About the Weather

You guys asked for boring daily details, and that’s what you are going to get.

Sorry for not posting yesterday. I was busy writing a Jane Eyre review, and couldn’t get it quite right. So, I wrote a couple of movie reviews and put off Ms Eyre for a bit.

I’m afraid it has been rather boring around here. It has been absolutely gorgeous. I’ve been taking long walks almost every day and getting some very nice photographs.

We’ve been planning my birthday party. It’s Friday, don’t ya know? We decided to have some university friends over, and celebrate with the AIMers at church on Sunday. Nothing too exciting, but you do what you can on a limited budget.

Filed my taxes today. Getting a very nice refund. Very excited about that. It will help us afford what looks like a very expensive ride home.

See, this is boring, boring stuff.

Answer

The people have spoken. I will begin adding more daily life information to the blog. I think I omitted it for a while because I was thinking too far ahead. I am really enjoying writing blog posts each day and have begun to think about what happens when I leave France. No one is going to be interested in my daily life in Indiana. That leaves humorous stories and reviews. Well, I’ve only got so many stories to tell, but I can keep reviewing for a long time. Eventually, I’d like to have a site with loads of reviews on it. But, that’s way in the future, and for now, I’m still in France. So, I will continue to post the bits and pieces of my day.

Speaking of which here’s how my day has gone so far. Once again we received notice that our water was going to be turned off from 8:30 until 12:30 this morning. I was unable to rouse myself out of bed until about 8:25, pure laziness I know. I jumped into the shower to find a tiny amount of pressure and no heat. Somehow I managed to wash my hair and body but didn’t try a shave. Though clean, I didn’t feel shower fresh, and felt this was a bad omen for the day.

Our friend, Pamela, has gone the way of the Brewster and spilled some kind of sauce on her keyboard, rendering it useless. She does not have a regular keyboard port and asked us if she could switch out the USB keyboard she gave us with a regular one. We did that yesterday only to come home and find out the port I thought was for a keyboard, is in reality, a port for another monitor.

So, I ventured out to FNAC this morning to purchase a keyboard. The cheap ones only had PS/2 connections and would not work with our computer. I managed to find a nice-looking cordless USB keyboard for 40 Euros. Double-checking to ensure that I had the right keyboard with the right price I moved to the cashier thinking I had a real bargain. Apparently, I needed a triple-check because she announced that it was 150 Euros! At first, I wanted to argue that the tag said it was much, much cheaper, but my language skills kept me from it.

Then I stammered like an idiot. I can never remember the verbs: to need, to want, and must. Finding no way to say “I don’t want this,” I kept saying I was sorry and to please excuse me in French, and “I don’t want this” in English. She got the picture and reminded me of my verb (vouloir). Felling that I had let down my entire country by being another stupid American who can’t speak a lick of French, I went back to the keyboards scratching my head. After confirming that the keyboard appeared to be only 40 Euros I decided to take the tram to another store.

A tram ride found me at Auchan. There I investigated the keyboards very carefully and decided on a very nice 40 Euro model. I wandered the store for several minutes hoping to find one of those price checkers they have on the walls periodically. The only one I found was broken. So I held my breath and stood in line. While in line a man with a shopping cart full of water pulled in behind me. The cashier began saying something to him very rapidly the only part of which I understood was “caisse vert.” This also happened to be printed on a sign above the cashier.

“Oh no,” I thought, “Why is it every time I stand in line at Auchan there is some strange business with the color green?” The man proceeded to take the water out of the cart and push the cart aside. “Perhaps this is a no-cart aisle” I said to myself. Inside I was afraid the “vert” had something to do with greeneries meaning groceries. The aisle I was standing in was in the grocery store section of Auchan, and I began to think there may be some separation of purchasing stations. But no, the cashier got up to talk to the cart man. At this moment she was replaced by another cashier thus free to do as she pleased. After a bit of conversation with the man, both of them retrieved the cart and pushed it to where they are kept. Cart man returned to the line and everything was fine.

Oh, and my 40 Euro keyboard, was actually 40 Euros this time.

A Perfect Day

It has been absolutely gorgeous here the last four days. The sun has shined brightly, the few clouds have been white and puffy, and the temperature has hovered around the upper 60s. Yesterday was just about perfect. I slept until around 9:30 (lazy I know, but what perfect day would have me waking up early?) We finally got out of bed, had breakfast, lounged about basking in the sun coming in through the window, and prepared for the day. After a shower, dressing, and a light lunch we focused our thoughts on what we would like to do for the day. We decided it was too pretty to do anything productive and went for a leisurely walk.

Nearby one of the universities has a botanical garden. Our feet took us there. We were a little disappointed because though many flowers have been planted almost none have actually sprouted. Still, there was a pond and lots of greenery. We relaxed in the sun and contemplated whether we should spend our afternoon sitting by the water or travel on and find the Orangerie.

We decided to travel and walked through the city towards the European Parliament. Next to this governmental building, there is a large park. Unbeknownst to me, until arrival, there is also a small zoo. We gazed at a wide variety of birds including peacocks and ostrich, and some monkeys and emus.

On the opposite side of the zoo is a lovely stretch of green grass which surrounds a little pond. We sauntered around the water and bought some ice cream on the far end. Sauntering back we found a bench to sit on and sat out the remainder of the afternoon. There is nothing better than sitting in the sun on a beautiful stretch of land with the girl you love.

In the evening I went to the boys and played the French version of Monopoly. It’s an old game so everything is in Franks. That was a bit disconcerting because the highest denomination was a 50,000 frank versus the piddling 500 US dollar in the American version. I never knew how much money I really had. Not that this disturbed my game playing any, for I mopped the floor with the other players. Yes, my friends I won, and I won big.

After, I picked up Amy from Pamela’s and we walked home in the gentle, still night. There have been better days, I am sure, but I would have to think hard to remember one.

Two Stories

I’ve been meaning to post these for a bit, but haven’t had the time to write them down.

Story #1

A few days back I had to walk home from my French lesson due to the tram workers being on strike. As I walked, I pondered the peculiarity of the way in which French workers strike. In the US the mere talk of a strike can get action. Whenever union workers actually do strike it is often a long, brutal affair. Days, weeks, even months roll by while workers and managers bicker over the terms of an agreement. In France, a group of workers will often strike for one day only. Since I have been here, the Post Office, the university clerks, and now the tram workers have gone on strike for a day. Sometimes there are longer strikes, but it seems it is a normal practice for workers to have these short strikes periodically. It is like a way to show the managers what they are capable of doing. The workers tend to congregate downtown airing their grievances to whomever will listen. I digress. As I was walking home, these were the thoughts I was having.

On a long stretch of road, two college aged girls crossed my path. One of them stopped and spoke directly to me. Being lost in thought I didn’t catch a single word. Something on my face must have registered this fact and the girl repeated what she said. Having spent the last 5 months not understanding a word any stranger spoke to me, I prepared my sentences explaining that I was a foreigner and didn’t understand French. Yet to my astoundment, I actually understood what she was asking. She needed to know where Place de Etoile was located. It was as a light from Heaven broke through the clouds and shone a ray on my head. I could almost hear the angels sing “Hallelujah.” I understood!

I managed to say a couple of words in my excitement and point towards the city square they were looking for a couple of blocks over. They understood my words as well and thanked me for my time.

My elation was held short though. That very evening we received a telephone call. I managed to understand who was calling (the mother of the girl we are sub-letting the apartment from) and why she was calling (to thank us for sending some money we owed her), but she continued to speak with a fast tongue, and I quickly got lost in the shuffle. I tried to ask her to hold on one moment and let me catch my mental breath. But she didn’t understand and kept speaking. Finally, deflated, I gave up and handed the phone to Amy.

Story 2

A different day I was performing the same action as in the previous story: walking home from my French lesson. This time no person stopped to chat, but a car did stop in the middle of the road. He was parking himself a few feet from a rather busy intersection. He was on the busy end of the street, and though it was passed the rush hour, traffic was still quite heavy. I could see the passenger door open and a woman was partially outside the door. At first I thought that there must have been a breakdown of sorts, and they were in the process of looking for its source. As I walked closer I realized this was not the case. The driver was simply dropping off the passenger, and she was reluctant to leave. Instead she was engaging him in conversation, In the middle of a highway, with loads of traffic surrounding them, they were having a chat. I walked slowly in order to see how long they were going to do this. After about 5 minutes of me watching this situation, the car drove away.

To add to this obnoxiousness, there was a pull off but a few feet in front of the car. Instead of parking his car a few feet forward, and remain out of the way of oncoming traffic, this joker decided to stop there, in the middle of the street.

I suppose they chalk this up to libertè. The French fought very hard for their right to ignore laws that don’t suit their taste for the moment. This guy was just using his God given right to thumb his nose at everything and enjoy one last moment with his girl.

A Slight Mishap With Chocolate

I have decided my foibles with chocolate milk and the laptop should be combined into one post for posterity. Thus three posts are now one.

Last night I was working diligently on the computer (ok, I was playing games as usual) and drinking a very large glass of chocolate milk. I took one swig too many and the milk went the wrong way and had to eject. My reflexes were not good enough to stop the exploding milk from landing across the keyboard. As quickly as I could I dried the milk. Then I tried my best to clean the keyboard. Everything works properly, thank goodness. However, several of the keys stick, and I have to use great force to get them to type. We are going to a shop Wednesday to have it fixed. Until then I shall be brief in writing since it is a great pain to type. I am unsure how quickly I shall receive the computer back after Wednesday, so I may be completely down for a few days.

Day 2

Besides having the annoyance of sticky keys we now also have a phantom typist. The letter “l” periodically begins typing itself across the screen repeatedly though no one is near it to actually press on the cursed letter. If I am lucky enough to be on a Word document, I quickly receive a page full of “l”s. More likely than not I am elsewhere and thus given more grievance than that. If I am on the internet the mysterious typer causes all other internet functions to shut down so that the “find” function can begin searching the page for “llllllllllllllll….” On other software, the “l” will bring up some unwanted function, or if no function is available, the computer produces an obnoxious repeating error sound.

Kindly enough my French tutor’s husband has offered to take a look at the machine and take it to a local shop to have it fixed.

Day 3

Arriving at my French tutor’s house for my lesson, her husband began promptly looking the sick machine over. After a few minutes, he rushed out of the house and down to the local PC doctor. Back with a frown, he said that not only would he not work on a Dell computer, but that no one in the entire city of Strasbourg would. Not wanting to believe that, we ventured across town to a larger computer shop. Again they said they would not work on Dell computers, because that company does not want to work with them. The kind man behind the counter did relay that Dell had a store in Paris and that they would send someone here for a fee of 78 Euros. Realizing that this was only the fee to get the tech here and that there would be an additional fee for parts and the tech’s time spent working, my heart sank.

We were able to reattach the keys (for they had been pulled off earlier to try to de-stickify them) and keep the phantom typist from typing again. Though the letter “m” no longer works at all. The control keys do not work either so, in order to type “m” I have to copy and paste it using the mouse. Shortly I will go insane of this.

Day 5

After insanely typing using the copy/paste method we have found salvation. Our dear friend, Pamela has let us borrow an extra keyboard that she had. It is a French keyboard so all of the keys are in the wrong place. I was able to configure it to type like an American keyboard, however, all the keys are still labeled like the French version. I am a good typist so I do not need to look at many keys, but a few such as parenthesis, have become a bit of trial and error as I try to remember where they are located. At least we have an “m”.

Midnight Hamburgers

Story # 2 as told to my French tutor, Ann.

The first couple of years at college, I lived in the dormitory, known officially as Burton, but dubbed “the ghetto” by the student body. I lived on the “backside” of the dorm which opened out into a small field on which many an adventure was had.

Once every few months me and the “backside boys” would plan a cookout of magnificent proportions. By the time of this story, we had developed a plan of cooking out that enabled us the greatest amount of grub, with the smallest amount of work and moochers. After cookout #1 we realized that grilled food brings the masses quickly to our lair, with a hand out. So we worked out a plan to have each interested person bring at least one item, and scrounged to find enough grills to cook it all.

Being college boys we typically prowled the evening for other services before our minds were set on food. This particular night the proceedings didn’t start until 9 pm or so. By the time the grills were good and hot and the meat was cooking it was after 10. We had burgers, hot dogs, and shrimp cooking. Lawnchairs were set about and good times were being had by all. Being a private, Christian university, beverages of an alcoholic variety were not present. Though a security guard did stop by to ensure our following of this policy.

Things really got going around 11. Hamburgers were being passed around, the shrimp was cooked, and the pasta was nice and tender. The moochers were present, but we had plenty to go around. James Taylor was rolling through a hot rendition of “Steamroller.” Life was good. There is nothing like spending a warm September night outdoors with plenty of food, drink, and good company.

The party toiled on until late in the evening. Around 2 AM or so a guy from one of the dorm rooms nearby, Jason, came stumbling out. He was in his boxer shorts and a tee shirt.

“Guys, guys, can you keep it down?” he said. “I’ve got to get up in the morning and go to work.”

“Oh sorry, man.” We all said in unison. “Didn’t mean to bug ya.”

“Wanna burger?”

At this question, Jason leaned his face towards the earth, rubbed his hand across the stubble of his head, and said “Yeah.”

A couple of burgers and nearly an hour later he clamored back to his room, mumbling something about keeping it down.

Story Number 1

The following is the first story I told to Ann after the lecture and our agreement that storytelling would be the best way for me to improve my language skills. It is first not so much because it is the best, but because is easy to tell with my limited vocabulary.

—

Several years ago I was driving from Montgomery to Tuscaloosa, Alabama. I was driving my old ’92 Volkswagen Fox (the one with a dent in the fender and an odd-colored driver’s side door.) I was accompanied by my friend, who lay asleep for most of the trip. We had miserable driving weather. It was dark, overcast, and raining. It wasn’t the kind of rain that makes you pull over to the side and wait it out. It was the kind that slows traffic, stiffens your neck, and keeps your windshield wipers in turmoil. I simply hate to have the wipers going faster than they need to be. Too slow and you cannot see, too fast and you get that awful skwelk sound of rubber on dry glass.

The normally quick drive took us an additional hour driving. We entered Tuscaloosa and my heart was glad that the drive was nearly over. We were on a heavily trafficked six-lane highway. I was cruising along nicely in the middle lane. I almost always choose the middle lane when driving in cities. You have none of the break riding action you get in the right lane from people entering and leaving the highway. There is also less tailgating from locals who feel they were meant for the race track.

As I said there was a good deal of traffic out that day and we were traveling somewhere near the 40 MPH mark. Suddenly the car in front of me began to fishtail slightly. I pumped my brakes and checked my mirrors to see if I would be able to pass into another lane. No such luck. The fishtailing worsened and the car before me did a 180-degree turn! I was literally looking the driver and passenger square in the eyes.

Those eyes were like saucers, all white. Panic transferred each car like water over a burst dam. Again I darted my eyes to see if I could get out of the way, and again I was met with traffic on each side. I pumped my brakes some more hoping the wet road would not cause me to slide. After a few terrified moments of staring at the people I might die with, the car turned another 180 degrees to face the correct way.

Control was still not with them. A moment later they skidded into the right lane, barely missing another car before they came to an abrupt stop on the embankment. Traffic had slowed during this and I was able to see that the other car’s passengers were ok.

My friend slept through the entire ordeal.

My French Tutor

It seems I have been a little harsh on my tutor, Ann. So I am posting this to set the record straight. Ann is actually a very nice lady and a dear friend. She and her husband have been incredibly kind to us since we’ve been in Strasbourg. Though she is a qualified, and well-trained teacher, she asks me to pay a very small fee for my lessons.

Even with that she never fails to fill my belly with drinks and cookies during my lesson (which are at her home). In fact, if added up my hungry mouth has probably eaten any profit she might make from me. She is a wonderful teacher. She is kind and patient with me. She never yells at me when I don’t finish my homework, she never agrees with me when I say I am stupid.

I am, in fact, a rather rotten student. Mostly I manage to do my homework, but I rarely do anything beyond that and certainly don’t speak French outside of the classroom. On occasion, she has lectured me, but only because she is concerned with my progress and attitude, which is generally poor. I enjoy her teaching immensely but often hate the learning process. Her lectures come out of me being moody and grumpy during a lesson. Learning this language is painful. There is much I would like to say, but am unable which frustrates me beyond belief.

So my tutor is in reality a very kind person and a good teacher. Sorry if this is schmaltzy, but several people have commented about my grumbles toward Ann. I wanted to ensure that it is understood that learning French frustrates me, not my tutor.

Stories in French

As a compromise with my French tutor (did I mention I got another lecture the other day?) I have promised to talk more. To encourage this, we have decided on me telling her a story at the beginning of each lesson. Back in the day I loved to tell stories and have a stock pile stemming from my experiences as…well, me. In order to round this blog out a little more I have decided to relate some of those stories here. No, not now, for it is late and my wife hogged the computer most of the evening. So blame her! But soon a few shall start to putter out. This will be on top of the normal stories about France and of course the reviews. I have several of those coming shortly. I’ll be reviewing Out of Sight tomorrow and then my recently finished readings (How to Be Good and Phantom of the Opera) after that.

So keep your eyes out.

A Change Around the Corner

Welcome those of you coming from Blogcritics! I’ve apparently been choosing critic of the day on that site. I have no idea if this is chosen randomly or if some kind soul actually picked me out. I suspect the former, but I’ll still allow myself to be honored.

It seems I have been pretty busy lately, at least if you judge by the number of reviews I have written. I have been giving some serious thought about changing the content of my blog. Originally it was created to keep a journal on my year abroad, in Strasbourg. Eventually, even the excitement of living in a foreign country that speaks an unknown tongue wore off. Oh, I’m still enjoying myself, and am having quite the adventure, but there is a definite groove that I have worn myself into. This does not make an interesting blog.

Anyone that might be interested in the regular goings on of my day, I e-mail anyway, so it seems redundant to maintain that aspect of my blog. This does not mean that I plan to give up posting about my experiences. I simply hope to be a better editor of the information. I am proud of my grocery shopping story from the other day, and I would like to continue to post similar expieriences. Also, when we do any traveling or have any real adventures, I will be sure to post them. This is not a declaration of fact or a change of rules as of yet. These are just things I have been considering and will eventually, probably, move in that direction.

It has been snowing. Strasbourg snow seems like its rain: it comes in slow, continual drizzles. Essentially it has been snowing for the last week, but we barely have an inch sitting on the ground. And that’s only because we got what I would call a proper snowing for about an hour last night.

We went to see The Aviator (2004) a couple of nights ago. I will have a review posted in a day or two. Strasbourg movie houses are set up differently than their American counterparts. They actually do have a large multi-plex, but I haven’t been to it. The ones we frequent (if once a month can be considered frequently)are smaller and more interesting.

This particular one had a little cafe connected to it, where presumably, people could wait before their movie started. We arrived twenty minutes early and were informed we could not yet enter the theatre. Being Americans, the whole cafe idea seems peculiar to us and so we simply waited outside the door.

While we waited I realized I needed to use the restroom. None were visible. I went downstairs, into the lobby, to look. Amy reassured me on my question “Ou son la toilette?” Yet when I arrived in the lobby and found no visible toilet, I froze up. The usher was looking at me as I passed down the steps ready to help me in any way. But I looked away and walked towards the door, pretending that I was waiting for someone. I looked at my watch and generally looked impatient. I cursed myself for being such a chicken and paced about hoping that some sign would show me the way. I had no such luck and returned to Amy feeling no relief.

Why can I not ask a simple question? I know the words, and the pronunciation is easy. Perhaps I was afraid I would not understand the answer. But it is a question of where, and this was a small building. Surely the answer would incorporate hand gestures that would help me along. There have been no recorded incidents of movie ushers suddenly devouring unintelligent tourists. The man’s job was to help, surely he would be willing to repeat himself slowly if I could not understand. Yet there I sat through a 2-hour movie without the ability to relieve myself.

To add insult to my stupidity I got another lecture from my French tutor. I have not been a particularly good student. My brain has just drawn blanks on the simplest of things. Ann chastised me for not talking with Amy or doing internet work on my own. I feel really bad because she seems to take it personally. As if she is not a good teacher, because I am a terrible student. Not talking to the cinema usher and not talking to Amy are tied together. I am extremely embarrassed when I speak in French. I am afraid of getting the pronunciation wrong, of misusing grammar, of not knowing what words to say. So I simply don’t say anything. Which, of course, does not improve my language skills. I have vowed again to speak more and work more on my own. We’ll see how it goes.