All the things!

Hyperbole and a Half has finally updated, so I guess that means I should too. We've been in the US of A for almost a week now and I'm trying my damnedest  to come out of vacation mode, uh in terms of all the things I keep shoveling into my mouth.
Me: Oh wow, they still make those, I forgot they exist!
Server: So, you'll have one then?
Me: Pft! I'll have two.

On Monday we drove from DC to Columbus with Sebastien's parents, who helped us pack up our storage space back that way. We should each get to be our favorite ninja turtles for the amount of effort and martial awesomeness it required to finish those Herculean endeavors.  It's cheesy to say, but when all four of us were balancing a mattress on our head and walking it towards a truck, I couldn't help but feel like we were making a moment. Dibs on Raphael.
I knew we'd be spending the weekend in the District, so about a month ago I arranged for a really good friend of Sebastien's to be in town as a surprise. I'm typically pretty terrible at keeping this sort of excitement to myself--so I'm proud to say that although every single person who would listen to me knew about it, Sebastien had no idea Jon would be there when we met up with the Georgetown crew for a happy hour last Thursday.
DC is something special. Seb and I walked from L'Enfant Plaza to Tenleytown--crossing the National Mall and stopping for BBQ in Glover Park. The moisture level that day was palpably different from anything we've encountered in Paris thanks to all those beautiful trees and 1800 years of progress in city planing. I had honestly forgotten what fresh cut grass smelled like. One of our our best friends, Brad, not only picked us up from the airport, not only let us crash at his new apartment with his fiance in Maryland,  but actually woke us up on our first day back in the States to a pancake breakfast. A pancake breakfast! With real Vermont Maple syrup.  Honestly, Brad is amazing and we are so happy for him and the woman he chose to share his life with.

Plus, they live near a lake!

Leaving Paris was not an easy task. Putting aside taxis, bag limits and weird rules for mailing books and I still had to not cry when we said goodbye to all the amazing friends we've made. At any given moment from now until I die, I might dream of you, or smile when I think of something you said. If you're reading this, and you know that I'm referring to you, also  know that my door is always open. No matter where I am in the world, I've got at least a couch for you. You're invited. We'd love to host you.

We counted and realized that we had 25 different roommates from 11 separate countries over a two year period. Excepting of course Sebastien, I didn't have a say in a single one who came or went. But we all did our best and made it work. Along the way  I think I really learned what it means to be a good coloc. I was a much messier person before moving in with all of them. I understand now that I'm happier if I just assume people have no idea their behaviors would upset me. This is important for two reasons, reason one--they probably don't have any idea nor any ill intentions, and  Reason two-- even if they do, I can survive it. The sooner I gave up on the small stuff the more time I had for fun with them. Especially at the end. I say end now because it's actually over and that mostly doesn't bother me. But there was a twinge of something earlier today when I needed a few lemons and realized there aren't three fruit vendors on the street below my non-existent balcony anymore. And therein lies the lesson: sometimes life gives you lemons and sometimes they're taken away. But even then, there's usually still sugar.

Merci, Jack le Black

The Paris gang thew us an amazing party where they gifted us with an Eiffel tower covered in little notes and well wishes. Sebastien felt the need to wear it on his head because of reasons. I would be sadder about leaving all of their awesomeness behind if this was a different epoch where people wrote with feathers and got around by horse or boat. In such a world it would be easy to imagine I'd never see these good folks ever again. But those restraints have gone the way of the dodo, and the Myspace.

We flew Iceland Air. Since we were only able to spend a limited amount of time in Reykjavík, I made sure to watch two films in the native language.
The first film was actually mislabeled as Sumarlandið which had the word elf several times in the synopsis but was actually the film, Brúðguminn about a middle age philosophy professor who thinks he might be marrying someone to justify his affair with her. The second film, Rokland was about an angry blogger who is sure that what Northern Iceland really needs is more German philosophy and less Coca-Cola
It's hard not to agree with both of them in principle.

The next few days we'll probably spend going through boxes and figuring out which items are worth buying plastic crates for and which would be better off on the curb. Much to my chagrin, I didn't leave our pizza roller for our flatmates. But in other news I've decided to get rid of a lot of vintage tee shirts. Primarily because I rarely wear them, but mostly because there are cool kids all over Columbus who will call every Melissa in lumpyspace.

I plan on posting more regularly and listening to the Eye of the Tiger a lot in my head because I'm ready for the month of June like Little Mac was ready for Tyson. Actually, his song was better. Yeah, I'll be humming that.

Onward!

Ca voulait dire, on est heureux

The gap is almost closed. In just two days I'll be trying to watch as many films as I possibly can in a row, on an airplane.
We're back and forth with our successes.
For instance we got the paper work out on time but they never received it.
We made photocopies but they want originals. It's in French but the Chinese need English. And like this we grit our teeth blow out our breath and try again.


It's Sunday now. We woke up in somebody's lent bed. His skin smells like alcohol but with my forehead against his chin I could endure anything.

Everything we do feels like an invocation, right now. If we have a bottle of wine we share it, with particular people, in a particular way so that it means a certain thing. Enjoying a dish for the last time is like a prayer. Sidewalk cafes are my new religion.

I am losing my religion.

But when I consider what I've gained...

Devant un café crème,
Epuisés, mais ravis,
Faut-il bien que l'on s'aime,
Et que l'on aime la vie.

Ghost Dance

Of all the founding fathers, I'd say that Sitting Bull has always been my favorite.

Right after him would probably be Thomas Jefferson, though. Not because of his hip black girlfriend(s?) or the fact that he supported the French revolution, no, I'm all up on his pantaloons like white on brown rice because that man was a gentleman and a scholar and he had a well planned day.

He'd get up in the morning and start his first class: Meteorology.  He'd measure the wind direction and a bunch of other junk about the climate. If he was around today he'd be that guy online saying dumb shit like, "Rise and Shine Facebook!" because he was up at first light. He also behaved like your typical Star Wars fan when it came to Jesus.  He couldn't get down on all that water into wine ish so he did a fan cut of the Bible. 

Midichlorians, srs?

Imagine him on twitter, he'd always be in fights with your crazy conservative uncle. (Hashtag Separation of church and state.) Not on twitter? Well, basically, if you were Facebook friends, you'd hide his feed two weeks after you accepted his request but you'd surreptitiously check in on him whenever you wanted to feel better about your station in life. 

Lol, Jefferson is such a tool.

He'd have a blog too. 

Second class, Journalism. A dabbler in all kinds of crazy crap from "horticulture" to slavery, he was always getting tons of mail. If we put that into a modern day context, we see that he'd be mostly in the comment section dispelling myths and magic. Such a hero.

He only ate two meals a day.

His teeth were not made of wood and his wife had a much cooler name than Martha.

He'd study law and foreign languages in the afternoon because he was esentually a Tenenbaum.

After all of that, I imagine he had recess, which amounted to fathering children and supporting armed revolutions and attending to other ambassadorial duties...such as they were. 

These factoids were impressed upon me when I had to do a book report on him with some bratty rich kid I tutored back in DC. We took notes side by side while his mom loaded one of the dishwashers in their kitchen. Next week she could barely hide her venom at the fact that he only got a B on the accompanying test. Thinking back, I should have maybe appealed to her egoism and feigned culpability. But as far as I could tell, the kid did his best and paying me to parent wasn't going to make him suddenly better. Perhaps I'm being a bit too harsh in calling him a brat; it's not his fault he was going to grow up playing lacross and calling his mother by her first name.

Atanyrate, I'm trying to be more like Jefferson insofar as I'm spending more time studying. I would murder everyone I lived with if I only ate two meals a day but I've started getting up before ten and have consistently worn non-pajama based pants for more than half the day. In terms of studies, I do French in the morning and Chinese in the afternoon. I recently was able to translate this phrase in public so I know I'm on the right path...
It says 'I speak Chinese.'

Um, the rest of that probably says other things, too. Who can tell under all that MS paint blur?

Of course I don't actually speak Chinese, but I'm not so afraid of the characters that I simply dismiss them as a foreign script anymore. Paso a paso... 

Seb and I bought our plane tickets back to the States. We'll be landing in Washington in early May. By George, it's time we unpacked our storage space and drive it all back to Ohio.
We lived in the Capital city for 5 years so I'm going to be pretty excited to return and do some real white people shit like grabbing BBQ at Rocklands and heading down the hill to Glover Park to watch drunk adults play softball. I'm a little pissed I'll be missing Cinco De Mayo--that shits almost as cool as Pi Day.

Pi day, pi day gotta get down on pi day.

Things are drawing to a close but we still have a bunch of doctors appointments to run our way through. A couple of paychecks to collect. A few more big meals to make, one more mega teuf and then it's au the fuck revoir, Paris.

Some people in my position might be sad to be quitting the City of Lights, and whereas it's true that I love the language, the cut of the clothes and the quality of the food, I'm not good at sticking around anywhere for very long. So instead I'm going to take as much of it with me in my suitcase and in my heart as I can. Paris was never mine, she just let me crash on her couch for a good stint. We both are starting to feel like I've overstayed my welcome and soon my visa will be up anyway. 

I've made a lot of great friends it's true, but I no longer view time and separation as permanent obstacles; I therefore don't fear leaving them. I know this sentiment is naturally acompanied by a certain naivete, for anyone of us could die at any time. I guess what it comes down to is my death will mean I cease to exist, matter or care. And as for yours, well, the best I can do is deal with that Ghost Dance when I have to. Presently, I'd rather be remembering the good times and chasing that ever elusive better things to come. So now you're free, Mordecai. Aller, go. C'est parti ! 

Where are the hardships?

There are good ships and there are wood ships and there are ships that sail the sea, but the best ships are friendships and may they ever be.
Best toast ever. Toast is great but don't let it get too hard. Now hardships, those are something else.I am rereading the PDFs the Peace Corps sent me because I have to check a box that says I did that.

There are a lot of half-contemptible things in these documents. Apparently, for example--I may not drive in my host country, or while traveling to any other country where the peace corps currently has volunteers. I may ride a bike, but I may be discharged from my service if I operate one without a helmet.A lot of the documents want to prepare us for disappointment and loneliness and existential questions about not being able to communicate. It's going to be interesting experiencing those tribulations for a second time.

When we moved to France, Sebastien did not have the same linguistic handicaps that I did. He had been visiting France since his early childhood and his greatest problem with speaking is that he's too creative with words. So I'm going to do my best to be compassionate towards him and that newness even as I struggle myself. In some ways, being in a couple for Peace Corps service makes us lucky--we will have each others hard won companionship  after all. In other ways it will be more difficult, as it has been in France, as it could only be in a country with which neither party has any cultural ties.
But we will have dim sum, that's something.
I wanted to share with you a few quotes from the manual that I found particularly amusing.

"Your host families have probably even been warned that you’ll be unintentionally boorish now and then and that they shouldn’t take it personally."

So that's cool. Anytime I fly off the handle, throw the baby out with the bathwater or cry over spilt milk I can just look at my host family levelly and remind them in English, they had been warned.
Better still, there is an entire section of one manual titled: Where is the hardship?
That had these two gems:

"Doing without is part of the image and mythology of the Peace Corps, and some Volunteers associate it with success. In truth, there is no such equivalency. Even if you do have hot running water, you can still cover yourself in glory just as easily as a Volunteer who sleeps under a date palm and takes sponge baths."

TIL that some people in the Peace Corps get to sleep under date palms, and this fact apparently renders me jealous. But it's an interesting point to make. Just look at all the stuff I won't be taking into industrialized China:

Lol, just kidding. Of course I'll bring duct-tape. 

And I admit that I do find myself a bit wrapped up in the mystique of hardship (and camping.) Nobody's culture should be treated as an opportunity to camp, I actually know this but there is something excited in me that just loves to pack and be prepared and takes great pride in having expected outcomes and then encountering them. I actually prefer those things to pitching my tent in the rain or playing with magnesium and steal, trying to get a fire lit.
...but if I'm being completely honest, playing with magnesium is actually kind of worth it.
Even still, I know that China is going to be a changing experience. It would be limiting to imagine just how. But I might actually feel guilty -guilty, I say!- for not suffering enough. Graciously, the manual urges me to rest assured that I will suffer. Existentially. Possibly to the point of depression induced sickness.

"So in the meantime, don’t worry: It’s still noble work even if the shop on the corner does carry M&Ms. They’re probably stale anyway."

Talk about injustice!
I take it back, please don't.

I've been walking around realizing that I actually enjoy Spring. And it turns out I'm also really going to miss Paris.
 I feel kinda silly for saying that. But there are a million things to celebrate right on my block. How many times  in my life will I ever live near a coffee roaster again? The lady behind the counter knows how I like my beans ground. moulee pour un cafetier italien. Pas de sac. Comme d'habitude. She always says warmly before she wishes us a good sunday.

One time, I was in the mood for a burger but didn't have the dinero for Chez Jeanette so I walked into a bucher shop about two doors down  and asked them if they had any ground beef left. The butcher furrowed his brow  at me and picked up what I considered to be a good cut of meat. Feeling certain that I had mispronounced steak hachee, I tried again, very polity to say it more slowly. He just rolled his eyes and dropped the meat in the grinder.
Just like that.

There is a Pankistani man who sells ripped DVDs from on top of a box every night, right across from where all the free degustations are hosted. He's always so cordial when we talk that I actually look forward to our small intereactions.
I hope he never gets caught.

Feth, I love it here! No decent brunch places but hella good, Indian food four businesses at a time.  I can't even bring down the trash without smelling fresh mint or apples from the fruit stand below our flat. Not to mention the roasted chickens and pigs each time I step on to the balcony, in winter. A short stroll on Saturday gets you to la fontaine Saint Michel where you can manage to find kebab for 50 centimes cheeper than on my street. Or closer even, les forum des Halles if you want to spend an afternoon in the FNAC pretending you can afford a two euro pocket edition.
I have so many good memories of the canal Saint Martin. Drinking cheep german beer along the quai with Clement while he plays his guitar. By bike past the banlieue Saint Denis onward and further till the sidewalks end and the fields begin.

The Fete de la Musique. June 21st, you'll always be there. That was my main reason for coming to France that first summer in 2009--even if I was still in Madrid at the time.
I'll miss you, Summers nights taken by storm and by foot. Hearing accordion players playing non ironically from my bed.
Amazing falafel in the Marais. The best kurdish food I've ever had. A hotdog stand that juices fruits and sells bagles. Ti-punch. Seeing whole skinned rabbits along side the chickens in shop windows.
Coming back from class by velib.
And walking back to my flat with a hot baguette against my side on a crisp Autumn's eve. It's memories like these that keep me so addicted to adventuring.

Our weekend was pretty full. 
On n'a pas fait que la fête, mais comme meme.
We went to my favorite bar, Le Mauri7, on Friday night. Sebastien and I kept it light. The rest of the gang got back around 6 AM. I had to teach Saturday morning and so I wasn't trying to over do it. I'm glad I didn't either, because Saturday was beautiful and Seb and I walked all around the 12th arrondissement along the Promenade Plantee. The city has converted an old raised train line into a garden. We did the whole length, back tracked and then walked home through Bastille  and in through the Marais and back along the Seine. 
Went to a great house party last night not far from here and really enjoyed ourselves. Today I have  to update the FTP server for my class but I plan to do that from bed. It's cloudy and I just want to read. I think I borrowed a book from someone last night called Charly 9. It smells like cigarettes and rhum so I don't want to touch it today. But last night I was very exicited to start reading it.
Makes me wonder what tomorrow will bring. Likely more hardship and peace corps paperwork. But I feel existentially prepared for such an onslaught. I will face it with his hand in mine and by the grit of my teeth. I will likely also have coffee. Ground. For an Italian coffee maker. No plastic bag. Like usual.
Bonne Dimanche.

Spoiler alert, I cried.

Hey everybody
Posting may be spastic until I can get a few looming tasks out of the way.  Recently, though, I acquired a copy of Final Cut Pro so I'll be trying to figure that out and get up the latest video I shot as soon as Erinly possible.
I've been doing a lot of downloading lately and as a result gotten my hands on those big Oscar flicks. So far I've seen Lincoln and Amour.

The Stephen Spielberg film is going to be the final word on Lincoln in American classrooms and homes all over the world for a long time to come. I would be last to deny that my views on the captivity and enslavement of humans were not shaped by motions he passed in congress. But the Abraham presented in the film doesn't mesh honestly with the man who wrote this letter:

My paramount object in this struggle is to save the Union, and is not either to save or destroy Slavery. If I could save the Union without freeing any slave, I would do it, and if I could save it by freeing all the slaves, I would do it, and if I could save it by freeing some and leaving others alone, I would also do that. 

Full Letter, New York Times.
Do I still respect him? Am I grateful towards him and what the Republican party stood for in that point in the History of the United States?  Yes, of course on all accounts. But Slavery was bad for business in the North and real abolitionist were freeing themselves and freeing others before it ever became a matter for the boys in the Federal City.
Speaking in terms of its capacities as a film it was elegantly shot. Abe looked exactly as I would have expected and was just as folksy as advertised by my fourth grade history text.
My favorite moment in the film had to be the George Washington reaction shot. That was just golden. That and the two references to women's suffrage were also tastefully done so I was in the end not wholly dissatisfied with the film.

Amour was particularly hard for Sebastien to watch what with the similarities to his grandparent's situations on both sides of his family. But for my part, I was pleased to understand literally everything that was said. I've really arrived. Srs, I was laying on my husband's chest thinking that he's the very reason I can appreciate this film in the original language without subtitles. It made me feel so close to him.
But the film is just. so. French.
OMG, yes, it's well framed. The color palate is exquisite everything that should be there is. You even see a little back story existing between the daughter and her English speaking partner--there is some depth there that didn't need to be. Wonderful. However, during the scene  where said daughter is having a private talk with her father I wanted to see his face. Would he be as mortified as I would have been? Gawd, that's so French. And the twist? Really? REALLY?
So French.
But so good. Seriously, I won't give you more than what I have because it's your homework to see it.
I may watch the film again just to study it. As I said, I understood everything that was said, but I don't phrase things as they were in the film. This would really go a long way to getting me closer to verbal fluency.

I've been getting up earlier and working a little harder on my language acquisition. I do French in the morning and Chinese in the afternoon.  That said, if you're interested in learning Mandarin, my friend Tim recommended this incredibly useful and free program. You can completely customize your learning experience. It has my full endorsement. And so does Tim--check out his Blog on life in China. It's a great read.

Don't get any crazy ideas about me, because Mandarin is super hard. I honestly feel a little awkward trying to pronounce words correctly. My childhood was filled with people doing fake Asian...uh, speeches (?)  I don't know, whatever you call the racist form of speaking in tongues. As a result, everything I say feels a little embarrassing. I'm very excited by the challenge, though and I'm really going to apply myself to it.

Due to recent budget cuts, I've been making miracles in the kitchen for much less. (And with only half the amount of pasta you might expect.) Ongoings lately have included an awesome dinner on Valentine's day. We did it on the cheep but cheese fondue is always super yums. We also had a party the other weekend with about 40 to 50 people in ugly sweaters. The nay-bores didn't even complain so we must have done something right. I posted a few pic's taken with my coloc's camera over on my flickr account if that's the sort of thing you want to see more of. There are a few nudes but the airbrushing was truly top shelf.

That's it for now--watch out for that video blog, it's going to be a double blind taste test of a popular American drink and its European counterpart. All my best friends are scientists so they did there best to  scoff at my methods and make me cry. I think you'll like it.
Spoiler alert, yes, I cried.
Have a great week
:)

The color blue and red candies too.

<<Aujourd'hui, maman est morte.>> 
That's the first line from the Stranger, one of my favorite books on our high school's curriculum and the basis of everything I would learn about Existentialism. I'm reading it now, in French and even though I'm seeing a lot of the vocabulary for the first time, I heard it used frequently, last week.

Sebastien's grandmother passed away and his parents came from the US to attend the funeral.

I had only seen her once, prior to her death--Sebastien took  me to Strasbourg to meet his Uncle and cousins and during that visit I only heard her speak a single time which was prompted by Sebastien's Uncle telling her that Seb's father was on the phone. He asked if she would like to speak with him. 

<< Oh, yes ! >> she had replied warmly. That was in 2009.

Sebastien and his parents visited her in Alsace last summer. I stayed in Paris because the trip interfered with my work schedule. As a result last week was the first time I had seen most of Seb's family in 4 years. I was hesitant to go in some ways, as if doing so would make a promise I was scared to keep. And anyway, funerals are personal, family affairs-- Sebastien's own sister couldn't even make it, and as I am merely the wife of a grandson...I didn't want to intrude.

But reluctant as I was, I knew it was my duty to attend. Sebastien has held my hand through both my brother and my father's death, in effect making that same promise I was scared to make, twice.

Am I being clear enough, dear reader?

It means something to meet your lover's parents. It means something else to accompany them to a wedding where you might interact with their family in a time of joy...it means quite another thing to stand beside them during tragedy.

My French has improved greatly since my first vacation to France. I was a little disappointed that nobody mentioned that at first, or slowed down when they spoke, or even asked me where I was from, but acceptance is it's own kind of compliment.

Interestingly enough, the whole affair was a joyful event punctuated by deep feelings and tears. Moving as those moments were I found they were overshadowed by droll stories and beautiful pictures. People had amazing tales of his grandmother. My favorite involved his great-Aunt and how she met her husband.

Sebastien's Grandmother was quite an accomplished seamstress. I've seen pictures of the Batman costume she made him as a child. 

Apparently she had  fashioned a blue velvet dress with a white collar for her younger sister, Sebastien's great-Aunt.

She told her little sister to put it on to go out to lunch. Her sister complied but leaned out the window to see what the weather would be like. It was raining and she was not looking forward to getting the new garment wet. She looked good in blue--this was never  mentioned but even now, in her mid 80's blue is her color.

While she's thinking about the weather a young man leans out his own window, across the street.

<< It's raining. >> He remarked.

<< Yes, it is. >> She agrees. << It's too bad because I was just about to go to a restaurant. >> She told this story more than once and she paused every time right here to say that she was too poor to eat at a restaurant, she was going to a cafe to buy a sandwich, but she didn't want him to know that.

<<You're going to eat some place? Well, I'm hungry too. Why don't we go together ? >> the young engineer leaning out his window proposed.

She agreed. Less than a year later, they were married. Fifty years ago now.

Any romantic anywhere would want to have a love story brought to you in part by the inconvenience of weather and a beautiful blue dress. C'est magique, ca !

I know Valentine's day is coming up and people are going to talk about what love is or isn't. How the holiday is manufactured and stupid and I get all of that, I really do.

But admit it--Valentines day was so awesome when we were in grade school. I don't know how they do things in France, but trading candy and paper puns was a textbook amazing afternoon for me. Red candies ranging from cherry to fire-flavored were front and center and somebody's mom inevitable brought in chocolate cupcakes. 

Pft, whatever. That holiday ruled.

This year Sebastien and I are dead broke. Both the trip to Rome and the visit to the US really put the breaks on our spending. 4 weeks of cumulative vacation does not come cheaply and the translation work he's had lately is enough to cover his half of the rent and little else. For my part, I was told I wouldn't be needed at the Local Bio until April and I had to take a day off from teaching for the funeral. So there won't be costly ingredients for our dinner nor the gifts I couldn't afford for him at Christmas. But there will be love, and I mean the blue dress kind.

Something he probably doesn't remember about when we got together, we had made it official on Valentine's day, yes. But two days later,  somebody's dad left three trays of cupcakes in my common room at college. I selected one with a plastic ring on the top and brought it over to Seb in his room, presenting it with a grin. I knew what I was doing, but I told myself I was only playing at promises and commitment. 

Later that night when the fire alarm got us out of our beds, I found him in the crowd and I handed him a Hershey's hug with the paper that said "I love you." I did so knowing that maybe it was too soon for such hints and insinuations. But why not romance someone if you have the chance? It's only candy and plastic promise rings anyway, right? 8 years later, I'm not sure if that's true. Why not ask us about it in 50 years.

Temporary Everythings

Well, what do you think? It's was my first. I was 18 and I picked it off the wall of a tattoo parlor in Hampton Beach. It's two characters supposedly, life and be present....a Carpe diem a of sorts--I don't know, that's what the artist said, and that's what others have told me. I can't read Chinese. It might as well be Korean.
In my more radical days, when everyone had half their head shaved and we'd all walk around in shorts patched with dental floss,  I would tell anybody who asked that  it was Kanji for "cultural appropriation."  They would laugh indulgently at the imprudence of youth and go back to their kale and quinoa burritos. It seems to me now that our our towers were much more ivory than we imagined because regular people don't know what cultural appropriation is and Kanji isn't even a form of Chinese.
Flippancy  has long been my way of saying I don't walk to talk about it.And I don't either. I was so impetuous I nearly got the character for rain written on my body.

It's tribal, so whatever.

For awhile I  felt guilty because I wasted a great tattoo location for a language I don't speak from a culture with whom my familiarity extends only as far as the understanding that their New Year is different than my own.  And for a long time this was a sufficiently humorous punishment. But I'm too busy mispronouncing every French word I know to think too long on it, these days. 

Yet even here in France I've remained in pretty fair contact with the United States. Obama or one of his minions sent me an email ever three or four days up until his second inauguration. Apparently they need a lot of help or money, or maybe just something for the interns to do--so they send me emails. It isn't the life I would have chosen for them, but it's the cards they were dealt
I've been dealt a new hand myself- DHL delivered a package yesterday with a letter from Obama and he wanted to talk about Kennedy's legacy and commitment and, the Peace Corps. It was signed with the fattest permanent market possible or had been photocopied to the point where his signature no longer resembles the original. Very exciting stuff.
Yes, mis amigos, we've finally got our destination and it's finally time to tell you that we expect to be moving to China to teach English at a University. We'll not know where exactly or when exactly until they feel like telling us. We've got visas and vaccinations to attend to, miles to go before we sleep and a whole lot of promises to keep.  I think we could not have done better in terms of comfort and as some of you may recall I planned to live in China at some point in my life anyway. I'm excited for a fresh chance at adventure.  Best of all, we will be trained in Mandarin--so I may learn what my tattoo says after all.  


Anything could still go wrong and knock us out of the running--it's been quite a process. But that's life for you. Carpe Diem, indeed.

This is a bunch of stuff

So I was walking through the Place de la Republic the other night realizing that the perfect time to be out and about in Paris is that sweet spot  between 21h and 23:30 on a quite soggy night because  the sidewalks aren't smoky and over crowded and the drunks aren't yet too curious. 

Naturally, I was singing. I have discovered a lot of great bands over the last year and even though my breaths support isn't what it once was, I still like to belt me out a good tune. All this would be fine if I hadn't been listening to debate highlights songified--the whole time wondering how freakish and patriotic I must look to anyone in earshot and bilingue.

As you may know, we've been in a holding pattern here in Paris for quite some time. It's been my plan since before high school to do the Peace Corps and maybe I meant to do it sooner but it really seems like it's going to happen now. Can't say for sure when, as yet, but before the end of this year I expect to be in another country. 

In a letter we received last night from our recruiter, I was assured there are no posts open in French-speaking countries. Which is a bummer because they currently have open programs in Senegal, Guinea, Burkina Faso, Togo, Benin and Cameroon. They also have feet on the ground in Morocco and Madagascar, but their flash map says they don't train their volunteers in French in these countries. 

Check it out for yourself, it's a pretty solid history of where the Peace Corps has been in the world.

I'll be the first to admit that my thirst for adventure was what interested Erin the child in the Corps but Erin the taller really does like to help people. I say this to explain that my concept--or if I'm being honest--fantasy of how service in the Peace Corps would go has evolved just as I have... 

If this is you:

We should be friends. 

/digression

I've kind of always had my heart set on Africa. The best short fiction in the New Yorker always came out of Africa, said Erin the Child. People are starving in Africa, said Erin's mom, Eat your dinner. Let's deny them access to contraception and education, said the Bush administration. I take a shower after having sex with someone I suspect of having HIV,  remarked the current President of South Africa.   Erin the taller said, I can teach and now I know a nominal amount of French, let me serve. But the letter said we are being considered for all the open programs in the world. So we could be in Columbia or Turkmenistan, as it suits them.
As much as I'm quietly worried about the atrophying of my French, I'm also feeling liberated from my expectations. I can learn almost any language they need me to in two years time. I've proved that to myself here. Moreover, I'm traveling with a rational, map and money-savvy man who will stick by my side and help me sail to our next port. Most of all, I shouldn't worry too much about a future I can't predict or change--I know these things, but I  don't live this truth. 

It snowed last weekend; almost all day, on Sunday. What a wonderful gift to the children of Paris, on an afternoon like Sunday. No school. More than half the shops in town closed your parents have to spend time with you. Many of the streets closed to cars, couldn't have hoped for a better excuse to make wintertime memories.  You should have seen them in Le Parc des Buttes Chaumont.

We slid on our heels a while others used cardboard, truckless skateboards, or sleds, or skis. We walked all the way home and had hot chocolate en route. Had an even better cup of it last night, as a matter of fact. You could say that things have been pretty cozy, lately. We've been reusing tea bags and burning candles. Sweaters, slippers and wool socks whenever we're up. Lots of reading in bed. I love it. There is even a machine raclette sitting on our kitchen table. We'll see what comes of it.
My only sure thing is Sunday's March for Equality. That's right, I'm determined not to be too hungover to stand up for my French LGBT brothers and sisters and their right as tax paying citizens to marry and raise children legally. There was a protest against it two weeks ago but as Biden would say, "Their ideas are old, and their ideas are bad." And I would quote him, because debates are better as musicals.
See you on the other-side of eventually. 

Video Montageeeeeeee

Whelp, I was looking through my camera and found a lot of shaky footage of family and friends from my trip back to the States and thought I'd share a smile with you. Obviously I didn't have my camera handy every time someone said something funny or a moment was made, but I nevertheless think this is a decent record of what went on and where.
After experimentally posting it directly in blogger because youtube (no capital for you!) decided that the third party content I used as a soundscape counts as property infringement, I've opened an account with vimeo and there hasn't been trouble yet.
When you consider that less than 100 people are likely to see this video and that some of them may be moved to buy the music, it becomes obvious why both youtube and that record label need to slow their roll. But since they want to set their ringtone to scorched earth, I will gladly light my blow torch.
And so, in the spirt of "sticking it where you still can,"  I've provided a link to download that song and many others for free:

01 - Japandroids - The House That Heaven Built
02 - Twin Shadow - Five Seconds
03 - Screaming Females - Rotten Apple
04 - FIDLAR - Cheap Beer
05 - Wavves - Hippies Is Punks
06 - Dum Dum Girls - Season in Hell
07 - DIIV - Doused
08 - Lotus Plaza - Monoliths
09 - Gypsy & the Cat - Bloom
10 - Tame Impala - Elephant
11 - Thee Oh Sees - Flood’s New Light
12 - The Babies - Alligator
13 - Divine Fits - Baby Get Worse
14 - Cat Power - Ruin
15 - Haim - Forever
16 - Roosevelt - Sea
17 - Blood Diamonds - Phone Sex [ft. Grimes]
18 - Elite Gymnastics - Andreja 4-Ever
19 - Still Corners - Fireflies
20 - Chromatics - Cherry
21 - The xx - Chained
22 - Sky Ferreira - Everything Is Embarrassing [Demo]

DOWNLOAD FULL ZIP

Happy Trails. 

Queen of the eyesores

Annnnnnnnd we're back from blogging hiatus. I would apologize for my absence, but that's bad for morale, so instead I'll solemnly swear I've been up to no good.

The last three weeks have found me on the State side of the moon forgetting everything I knew about French and remembering little American tricks like eggnog and cheddar cheese.
We spent the first few days of our trip with Sebastien's parents in Columbus, Ohio--I tried the strangest ice creams there: Banana and bacon, rosemary, olive oil and chocolate chip, raspberry and goat cheese and marshmallow and yams. We also met up with a friend from university and caught up on the who-and-the-what.

Next stop was Saint Louis to rendezvous with all of the Torrini Clan--ie Sebastien's extended family on his mother's side. It's cool because a lot of his cousins are right around our age and they've asking interesting questions, dating cool people and have maintained good taste in music.

From the Lou we caught a flight to Boston and met up with another college friend- whom my best friend from High school coincidentally learned about on Goodreads. If you like Zombie books, you should check her out too.
After that I spent more time than I should have at Chez ma mere. My mother for her part doesn't really like me, stoutly refuses to offer me validation but is at least willing to miss me sincerely whenever I leave--so that's something, I suppose.
Seb and I rang in the New Year with my younger sister and my best friends along the shore of Oyster Pond watching the fireworks from water's edge. While it certainly lacked the splendor of the 14th of July in Paris, we were most definitely entertained.
It's always fun being on the Cape, looking over my old bookshelfs and boxes now relegated to the cellar. I can see me and remember what was feeling that first read through whenever I touch the spine of an old book. Just on a lark I reread the Great Gatsby and decided by page six that this text is utterly wasted on High school Students:

 "Her husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven-a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savors of anti-climax."

If your not impressed, you will be if only you reread the book for yourself. And why not? It will fit so cleverly into your pocket.
Atanyrate, I shared this notion of wastefulness and teenagers with my former English teacher, whom I had the good fortune to encounter at my younger brother's basketball game and was pleased to find that she whole heartedly agreed. It very much made me feel like I was in a secret club...

Having wrapped things up on Cape Cod about as well as could be hoped, Sebastien and I have been back in Boston for a day or two trying to squeeze in all the last minute visits and shopping trips we can. They don't, for instance, sell dryer sheets in France...dafuq?
On to cultural notes:
Sweatpants...they're a thing in Boston.
You can honestly pay a lot of money for a pair of sweats in the US. This would never, ever, I repeat ever happen in Europe.
Heading to the corner store for some milk?
Get on some real pants.

Seriously Boston, Jake gets it--why don't you?
I'm not trying to be uppity or put on airs--it's the T not the metro. I may speak a second language but haven't forgotten my roots. It's just that  uggs and a juicy suit have never been my thing. And I would never date a guy in ecco complex anything. I'm not a judgy face--I don't even like Downton Abbey.

Other cultural notes:
American Pickles are better.  But if tiny and warty is your thing, I'm not going to stop you.
Trader Joes is an asset to cultural diffusion. Did you know that you can buy raclette cheese there now?And the samples lady called  Crayfish langoustine.... Ok playa, time to pump those breaks. Cos that shit cray.
American beers are way better than French ones. Belgium you're still cool. Seriously though, Europe--Stop scoffing and start checking out these breweries: Magic Hat, Flying dog, Red Hook,  Blue Moon. Honestly, these are just my steady eddies, a bunch of new regional beers have sprung up that I haven't even had the time to try. Much like how the States can't be summarized by San Francisco and New York City--American beer isn't just Budweiser. But sometimes it is, because I get nostalgic for running from the cops and drinking in the woods. Plus bud light is 7 dollars a pitcher--and that's after happy hour.

I feel like I'm leaving a lot of stuff out and that this is also getting kind of long so for further clues as to how I spent my time you can head over to my new instagram feed.  Add me if you like me.

In closing, I just want to make clear that I'm so glad I we made this trip. I saw a lot of the people I love--not all, but a lot of them. Sebastien and I came up against constraints and annoyances  and still managed to make the best of it. If you haven't heard me say it in awhile, he's so much better than I deserve.
We head back to France tomorrow.
It's weird to know that I still feel more relaxed in States that I've never lived in than a country that I've called home for two years. And yet, I'm going back expecting to feel relieved when French is the background noise I hear between songs....Attention à la marche en descendant du train.. 
I will.
I always do.
Even when it's just the T and there ain't no gap to speak of.