straighten out the stool on which I normally slouch. By the end of all the lessons my back and neck are tired, so you can imagine what my hands and fingers feel like.
Today we worked on a number of exercises that required me to push the keys using only my wrist, my entire arm or just my fingers. By the end my hand was literally shaking with fatigue. Dmitri charged ahead with the next exercise seemingly unaware of my state. He also seems to be unaware of the fact that it takes me on average 14-15 seconds to process that "Do" is "C." It then takes me another 4-5 seconds to realize that "C" is the on next to the black keys, in front of the three black keys on the left. I think he assumes that because I was able to figure out the beginning of The Entertainer, I read and understand music well. He's sadly mistaken. What actually took places was a long and tedious process of memorization that came as a result of having about 9 hours of free time a day. The saddest part about this, is those 9 hours have been seriously diminished recently so I'm not able to practice as much as I'd like.
Long story short, my lessons are pretty much nothing like they were at the Music Center when I was 11. They seem extremely "real" actually. I'm not sure, though, whether I'll learn any songs or anything, but I know that I'll be able to push them keys with style.
Anyway, tonight I think I'm continue with the whole music thing and head to a jazz show in the 18th. If it's interesting, I'll post about it.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Formal Apology
In the previous post there are a bunch of weird errors. It's not my fault that I don't know (not to be confused with now) how to speak, read or write in English. This post applies to all post in the future as well. Thanks for being so understanding... mom and dad.
The Miracle of Facebook
For all those disbelievers I present the following to prove your naivete.
Given my current situation, Facebook is basically the best thing ever. First of all, it has enabled me to keep in-touch effortlessly with my friends from home. Between long, never-ending message threads, wall posts and pictures, I feel like I'm living on countless college campuses. I can find email addresses, statuses, thoughts, feelings, and social outings by cleverly stalking my friends on facebook. But that's the obvious stuff.
Being in Paris, I meet tons of people constantly, and frankly most of the people I meet should be much like Tyler Durdan in Fight Club: "single-serve friends." I should probably meet them once, have a good time, and move on, knowing that in all likelihood I will never see or to talk to these people again.
However, facebook changes all of this. I know have contacts all over Europe and the world that I never would have had without facebook. The two "random" girls who I met the other morning are no longer random. Instead they're facebook friends of mine and we post on each other's walls and even maybe IM a little. In fact, they've expressed a slight annoyance at the fact that I left some of the details out about our excursion, but they should be happy because not everyone gets to be mentioned twice in "Charlemagne's Return."
On any note, if you don't have facebook, you should get it. You'll find yourself sometimes wasting time by looking at pictures and what not, but you'll also find yourself appreciating how connected it makes you.
Given my current situation, Facebook is basically the best thing ever. First of all, it has enabled me to keep in-touch effortlessly with my friends from home. Between long, never-ending message threads, wall posts and pictures, I feel like I'm living on countless college campuses. I can find email addresses, statuses, thoughts, feelings, and social outings by cleverly stalking my friends on facebook. But that's the obvious stuff.
Being in Paris, I meet tons of people constantly, and frankly most of the people I meet should be much like Tyler Durdan in Fight Club: "single-serve friends." I should probably meet them once, have a good time, and move on, knowing that in all likelihood I will never see or to talk to these people again.
However, facebook changes all of this. I know have contacts all over Europe and the world that I never would have had without facebook. The two "random" girls who I met the other morning are no longer random. Instead they're facebook friends of mine and we post on each other's walls and even maybe IM a little. In fact, they've expressed a slight annoyance at the fact that I left some of the details out about our excursion, but they should be happy because not everyone gets to be mentioned twice in "Charlemagne's Return."
On any note, if you don't have facebook, you should get it. You'll find yourself sometimes wasting time by looking at pictures and what not, but you'll also find yourself appreciating how connected it makes you.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Most Absurd Night Ever
So last night was a night where the planets aligned and I had basically committed myself before going out that I would stay out all night.
It all started at l'hotel de ville where I went to meet with some friends to watch the rugby match on some sort of huge screen. Little did I know that the entire population of Paris was planning on doing the same thing and that my phone was going to randomly decide to stop working just when I needed it most.
So with my phone not working, I watched the first half of the rugby match (France vs. New Zealand, the best team in the world, basically) by myself, in a mob of thousands of people. Towards the end of the first half, my phone started working so I got in touch with my friends and went on a mission to try and find them. During my search I was basically in the middle of a mob so tightly packed that I literally was stuck- it was not possible to move. The mob was swaying back and forth from all the pushing and I though that everyone might fall over at any point in time, but we didn't, and I was happy. The tension finally eased and I hopped over a small fence that left me in area that facilitated far easier movement and I finally found my friends.
We watched the rest of the game and France actually won with a pretty miraculous, underdog, comeback victory. It was one for the record books. Needless to say, "allez les blues" could be heard for miles along with the French national anthem. On a side note, the french sing seven nation army kind of like the ole ole chant people sing at soccer games. I found that highly amusing.
Next we head over to the louvre where the bulk of the Nuit Blanche festivities were going on. (People were screaming, honking and cheering in the metro and on the streets, for a solid hour after the game). We checked out the Louvre, Palais Royale, Jardin de Tuilleries (sorry, sp). All were pretty cool, tons of people were walking everywhere (during nuit blanche a collection of museums are open all night long and there are a bunch of cool things to see between the museums). So we checked out a bunch of that stuff when I received a call from this girl in my class who was really drunk and by herself, but still wanted to go out. So we met up with her and tried to find something to do, but it was already late and everything still open was heinously expensive. So we basically walked for a while, with people peeling off heading home.
Eventually there were three of us left, me another guy who had been my class the first week and this girl who was really drunk. As it turns out she didn't know where her cousin's apartment was where she was supposed to be spending the night. (She knew where it was in relation to a metro stop, but she didn't know where the stop was). Being the gentleman I am, I offered to figure it out, and walk her home. Note that I had already planned on staying out really late. We arrived at her cousin's apartment after some shockingly efficient navigating by yours truly relatively quickly. Her cousin however doesn't answer when she rings the bell or knocks. So I spent a couple of hours trying to sleep on the cold apartment hallway floor, waiting for her to sober up and for the metros to start running so she could get to her actual home. At about 6 a French neighbor arrived after a night out and seemed slightly confused to see us in the hallway trying to sleep. If there's ever a time when it's hard to speak French, it's when you've been awoken, in the middle of a random hallway somewhere working on very, very little sleep. Everyone was confused and he went into his room. The girl and I decided to head out and she took the metro home.
I went for my metro home, but in transferring, ran into these two American girls. At this point it was nearly 7 o'clock and I was pretty much giddy with exhaustion and they were too. Naturally we hit it off immediately. Anyone in Paris who speaks English is a best friend and when your extremely tired, the law is multiplied tenfold. As it turns out, one was studying in Nice and the other was studying in London. They had been roommates in college and were meeting up for one night in Paris (haha, get it?). Literally, they had arrived Saturday at 4pm, stayed up all night for Nuit Blanche and were returning to their respective cities at 11ish.
So, the three of us took an extremely curious walk through Paris laughing at just about anything that could be deemed remotely funny. We were going to try and find La Duree (sorry again, sp) for macaroons which are rumored to be incredible. Unfortunately we didn't know exactly where (and by that I mean, we had no clue whatsoever) the store was, so we nixed that idea and head off in search of some coffee. We sat down had some coffee and then started going towards a metro when sure enough, what do we see? LA DUREE! So we obviously enter, buy some macaroons and then finish our journey to the metro station before going our separate ways. (The macaroons are that good, in case you were curious). Our parting was quite sad because while we had known each other for merely a few hours, we had shared a pretty awesome common experience and had nearly instantly become best friends.
It was incredibly random, and the fact that I joined them on their strange stroll through Paris probably should have awkward, but it wasn't probably on account of our fatigue.
Anyway, I had promised a story for Nuit Blanche and I feel I've delivered. If this account has been incoherent/not interesting it is merely because I'm writing on basically no sleep and I'm immersed in French so I can't speak English anymore anyway.
Maybe I'll elaborate more later... who knows. But I think I'm going to go back to sleep.
It all started at l'hotel de ville where I went to meet with some friends to watch the rugby match on some sort of huge screen. Little did I know that the entire population of Paris was planning on doing the same thing and that my phone was going to randomly decide to stop working just when I needed it most.
So with my phone not working, I watched the first half of the rugby match (France vs. New Zealand, the best team in the world, basically) by myself, in a mob of thousands of people. Towards the end of the first half, my phone started working so I got in touch with my friends and went on a mission to try and find them. During my search I was basically in the middle of a mob so tightly packed that I literally was stuck- it was not possible to move. The mob was swaying back and forth from all the pushing and I though that everyone might fall over at any point in time, but we didn't, and I was happy. The tension finally eased and I hopped over a small fence that left me in area that facilitated far easier movement and I finally found my friends.
We watched the rest of the game and France actually won with a pretty miraculous, underdog, comeback victory. It was one for the record books. Needless to say, "allez les blues" could be heard for miles along with the French national anthem. On a side note, the french sing seven nation army kind of like the ole ole chant people sing at soccer games. I found that highly amusing.
Next we head over to the louvre where the bulk of the Nuit Blanche festivities were going on. (People were screaming, honking and cheering in the metro and on the streets, for a solid hour after the game). We checked out the Louvre, Palais Royale, Jardin de Tuilleries (sorry, sp). All were pretty cool, tons of people were walking everywhere (during nuit blanche a collection of museums are open all night long and there are a bunch of cool things to see between the museums). So we checked out a bunch of that stuff when I received a call from this girl in my class who was really drunk and by herself, but still wanted to go out. So we met up with her and tried to find something to do, but it was already late and everything still open was heinously expensive. So we basically walked for a while, with people peeling off heading home.
Eventually there were three of us left, me another guy who had been my class the first week and this girl who was really drunk. As it turns out she didn't know where her cousin's apartment was where she was supposed to be spending the night. (She knew where it was in relation to a metro stop, but she didn't know where the stop was). Being the gentleman I am, I offered to figure it out, and walk her home. Note that I had already planned on staying out really late. We arrived at her cousin's apartment after some shockingly efficient navigating by yours truly relatively quickly. Her cousin however doesn't answer when she rings the bell or knocks. So I spent a couple of hours trying to sleep on the cold apartment hallway floor, waiting for her to sober up and for the metros to start running so she could get to her actual home. At about 6 a French neighbor arrived after a night out and seemed slightly confused to see us in the hallway trying to sleep. If there's ever a time when it's hard to speak French, it's when you've been awoken, in the middle of a random hallway somewhere working on very, very little sleep. Everyone was confused and he went into his room. The girl and I decided to head out and she took the metro home.
I went for my metro home, but in transferring, ran into these two American girls. At this point it was nearly 7 o'clock and I was pretty much giddy with exhaustion and they were too. Naturally we hit it off immediately. Anyone in Paris who speaks English is a best friend and when your extremely tired, the law is multiplied tenfold. As it turns out, one was studying in Nice and the other was studying in London. They had been roommates in college and were meeting up for one night in Paris (haha, get it?). Literally, they had arrived Saturday at 4pm, stayed up all night for Nuit Blanche and were returning to their respective cities at 11ish.
So, the three of us took an extremely curious walk through Paris laughing at just about anything that could be deemed remotely funny. We were going to try and find La Duree (sorry again, sp) for macaroons which are rumored to be incredible. Unfortunately we didn't know exactly where (and by that I mean, we had no clue whatsoever) the store was, so we nixed that idea and head off in search of some coffee. We sat down had some coffee and then started going towards a metro when sure enough, what do we see? LA DUREE! So we obviously enter, buy some macaroons and then finish our journey to the metro station before going our separate ways. (The macaroons are that good, in case you were curious). Our parting was quite sad because while we had known each other for merely a few hours, we had shared a pretty awesome common experience and had nearly instantly become best friends.
It was incredibly random, and the fact that I joined them on their strange stroll through Paris probably should have awkward, but it wasn't probably on account of our fatigue.
Anyway, I had promised a story for Nuit Blanche and I feel I've delivered. If this account has been incoherent/not interesting it is merely because I'm writing on basically no sleep and I'm immersed in French so I can't speak English anymore anyway.
Maybe I'll elaborate more later... who knows. But I think I'm going to go back to sleep.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
America?!
I have a lot of time on my hands. So I read a lot. And since I don't really like any of the books I've been reading, I've been reading a lot of articles on politics and what not. American foreign policy is ridiculous. The belief that the best way to "be safe" is to improve militarily or to fight pre-emtive (sp?) wars (Iraq, Iran, etc.) is stupid and outdated. Why does nobody remember detente? Detente was that thing that Nixon did that basically ended the Cold War... and it's a French term, so I'm that much more fond of it!
The way we can become safer is by practicing a modern detente and that is by leading the world on the cultural and scientific battle field. Imagine a world where America is spending billions, trillions of dollars not on fighting wars but instead on fighting global warming. Who wants to attack the country that's going to save the entire planet from the apocalypse? An added bonus is that all that we might gain economically by fighting wars in the Middle East becomes increasingly less important as our dependency on oil decreases. So basically we could be winning the same war, without upsetting anyone (in fact probably making any moderately educated person rather happy).
We're currently policing the world, fighting to "keep us safe from the evils of tyranny," while we could be spending our money to make the world a place that doesn't need policing.
Anyway, enough ranting, I apologize if that is horribly disorganized or incoherent. Today I watched Ratatuille in French, which was quite fun... I understood enough to enjoy it. I also have an interview with a guy from RR Donnelly that Peggy set me up with on Friday, so wish me luck and thanks a lot to Peggy.
The way we can become safer is by practicing a modern detente and that is by leading the world on the cultural and scientific battle field. Imagine a world where America is spending billions, trillions of dollars not on fighting wars but instead on fighting global warming. Who wants to attack the country that's going to save the entire planet from the apocalypse? An added bonus is that all that we might gain economically by fighting wars in the Middle East becomes increasingly less important as our dependency on oil decreases. So basically we could be winning the same war, without upsetting anyone (in fact probably making any moderately educated person rather happy).
We're currently policing the world, fighting to "keep us safe from the evils of tyranny," while we could be spending our money to make the world a place that doesn't need policing.
Anyway, enough ranting, I apologize if that is horribly disorganized or incoherent. Today I watched Ratatuille in French, which was quite fun... I understood enough to enjoy it. I also have an interview with a guy from RR Donnelly that Peggy set me up with on Friday, so wish me luck and thanks a lot to Peggy.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
The Good Ol' Days
I apologize for not having posted in a while. To be honest, I couldn't decide whether or not I wanted to continue with this blog, but I've decided to continue, mostly because I'm afraid of forgetting how to write in English (a rather damning fear for a person of my age and academic situation).
Anyway, last night I went to have dinner with Bruno, Pascaline and their son, Martin. French apartments are rather confusing and have more staircases than residents. Naturally I chose the wrong staircases not once or twice, but three times. The first time I realized quickly that I had chosen "Staircase C" instead of "B" rather quickly with no embarrassing encounters. I was not as lucky the second two times.
In fact, my second attempt at "Staircase B" came after I followed a sign that pointed me in one direction. I knocked on the apartment of two very confused French people who tried to point me in the right direction. Unfortunately, that direction was the other side of their apartment, where I knocked also. Turns out the first staircase was the "Service stairs of Staircase A." Needless to say (I'm very smart) I found the proper stairs and the Rotigs graciously allowed me into their home.
Once I was with the correct people, we spoke exclusively in French which was quite satisfying. The conversation started with a normal pleasantries and eventually moved on to how Bruno and Pascaline had met my dad and what he was like back then. Nothing was exceptionally surprising except that he was EXACTLY how he had said he was. That's quite surprising in its own right.
We eventually moved onto pictures and they were all of these incredible costume and themed parties they had had. One of them was of Greek art and everyone had painted their bodies white and was wearing white sheets and what not. Bobby, a friend of my dad's who I had dinner with last week, had even made a plaster-looking rear that extended into legs... he was a centaur. It was honestly incredible. Some of the costumes in the pictures looked like they had taken weeks to design and make.
That got me thinking about American "theme" parties, and by theme parties and I mean "Girls dress slutty" parties, because that's what theme parties at home tended to be. I think a lot of this stems from fear... people are horrified of dressing in costumes that could be social suicide. If someone makes an effort to make a costume that's awesome... it's embarrassing, not awesome.
Nowadays we're afraid of everything. We don't do this because we could be sued or we don't do that because we won't get into college. Bureaucracy has made it increasingly difficult and nearly impossible to have true adventures. Pascaline described the time with my dad as being a time when they were so many adventures. Adventures these days hardly exist because we're all afraid of being caught, and unfortunately our fear is highly rational.
Just the other day I tried to go to watch the most recent French rugby match in this huge tent (although not huge enough) set up by the Eiffel Tower exclusively for the Rugby World Cup. When we arrived, no one was being let in because the tent was full. We decided to try and sneak, but at every entrance there was someone guarding the door. They even had earpieces like the secret service. All of this was to guard a FREE "access libre" tent. So ironic and stupid.
Read Thomas Friedman's "9/11 is Over" for the bigger picture of my frustrations.
I gotta go... the few adventures left won't stick around forever.
Anyway, last night I went to have dinner with Bruno, Pascaline and their son, Martin. French apartments are rather confusing and have more staircases than residents. Naturally I chose the wrong staircases not once or twice, but three times. The first time I realized quickly that I had chosen "Staircase C" instead of "B" rather quickly with no embarrassing encounters. I was not as lucky the second two times.
In fact, my second attempt at "Staircase B" came after I followed a sign that pointed me in one direction. I knocked on the apartment of two very confused French people who tried to point me in the right direction. Unfortunately, that direction was the other side of their apartment, where I knocked also. Turns out the first staircase was the "Service stairs of Staircase A." Needless to say (I'm very smart) I found the proper stairs and the Rotigs graciously allowed me into their home.
Once I was with the correct people, we spoke exclusively in French which was quite satisfying. The conversation started with a normal pleasantries and eventually moved on to how Bruno and Pascaline had met my dad and what he was like back then. Nothing was exceptionally surprising except that he was EXACTLY how he had said he was. That's quite surprising in its own right.
We eventually moved onto pictures and they were all of these incredible costume and themed parties they had had. One of them was of Greek art and everyone had painted their bodies white and was wearing white sheets and what not. Bobby, a friend of my dad's who I had dinner with last week, had even made a plaster-looking rear that extended into legs... he was a centaur. It was honestly incredible. Some of the costumes in the pictures looked like they had taken weeks to design and make.
That got me thinking about American "theme" parties, and by theme parties and I mean "Girls dress slutty" parties, because that's what theme parties at home tended to be. I think a lot of this stems from fear... people are horrified of dressing in costumes that could be social suicide. If someone makes an effort to make a costume that's awesome... it's embarrassing, not awesome.
Nowadays we're afraid of everything. We don't do this because we could be sued or we don't do that because we won't get into college. Bureaucracy has made it increasingly difficult and nearly impossible to have true adventures. Pascaline described the time with my dad as being a time when they were so many adventures. Adventures these days hardly exist because we're all afraid of being caught, and unfortunately our fear is highly rational.
Just the other day I tried to go to watch the most recent French rugby match in this huge tent (although not huge enough) set up by the Eiffel Tower exclusively for the Rugby World Cup. When we arrived, no one was being let in because the tent was full. We decided to try and sneak, but at every entrance there was someone guarding the door. They even had earpieces like the secret service. All of this was to guard a FREE "access libre" tent. So ironic and stupid.
Read Thomas Friedman's "9/11 is Over" for the bigger picture of my frustrations.
I gotta go... the few adventures left won't stick around forever.
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