daily dose of news

M. Watson/Ardea via Animals Animals and the New York Times

I've found that people think they're pretty clever and loveable when they hate on France and Obama. There's a thin line for me on whether I will support their strong opinions as freedom of speech or stop talking to them because they sound asinine.

Example: Early last year a young man was visiting my roommates when he saw my lifesize cardboard Obama next to my desk and smartly asked if he could use it for target practice. I responded, "Why would you think I would find that funny?" Did you know that boys get really quiet after you ask them that?

In contrast, late last year some friends, including Alicia and her father, were over for dinner which–because of extenuating circumstances–was taking place in our study. A's dad sees my Obama and asks where I got it so he can get his own to use for target practice. While still befuddling to me because the thought of shooting a recognizable human image is horrifying, this is more acceptable: he didn't suggest I would condone the shooting of my own Obama.

This is all a preface to explain that upon immediately reading these two news articles I found a bit amusing I thought I would post them on le facebook but then I realized I know some people who would comment and I'd get annoyed and I don't want to get annoyed.

But imagine, France is enacting a new ban on the words Facebook and Twitter: French TV and radio employees must use generic terms unless you are citing Facebook or Twitter as a source. This includes the phrase Follow us on Twitter/Facebook because these are all forms of "clandestine advertising." However, tweeter, meaning "to tweet," is now a verb in Robert's French dictionary. Click here for full article. 

Also, if France does not clean up its agricultural and urbanization policies it could be fined $24.6 million because the way it is going now it is failing to protect the Great Hamsters of Alsace, the last Western European wild hamster species. Full article.  



P.S. Does anyone know how to stop textwrap around photos on blogger?

another reason for buffy

A New York Times article on how bullying starts young young young young young these days or maybe always.

I felt vindicated when they cite shows like Hannah Montana, that have extremely self-centered protagonists, as having a negative effect on young girls. However, they compare Montana to Brady Bunch girls which is a little ridiculous. Why not Buffy?

  
Also, an interesting article about how women are treated in France. In the article they point to  the World Economic's 2010 Forum ("world economic's" links to a description of the forum, "2010 forum" to an article about the 2010 forum) that says France has fallen from 18th place to 46th place and now ranks behind Kazakhstan in gender equality. But I've been reading up on the World Economic Forum and it ranks countries by how much they've progressed or digressed in the past year. Alors, it seems the forum compares progress and not the actual standard of equality. And France fell in ranking because "of the departure this year of several high-ranking women from the government of President Nicolas Sarkozy." That being said, it doesn't seem terribly appealing to be a woman in France, even if it is France*.

And don't think I want to make career women out of us all, one woman says she quit her job to be a stay at home mom and she feels pressured to by (French) society to go back to work.

Oh and please don't leave any comments with lame jokes about how French people are stupid (unless you're one of the five Monty Pythoners–Gilliam is from the US and therefore has to abide by the same rules I've set for everyone else. Then I would have to say that I don't really understand why you're reading my blog. Go away). Those jokes are so old, widen your repertoire.

And note, the U.S. only recently broke the top 20 and is now above Canada but behind Latvia. I am currently looking for the actual Forum report because, well, newspaper articles interpret what they want. At this point you might point out how I could be in the wrong about the Hanna Montana genre of tv shows for this same reason but then I would have to touché you back by saying it's what I want to hear so it works for me.

and more from the Buffy side:





*My number one reason for saying no when someone asks me, "don't you wish you were alive back in such and such a day and age," is because I want to stay in a time period where I've got more rights.

cought in the sneed, waiting for algebra to be easier and that's my only excuse for not making sense

Have there been times in your life when you've written it all down?
The population in France has grown by three million in the last seven years. There's a lot of change going on in the big cities over there.
Par exemple, what if your favorite boulangerie with that Emily Dickinson poem went out of business and was taken over by a trendy, watered down, over priced health foods store? You have that poem memorized; Emily Dickinson's #25 (Johnson)

It troubled me as once I was-
For I was once a child-
Concluding how an Atom- Fell-
And yet the Heavens- held-

The Heavens weighed the most- by far-
Yet Blue- and solid- stood-
Without a Bolt- that I could prove-
Would Giants- understand?

Life set me larger- problems-
Some I shall keep- to solve
Till Algebra is easier-
Or simple proved- above-

Then- too- be comprehended-
What sorer- puzzled me-
Why Heaven did not break away-
And tumble- Blue- on me-

If the boulangerie (bakery) were closed, you wouldn't be able to exchange pleasantries with Albert (pronounced Albear) who worked behind the counter and can point out the freshest breads and which bagette is best for your Soupe de courge à la vanille.

But what if you have a gluten intolerant child?

I was a little thoughts filled about change as I was drinking my chocolate milk last night. I decided as long as I kept my carry-on baggage and took my trinkets out often to read them, look at them, talk about them, share them, take care of them, I would be OK if heaven, the heaviest of all, fell on my head.

blip, blip, blip, blip

Delaware state flag

There are the best of times that you may remember always and take with you past the grave and then build the life after upon those cinderblocking memories. Well, yes, I've had some of those.

Monstro Uno and I have been cinderblocking it. Hier (ayer, ieri, gisteren, yesterday) during the perfect fall day, We sat on the curb and watched as the wind picked up the leaves at the end of the street and sent them skittering towards us. I'd never seen anything like it. We chased the leaves around.
Today, we held our tri-weekly wrestling pillow fight. Then he decided to give the pillows different magical properties. "This one is Burn Danger, this one pokes, this one is Accordian Danger."
Wait....What? "Accordian Danger?"
"Yeah. Which one do you want?"
"I want Accordian Danger."
He also told me that for his dad's birthday last year instead of blowing out the candles, his dad sat on the cake and squished it and so then they made another one and he squished it again and he squished all the cakes.
Later we were looking at state flags. "What does Delaware's flag have on it?" I asked him.
"A diamond...and a band."
"Yes, I think you're right, Delaware does have a band on their flag."
Connecticut has a police badge on it and Florida has a pirate ship.

And finally the triumphat average French student has found a new clé (keeeeey): post secret in French! HA! There I'll get jargon and terminology and phraseology and sentances that people actually use! VERNACULAR!!! Hail the conquering hero!

PS. peut-être I'm the only one who's interested, BUT aujourd'hui the French writing lab tried to correct at least three things that were correct in the first place. I even pointed one out while I was there and got the WHITE OUT on my paper. L'arc de triomphe ! This gives me hope.

puis-je écrire BIEN ? qn ? qn ? qui sait ?

Things I've Learned While Trying to Write an Informative Paper in French on the Effects of our Preoccupation with Eating Healthily
(writing that title made me wish we were French where they only capitalize the first letter of a title. Makes SO much more sense and looks A LOT less silly)

Nous voilà propres ! - Now we're in a fine mess!

Ce n'est pas la peine d'y penser ! - Don't get any ideas!

C'est simple comme bonjour - It's as easy as taking candy from a baby

Gobelet en carton - paper cup

saponification (english word) - the conversion of an ester heated with an alcali into the corresponding alcohol and acid salt; specif., this process carried out with fats (glyceryl esters) to produce soap

Santa Gertrudis (english again) - [so named after a section of the King Ranch, in Texas] any of a hardy, red-colored, American breed of beef cattle, developed from a cross of Shorthorn and Brahman stock and able to thrive in hot climates on sparse forage.

flummery (english) - 1. any soft, easily eaten food; esp., a) orig., boiled oatmeal or flour b) a soft custard or blancmange 2. meaningless flattery or silly talk

Muzak ® - musique enregistrée

how to type ®

avorteur - abortionist

but you do let that slide

lets expel lots of things.
I'm not in France watching citroëns drive past me.
Regrettable.
BUT I DO NOT BELIEVE IN REGRETS!!
For all the things I do not believe in or support, most of all I don't support regrets. Regrets are for all those who muddle down backwards heels over head down the muddy steep terrain. Sans regrets. Always sans regrets. Scarlett O'Hara has Tara and tomorrow. I have fuzzy brain and NOW.
I'm saying this because I sat today and saw some pictures and read some things and knew that others were enjoying the miracles I had worked for and hoped for and failed at.
But failing can be good.
Otherwise how could I have enjoyed watching my short française professora waving her arms at our class and saying "ne paniquez pas ! ne paniquez pas!" over our homework assignments?
Nor would I have taken big strides in the right direction to take my life.
I'm humbling it up in my little basement hovel and I'm thinking that since I'm here, I should climb up to the roof top in glitter dress and throw down my noblesse oblige as I yell it. I AM HERE! WHY DON'T YOU JUST TRY TO TAKE ME DOWN! I tripple dog dare ya.

Iraq, a rack, aracna, faux be uh

I live in a basement. It's "finished" because it has carpet in my bedroom which is perfectly acceptable to me because I am hopelessly romantically in love with cheep little nanook 'n crannied hovels. I can fill in all the cracks with books and scarves and drape the oatmeal floor in my lovely rugs and paint the walls with my crafty fabrics and old time photos. That, madame, is how I make a home, hurrah.
But when I was arranging the furniture (cinder blocks and 100 year old box springs) to my delight, I remember what basement stands for: SPIDERS. Oh no. Oh no. No, no no. I called my parents (yes, I'm twenty one, emphasis on ONE) who spent un demi heur on the phone convincing me the spiders wouldn't kill me and none of them had actually tried to run at me. I might have told you this story five times before.
OK. I will be sensible, I breathe deeply and remind myself. I now just yell at spiders as I search for things with which to pound them down.
WHAT ARE YOU DOING ON MY TOILET PAPER?!?!! UNACCEPTABLE!!! GET OUT OF MY BATHROOM!!!
YOU ARE TOO CLOSE TO MY CLOTHES!! I FEEL DESECRATED!!!
This is good, I have decided, it gets all my yellings out since there are too few people to yell at here.

But...ce soir, I stay up late late late to death's door to finish my sacrificial worksheets for France. I sit with knees a-folded up a jimbo-like with books piled in me lap and I résumé and synonym my eyes out until it looks like lint is crawling across my knee....THAT'S NOT LINT!!!! SPIDERS ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO CRAWL ON MEEEEEEEEE!!!

UNACCEPTABLE!!!!!!

donc your electric organ

Aujourd'hui it looked as though someone (with better cutting skills than I) cut out the mountains and laid them against a bright blue sky backdrop. Was someone who had great connections (connexions for the UK inclined) filming a fine day? It was perfect, all the shadows were crisp, leaves turning colors were crisp and still, the sun lay out so nicely on the pavement and the air was warm warm warm but not too chaud. Summer was welcoming your fall nicely.

d'où je vien.

do any of you happen to have french audio books? It's my new plan for mastery. I'm lacking in the comprehension business.

youuuuuuuuuu, youuuuuuuuu, youuuuuuuuuuuuu

REALLY France!!! Is this necessary?!?!
Il ferme la porte de la ferme d'une main ferme.

Felicitations ma cousine et beau-cousin. Feliz Navidad.

Sometimes I feel as though I love what I'm studying, but what I'm asked to project-up for class is prodding me up a jungle-gym, baking cupcakes when cupcakes make me sick. Last week I was supposed to write up 12 story proposals. I have one down. Still, just one and no others are following. Read the newspaper, internet, take a walk, then write 12 story proposals. Oh no. Oh no no no no.
Alors, I've been reading the internet, my favorite sites, and what I find is my online literary journal (McSweeneys) has dedicated itself for the present time to the memory of David Foster Wallace. I've never read a word by the man, but I'm reading about him now. I'm captivated by all of the ways he touched these people's lives, this author and professor, and yet he committed suicide at age 46. How often do we not see the little things we do to make a difference in others' lives. He, he he...which gives me an idea for another story. O inspiration what a fickle mistress you are.

I've been remembering how much the bathrooms in the homes here all have the same aura. A compeletely different aura than the midwest I grew up in. Maybe because these homes were made in the 40's rather than the 1880's? (Indoor plumbing, no way!) Or maybe tis the bathroom windows that are actually openable, meant to be opened, and frequently have no screens. Probably tis because they have not been homes swaddled to boot through a blizzard. I will try to phonetically spell this out in Russian for you: étta interry-ace-na.

C'est l'histoire d'un ver vert qui va boire un verre vers Anvers.
OOOhhhhhh....

Ahab, your professor clips his heals together

The add/drop deadline for mi universitio being yesterday kind of makes me feel doomed. Doomed-io. Ooohhhh France, WHY?!?! Why have you drawn apart all of the grey squishy curls of my brain, drawn them all apart to different points on different maps. Your syntax is a confusing fog blown into, through, and clogging up my ears. I hear no evil, see no evil, and taste no french pastries. French leeches are sucking out my blood. My heart is faint.

Monstor Dos that I love little dearly every afternoon is trying to defy gravity. We have been conducting scientific experiments. If he climbs up on to another precarious perch while I'm not looking, will he fall this time? Yes, I say to you. He will. Again and again. I've never seen him fall so many times in one day. He screams, I pick him up, he pushes away from me to start climbing again. He is one determined person. And we must respect him, for defying gravity is a very noble aim.
He is also trying to create space. If he shoves a thirteen inch wide kitchen chair into a two inch spot, it will fit, right? Where there's a will there's a way, isn't there? Monstro Dos carries around a heavy aura of frustration. There's some more doomed-io-ness.

chiasmus, papinou, and veggies too

I was reminded of why I'm studying le français, ce soir.
Finally.
J'ai vu The Diving bell and the Butterfly (Le Scaphandre et le papillon).
It was in the opening credits that I remembered.
They were beautiful scribbled script over shadowy x-ray sheets. It feels crass to describe them. But the film is centered in a mute and paralyzed man's brain, following his imagination of venus fly traps and Napoleon the third's wife. All words were accompanied by an appropriate image as is the way of film, but half of the images were poetic. Poetic in the way described by my Isaiah studies book which explicates poetry as a tool in which people can recognize symbols/images/phrases and relate to them with their own experiences therefore enriching their understanding. I'm sorry I just dragged text book definitions into wordy embraces, but if that's not enough I could also impose upon you the description given in the early learning literacy research I've been doing for this documentary: Poetry combines code and meaning based learning.
In the film there are litle memories, here, tied to imaginings, horrible uncomfortable hospital feelings, dedication of peoples, small moments, and the kind of ideas you know would catch me. All kitestrings wound to some central idea.
Maybe I love it more than anything we've got in anglais because France really does practice it all so much more beautifully.
But I'm thinking I love it more because it is my metaphor of my mental process. The cinematic of kitestrings practiced in a language I study but struggle with. In other words, a cinema I love but I feel I will never be able to accomplish. As my sixth grade teacher proclaimed, "It's Greek to me!"

However, it is most important that I feel a bit more faith-filled to study that French stuff.

bibliophile in the nursery-the horror of the twentyfirst sentry

My favorite conversation of the day started as I saw G teetering on his trike-bike.
"Cuidado. You don't want to fall."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because then you could fall." (And I've seen you fall just like that five times)
"Then what?"
"Then you would be hurt?"
"Then what?"
"Then you would be unhappy."
"Then what?"
"Then the world would end."
"Then would you tell my frie-would you tell all my friends?"
"Yes, I'd tell all your friends that the world had ended."

I should have thought CUIDADO as I signed up for this writing writing writing frenchy class. I no longer have fear of the french lady who teaches me. She doesn't look at me as if I am a repulsive alien when I speak french as some frenchies will. I do have A-nnoyance because she insists I visit my arch-nemesis at the frenchy writing lab. France is being a difficult spouse that you think you might have to divorce. There is no comprendre going on anywhere. Germany has jumped on their back and offered them good German beer and I'm sitting in a pile of half-eaten granola bars from babies. Tomorrow I seek out a marriage counselor. And since France won't let me in, I'm preparing a french speech to ask France to come to Canada, you know, meet half way and add in spice.

Yesterday I found a dreamy little nursery rhyme I'd never heard before:

If all the world were paper,
And all the sea were ink,
If all the trees
Were bread and cheese,
What should we have to drink?