Bonjour et bievenue si vous n'avez déjà découvert mon blog. (Hello and welcome if you haven't already discovered my blog). Ne vous inquiétez pas ; Je vais blogger en anglais. (Don't worry; I will be blogging in English).
That is, everything you really need to understand will be in English, and though I will occasionally pop out the French (probably more than occasionally, come to think of it), I will always translate it for you. Unless it's so obvious that I don't need to.
In any case: welcome (bienvenue). This blog is to chronicle my year in Paris, my third year of college, an adventure that will begin this Friday, the 3rd, at 8:15, which is when my flight leaves from Denver. I will include as many pictures as I can, but I warn you right off the bat: my camera *sucks*. I'm not just saying that, it does. C'est absolutement ridicule. It also eats batteries. I'll update when I can or when I feel like it -- but please, feel free to send me e-mails with questions, comments, or requests. Also -- send me letters (M'envoyez des lettres -- s'il vous plait. Je vais vous adorer pour tout le temps si vous le faire --- I'll love you forever if you do.) I will happily give you my address if you want to send letters.
IF you want postcards -- I will do my best to accommodate all postcard requests, so if you want one, please e-mail me with your address. (My e-mail is gillian.g.rhodes@gmail.com). I'll even write something awesome and French on it for you.
One last piece of business: If you can, come visit me (Me rendez visite)!!! Seriously. Do it. I cannot guarantee that you can stay with me but I will find you a good, safe, clean, and cheap hostel. I will do all the talking for you. As a friend of mine says, I can speak frog pretty well and will only get better, seeing as I'll be surrounded by it.
So moving on: Qu'est-ce-que je vais faire à Paris pour neuf mois? (What am I doing in Paris for nine months?) There are a few answers to that. Technically, I'll be taking classes, mostly dance, from the city universities. I'll be living with an older single woman who has a grown daughter my age living in New York.
But that's just barely, barely scratching the surface. What I really mean to say is, je vais aller à Paris pour me perdre. I am going to Paris to get lost. I am quitting life for a year to vanish into French culture. I am going to be utterly selfish and do everything for myself, be viciously alive. I want to learn how to cook, shop at the markets, sit at bistros all day and watch the world go by, bike all over the place and have daring encounters with French drivers.
I have a tendency, for whatever reason, to carry things -- people (metaphorically), worry, whatever it may be. For the last several years, I've been doing it a lot, as my family has gone through a huge transition, with a lot of struggle and uncertainty, and, well, without details, I've just been carrying a lot. I also have a tendency to have a plan, an agenda for everything, always. So what I mean by 'quitting life' is that I'm not doing any of that -- I'm being unimaginably selfish in that I'm not carrying anyone or anything. I'm going to be myself. I have a quotable that says, "Risk more than others think is safe, Care more than others think is wise, dream more than others thinks is practical, expect more than others think is possible." Well, I do that all the time, and I'm stopping trying to be extraordinary now. I'll probably end up risking/caring/dreaming/expecting more than everyone thinks I should, because that's who I am, but I'm not working at anything.
At one point I thought I needed to have a violently passionate affair with a French man while I was at it, but I'm not even sure I want that anymore, if only because it's one other person to balance, and I'm starting to think I just want to be there by myself, for myself. Just to see what it's like.
I am going, exactly as I said, to be lost. C'est le seul chose que je peux faire (it's the only thing I can do). The journey begins on Friday, and I'm no longer anxious. I'm letting go of everything -- the past several years, the summer, whatever it may be. I'm letting it go and throwing myself into the arms of La Ville de Lumiere. I can't wait.
À bientôt, mes chers.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Friday, August 27, 2010
August 26th, 2010
Colorado: The sky is bluer and a hell of a lot bigger, the grass is browner, and the world sprawls out to the horizons. Downtown Denver is a mess of skyscrapers in a small area, dwarfed by the plains around it, one eye always fixed to the west, where the front range explodes from the horizon like God just got bored one day and poked the earth to see what would happen.
There are few things are stunning as the way the mountains look from the plane window when you land at Denver International Airport, which I did yesterday afternoon at about 4:34pm local time, after a three hour flight from Detroit, MI. I found myself there for an hour and forty five minutes, and while there, enjoyed a ham and swiss sandwich (with 67% of my daily sodium intake!) and a tall mocha frappuccino (no whip) from Starbucks and an incredible conversation with a friendly business consultant named Greg, who volunteered to be my first client when I start my dance therapy business for corporate execs. Unfortunately I didn't see him following that, so the ball is in his court to get in touch with me (he has my business card) but I am quite hoping he does. I live for those chance encounters -- conversations here and there, people you meet when all you wanted was an outlet to charge your computer. In any case, I was so distracted I nearly forgot to board the plane, but thankfully Greg was paying attention and he boarded before me, so I was actually on the flight when it touched down in Denver.
My parents do not live in the house I grew up in anymore; they live in a one bedroom apartment in Belmar, a cute, trendy, and struggling neighborhood in the suburbs of Denver. I had not seen the apartment before. Along the way home, we drove past the house we lived in when I was three -- I didn't remember it -- just to see how it looks now (very nice). And then we got to this new place. I looked around, and asked, why is all this stuff that used to belong to us doing in this strange apartment?
Disorienting. This is not the place I grew up in. This is not home, it's where my parents live. It doesn't belong to me anymore. I left, and life moved on.
This morning we spent some time running errands in the town I grew up in, Evergreen. There are some new buildings. Some shops have moved. But nothing has changed; time must stand still there, stuck. But that's exactly why I, and my parents, left -- because the people who live in Evergreen are kind and good people, but they don't want change. They want to know that the same stores will still be there in the morning, the same people, and the same way of life. It just exists, and that's why I can't live there.
I can't deny it was nice if only because I recognized it; something familiar in the craziness of figuring out this new life my parents have. But after I left, I don't remember feeling any regret. I saw a couple guys I used to know in high school in the parking lot of Wal-Mart. I slunk past and hoped they wouldn't notice me (they didn't -- they wouldn't. I am firmly convinced that there are very few people from that high school who would recognize me -- or care enough to say hello -- if I passed them on the street.)
It is now about a week until I leave the country, and I think I've stopped trying to deal with that fact. In a few days I'll put up the introductory post to the France section of the blog, because the format of things will change a bit and all that. But in the mean time, I said I would save my judgment of Asheville until I left, and although I'm sure it will change ---
Asheville, North Carolina is beautiful. I wish I could have seen the surrounding areas, but nestled among the hazy, blue mountains, it seems to be a product of the landscape instead of the master of it. There is a certain charm to it -- liberal, progressive -- and yet still remarkably 'southern.'
And I still don't think I could live there -- it's too small, too slow-paced, and too hippie for me. At the risk of sounding incredibly pompous, and that's not my intention -- I just prefer the more sophisticated -- that's not even the right word, but I think you know what I mean -- lifestyle. I love my tall buildings and busy streets in the middle of the night, the way the skyscrapers become their own stars. I'm sure I'm generalizing terribly, but it seemed to me that the ideal southern lifestyle involves calmly waiting for life to pass by and drinking beer. I am not good at waiting for things to happen, and I just don't think I could ever live that slowly.
But that's not what made this summer one of the best I've ever had -- nor was it the jobs I had, for those were basic, entry level jobs that I managed to have a lot of fun with because of my attitude -- no, the heart of the summer was the people. I met so many interesting people, people with and without dreams. I knew it before, but learned with shocking detail the incredible capacity of human beings to be impossibly nasty and impossibly kind at exactly the same time. I saw black and white all mixed up and was impressed upon every day that no one is ever all good or all bad, but both, and that both reside somehow peaceably in one body. I met cynical, angry people; happy people; people waiting for the world to turn; people waiting for permission to be happy again. I had dozens of wonderful conversations. Somewhat significantly, I fell in love for the first time. And when I left, I left a bit of myself behind, with everyone who smiled at me, hugged me, wished me luck, asked me to send postcards, asked to know what I was up to, where I'm going, and to remember them when I got there.
If you're reading, I can assure: I will remember you.
And so, I'm sure I'll be back in Asheville, not because I want to live in the city, but because I want to see you again. Maybe next summer, maybe not, but sometime, I'm sure my steps will find my way there, if only for a week or two, to give you a hug and tell you where I've been, and if you want to, let you live vicariously through my life -- which if I'm right, will be the sort of life you'd like to live vicariously through.
In any case -- there you have it. I had a great summer, and it hurt a bit to leave. That's the simplest way I can think of to put it, and so I'll just leave it that way.
Until next time -- and France is on the way.
There are few things are stunning as the way the mountains look from the plane window when you land at Denver International Airport, which I did yesterday afternoon at about 4:34pm local time, after a three hour flight from Detroit, MI. I found myself there for an hour and forty five minutes, and while there, enjoyed a ham and swiss sandwich (with 67% of my daily sodium intake!) and a tall mocha frappuccino (no whip) from Starbucks and an incredible conversation with a friendly business consultant named Greg, who volunteered to be my first client when I start my dance therapy business for corporate execs. Unfortunately I didn't see him following that, so the ball is in his court to get in touch with me (he has my business card) but I am quite hoping he does. I live for those chance encounters -- conversations here and there, people you meet when all you wanted was an outlet to charge your computer. In any case, I was so distracted I nearly forgot to board the plane, but thankfully Greg was paying attention and he boarded before me, so I was actually on the flight when it touched down in Denver.
My parents do not live in the house I grew up in anymore; they live in a one bedroom apartment in Belmar, a cute, trendy, and struggling neighborhood in the suburbs of Denver. I had not seen the apartment before. Along the way home, we drove past the house we lived in when I was three -- I didn't remember it -- just to see how it looks now (very nice). And then we got to this new place. I looked around, and asked, why is all this stuff that used to belong to us doing in this strange apartment?
Disorienting. This is not the place I grew up in. This is not home, it's where my parents live. It doesn't belong to me anymore. I left, and life moved on.
This morning we spent some time running errands in the town I grew up in, Evergreen. There are some new buildings. Some shops have moved. But nothing has changed; time must stand still there, stuck. But that's exactly why I, and my parents, left -- because the people who live in Evergreen are kind and good people, but they don't want change. They want to know that the same stores will still be there in the morning, the same people, and the same way of life. It just exists, and that's why I can't live there.
I can't deny it was nice if only because I recognized it; something familiar in the craziness of figuring out this new life my parents have. But after I left, I don't remember feeling any regret. I saw a couple guys I used to know in high school in the parking lot of Wal-Mart. I slunk past and hoped they wouldn't notice me (they didn't -- they wouldn't. I am firmly convinced that there are very few people from that high school who would recognize me -- or care enough to say hello -- if I passed them on the street.)
It is now about a week until I leave the country, and I think I've stopped trying to deal with that fact. In a few days I'll put up the introductory post to the France section of the blog, because the format of things will change a bit and all that. But in the mean time, I said I would save my judgment of Asheville until I left, and although I'm sure it will change ---
Asheville, North Carolina is beautiful. I wish I could have seen the surrounding areas, but nestled among the hazy, blue mountains, it seems to be a product of the landscape instead of the master of it. There is a certain charm to it -- liberal, progressive -- and yet still remarkably 'southern.'
And I still don't think I could live there -- it's too small, too slow-paced, and too hippie for me. At the risk of sounding incredibly pompous, and that's not my intention -- I just prefer the more sophisticated -- that's not even the right word, but I think you know what I mean -- lifestyle. I love my tall buildings and busy streets in the middle of the night, the way the skyscrapers become their own stars. I'm sure I'm generalizing terribly, but it seemed to me that the ideal southern lifestyle involves calmly waiting for life to pass by and drinking beer. I am not good at waiting for things to happen, and I just don't think I could ever live that slowly.
But that's not what made this summer one of the best I've ever had -- nor was it the jobs I had, for those were basic, entry level jobs that I managed to have a lot of fun with because of my attitude -- no, the heart of the summer was the people. I met so many interesting people, people with and without dreams. I knew it before, but learned with shocking detail the incredible capacity of human beings to be impossibly nasty and impossibly kind at exactly the same time. I saw black and white all mixed up and was impressed upon every day that no one is ever all good or all bad, but both, and that both reside somehow peaceably in one body. I met cynical, angry people; happy people; people waiting for the world to turn; people waiting for permission to be happy again. I had dozens of wonderful conversations. Somewhat significantly, I fell in love for the first time. And when I left, I left a bit of myself behind, with everyone who smiled at me, hugged me, wished me luck, asked me to send postcards, asked to know what I was up to, where I'm going, and to remember them when I got there.
If you're reading, I can assure: I will remember you.
And so, I'm sure I'll be back in Asheville, not because I want to live in the city, but because I want to see you again. Maybe next summer, maybe not, but sometime, I'm sure my steps will find my way there, if only for a week or two, to give you a hug and tell you where I've been, and if you want to, let you live vicariously through my life -- which if I'm right, will be the sort of life you'd like to live vicariously through.
In any case -- there you have it. I had a great summer, and it hurt a bit to leave. That's the simplest way I can think of to put it, and so I'll just leave it that way.
Until next time -- and France is on the way.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
August 18th, 2010
This morning, 6:04AM: The alarm goes off, gets snoozed. It goes off again, and I drag my carcass out of bed and into the shower, in a hazy of sleepiness.
6:38AM: I leave the house, noticing that my bike helmet has gone missing somehow -- probably left it at Raj's place.
6:49AM: I arrive at the hotel, lock the bike, and go inside to change, only to discover that I don't have my shirt or name tags or anything at all. I will get in big trouble if I go out there without it.
6:55AM: I arrive back home, sweating and panting, and get the shirt, and run back out the door.
7:01AM: After biking like a bat out of hell, I pull into the parking lot of the hotel and suddenly remember that the schedule, as last I saw it, has me working from 1800-2200 today. That would be 6PM-10PM, ie, I wasn't even supposed to be there in the first place. The air, suspiciously, turns blue.
7:06AM: Straggling home, I realize that I also have a dinner date tonight with our friend Nancy, who really helped Hilary and I out in getting started. The air turns even more blue. I also start to really wish this is a dream, and I'll look down and realize that I'm not wearing any pants, and in a flash of horror, wake up.
7:15ishAM: I finish straggling home, really sweaty now and still frustrated as hell, and get on the phone with the restaurant. Fortunately, it seems likely that I can get the shift covered.
7:36AM: Somewhat reassured, I decide that, since I am still barely awake, the best thing I can do now is fight back against the world by boldly going to bed.
I was asleep for a good three hours, a time filled with disturbing, strange, anxious dreams that I can't remember a lick of now. After that, I decided I could probably face the world again, and spent a low key time hanging out -- I also talked to my mom for a bit, which always helps.
We are now at one week until Asheville departure. I still haven't even thought about packing -- though I have thought about thinking about packing and I have thought about how I DON'T want to think about packing.
It's funny with a blog -- I'm not really sure how much I want to say here that doesn't involve me -- I guess I'm still old school in that I don't trust the internet one bit, and I don't want to compromise anyone -- and in some cases, I'm just not really sure how much information about what I think I want out there. I guess I assume that if you're a close friend, you'll know about it. And should I even bother hemming and hawing about it then? In any case, I just wanted to say that the big gaps and the "don't care to elaborates" will probably stick around for a bit, so don't feel left out, you probably aren't alone. E-mail me or something if you really care to know. I'll also keep my more scathing opinions of things to myself, because they don't do anyone any good and most of them are of the moment and become less true with time. I keep a policy of being kind and even over the internet -- what a thought -- I will keep that.
I'm sorry. I'm still tired. This past week wasn't very kind to me or my memory (as this morning will clearly attest). Also, at the moment, and quite unrelated, I really, really want to take out my contacts. However, I can't, because I'm at work, and I need to see for the rest of the week. I can't imagine sleeping for three hours with them in helps with that.
Yesterday was the first day all summer excepting our trip to Atlanta that Raj and I had the same day off, which was lovely. We spent most of it -- after sleeping as late as possible -- shopping. We ended up wandering around Lowe's for more than an hour with his roommate, looking at fridges and discussing the merits of stove tops and wall ovens. It was wonderful, in a strange kind of way. Some guy in one of those motorized carts stopped to chat with us for quite awhile -- he told me he had multiple sclerosis and also gave me some very kind compliments (and in very good taste), so that was cool. We then moved on to goodwill and spent at least another hour or two there. I picked up a few pieces that I really like, so that was nice. I also found this vintage book called "les rues de Paris", which is this little book that with maps of all the arrondissements, a directory of anything you want to find in Paris pretty much (like Churches, post offices, museums, hell, even a justice of the peace), and a giant pull out map. It's amazing. I saw it and I was like, MUST HAVE.
After another lovely dinner of spaghetti and red wine, cooked by Raj's roommate (who actually is in culinary school), I headed back home with a box fan and bookshelf in tow (the roommate has a car(!)). Of course then there was the debacle this morning, but we can just pretend that didn't happen, right?
In any case. I must move on, keep clicking, moving, and see where life brings me next.
Until next time.
EDIT,10:56PM: At which point I would like to say that there are very few problems that good wine, good food, good company, and good conversation can't fix. We met our friend Nancy and went to the fresh market, along the way trying to decide something to cook. I suggested feta cheese, and the menu exploded from there. We ended up making a fabulous Italian-ish dish, by sauteing mild italian sausage with onions, garlic, and olive oil, then separately sauteing roma and heirloom tomatoes with the same, and adding both to fettuccini and crumbling feta cheese over the top. We had yellow tomatoes and fresh mozzerella balls for the appetizers (served, if you wanted, on crackers), and paired it all with garlic bread and some good white wine (though we had half a glass of red to finish off the meal). We finished the whole evening with a mix of chocolate hazelnut and blackberry cabernet gelato, and I must say, it was probably one of the best evenings of food and conversation we've had all summer. It was incredibly good and incredibly fun, and after about two and a half glasses of wine, the world just doesn't seem so scary.
I suggest that recipe, by the way. It doesn't disappoint. If you need details, e-mail me.
6:38AM: I leave the house, noticing that my bike helmet has gone missing somehow -- probably left it at Raj's place.
6:49AM: I arrive at the hotel, lock the bike, and go inside to change, only to discover that I don't have my shirt or name tags or anything at all. I will get in big trouble if I go out there without it.
6:55AM: I arrive back home, sweating and panting, and get the shirt, and run back out the door.
7:01AM: After biking like a bat out of hell, I pull into the parking lot of the hotel and suddenly remember that the schedule, as last I saw it, has me working from 1800-2200 today. That would be 6PM-10PM, ie, I wasn't even supposed to be there in the first place. The air, suspiciously, turns blue.
7:06AM: Straggling home, I realize that I also have a dinner date tonight with our friend Nancy, who really helped Hilary and I out in getting started. The air turns even more blue. I also start to really wish this is a dream, and I'll look down and realize that I'm not wearing any pants, and in a flash of horror, wake up.
7:15ishAM: I finish straggling home, really sweaty now and still frustrated as hell, and get on the phone with the restaurant. Fortunately, it seems likely that I can get the shift covered.
7:36AM: Somewhat reassured, I decide that, since I am still barely awake, the best thing I can do now is fight back against the world by boldly going to bed.
I was asleep for a good three hours, a time filled with disturbing, strange, anxious dreams that I can't remember a lick of now. After that, I decided I could probably face the world again, and spent a low key time hanging out -- I also talked to my mom for a bit, which always helps.
We are now at one week until Asheville departure. I still haven't even thought about packing -- though I have thought about thinking about packing and I have thought about how I DON'T want to think about packing.
It's funny with a blog -- I'm not really sure how much I want to say here that doesn't involve me -- I guess I'm still old school in that I don't trust the internet one bit, and I don't want to compromise anyone -- and in some cases, I'm just not really sure how much information about what I think I want out there. I guess I assume that if you're a close friend, you'll know about it. And should I even bother hemming and hawing about it then? In any case, I just wanted to say that the big gaps and the "don't care to elaborates" will probably stick around for a bit, so don't feel left out, you probably aren't alone. E-mail me or something if you really care to know. I'll also keep my more scathing opinions of things to myself, because they don't do anyone any good and most of them are of the moment and become less true with time. I keep a policy of being kind and even over the internet -- what a thought -- I will keep that.
I'm sorry. I'm still tired. This past week wasn't very kind to me or my memory (as this morning will clearly attest). Also, at the moment, and quite unrelated, I really, really want to take out my contacts. However, I can't, because I'm at work, and I need to see for the rest of the week. I can't imagine sleeping for three hours with them in helps with that.
Yesterday was the first day all summer excepting our trip to Atlanta that Raj and I had the same day off, which was lovely. We spent most of it -- after sleeping as late as possible -- shopping. We ended up wandering around Lowe's for more than an hour with his roommate, looking at fridges and discussing the merits of stove tops and wall ovens. It was wonderful, in a strange kind of way. Some guy in one of those motorized carts stopped to chat with us for quite awhile -- he told me he had multiple sclerosis and also gave me some very kind compliments (and in very good taste), so that was cool. We then moved on to goodwill and spent at least another hour or two there. I picked up a few pieces that I really like, so that was nice. I also found this vintage book called "les rues de Paris", which is this little book that with maps of all the arrondissements, a directory of anything you want to find in Paris pretty much (like Churches, post offices, museums, hell, even a justice of the peace), and a giant pull out map. It's amazing. I saw it and I was like, MUST HAVE.
After another lovely dinner of spaghetti and red wine, cooked by Raj's roommate (who actually is in culinary school), I headed back home with a box fan and bookshelf in tow (the roommate has a car(!)). Of course then there was the debacle this morning, but we can just pretend that didn't happen, right?
In any case. I must move on, keep clicking, moving, and see where life brings me next.
Until next time.
EDIT,10:56PM: At which point I would like to say that there are very few problems that good wine, good food, good company, and good conversation can't fix. We met our friend Nancy and went to the fresh market, along the way trying to decide something to cook. I suggested feta cheese, and the menu exploded from there. We ended up making a fabulous Italian-ish dish, by sauteing mild italian sausage with onions, garlic, and olive oil, then separately sauteing roma and heirloom tomatoes with the same, and adding both to fettuccini and crumbling feta cheese over the top. We had yellow tomatoes and fresh mozzerella balls for the appetizers (served, if you wanted, on crackers), and paired it all with garlic bread and some good white wine (though we had half a glass of red to finish off the meal). We finished the whole evening with a mix of chocolate hazelnut and blackberry cabernet gelato, and I must say, it was probably one of the best evenings of food and conversation we've had all summer. It was incredibly good and incredibly fun, and after about two and a half glasses of wine, the world just doesn't seem so scary.
I suggest that recipe, by the way. It doesn't disappoint. If you need details, e-mail me.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
August 16th, 2010
T Minus -- I don't want to think about it. I still have to worry about packing and that's terrifying enough on its own, without everything else that goes with it -
I cannot think today. It's been -- I think -- 11 straight days without an off day and all but two of them required me to be awake at 6 (the other two I got to sleep until 8, big whoop). Since then I worked essentially three jobs, one unpaid and highly stressful (but nonetheless rewarding), ran around, biked a lot, and despite getting enough sleep -- for the most part -- it's been an all out war to get out of bed the last two mornings. Along with the fact that it's dark now at six, which I disagree with. I already lodged my complaint with god, so no worries.
Today not even coffee and a lot of sugar could wake me up. I've been a zombie all day. I found myself reading the newspaper in the wait station, and finally looked up and noticed no one was there, and went out and saw I had two tables to be bussed -- it was like I'd just gone off to another planet for several minutes, no awareness whatsoever of where I was and what I was supposed to be doing. Thankfully it was slow, or we'd all have been in terrible trouble. I tried to put napkins in the trash at one point, too, lost track of what I was doing reliably once every half hour, and yeah. I think it's probably because I'm so tired, but I was also worrying the Entire Morning, which is really stupid and gets you nowhere, but that's what I was doing, so whatever. Things look worse when you can't think straight.
These last couple weeks -- days almost now -- I'm trying to catch up with a bunch of people because I thought I had all this time and suddenly I don't. Last night Hilary and I had pizza with our friend Janet, which was lovely. I also had coffee with my Brazilian co-worker -- he is a video producer (used to be a journalist in Brazil), and is working on an online video magazine for Asheville, so he was showing me all of his work so far and we were talking about how he might go about getting it off the ground. Also caught up via telephone with a few other friends in the past week, so that's been really nice. It's hard to keep in touch with people and I'm very bad about it as it is, so it's always good when I remember and when I actually get to chat with all those wonderful people who are a part of my life.
Another co-worker sent me a quote the other day, from Kurt Vonnegut, which I love -- "In Bokonon, it is written that 'peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God.'" I think it's beautiful and fantastic and I do hope that I get my own dancing lessons.
The other day after Terpsicorps opening night - which, to everyone's surprise, went fantastically -- Raj and I went wandering into downtown and by chance ran into a high school friend of his mom at Pasana, and ended up hanging out with her and an elderly gentleman who was with her. It was absolutely fantastic -- they were wonderful people, very kind, and interactions like that remind me why I still have faith in humans. They did seem to think I had a lot of energy, which I found kind of funny, because I was really dead that day from work and a stressful afternoon rehearsal. Ah well, at least I fake well, right?
In any case, I'm leaving Asheville a week from Wednesday. There. I said it. Yikes. Yay.
Until next time.
I cannot think today. It's been -- I think -- 11 straight days without an off day and all but two of them required me to be awake at 6 (the other two I got to sleep until 8, big whoop). Since then I worked essentially three jobs, one unpaid and highly stressful (but nonetheless rewarding), ran around, biked a lot, and despite getting enough sleep -- for the most part -- it's been an all out war to get out of bed the last two mornings. Along with the fact that it's dark now at six, which I disagree with. I already lodged my complaint with god, so no worries.
Today not even coffee and a lot of sugar could wake me up. I've been a zombie all day. I found myself reading the newspaper in the wait station, and finally looked up and noticed no one was there, and went out and saw I had two tables to be bussed -- it was like I'd just gone off to another planet for several minutes, no awareness whatsoever of where I was and what I was supposed to be doing. Thankfully it was slow, or we'd all have been in terrible trouble. I tried to put napkins in the trash at one point, too, lost track of what I was doing reliably once every half hour, and yeah. I think it's probably because I'm so tired, but I was also worrying the Entire Morning, which is really stupid and gets you nowhere, but that's what I was doing, so whatever. Things look worse when you can't think straight.
These last couple weeks -- days almost now -- I'm trying to catch up with a bunch of people because I thought I had all this time and suddenly I don't. Last night Hilary and I had pizza with our friend Janet, which was lovely. I also had coffee with my Brazilian co-worker -- he is a video producer (used to be a journalist in Brazil), and is working on an online video magazine for Asheville, so he was showing me all of his work so far and we were talking about how he might go about getting it off the ground. Also caught up via telephone with a few other friends in the past week, so that's been really nice. It's hard to keep in touch with people and I'm very bad about it as it is, so it's always good when I remember and when I actually get to chat with all those wonderful people who are a part of my life.
Another co-worker sent me a quote the other day, from Kurt Vonnegut, which I love -- "In Bokonon, it is written that 'peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God.'" I think it's beautiful and fantastic and I do hope that I get my own dancing lessons.
The other day after Terpsicorps opening night - which, to everyone's surprise, went fantastically -- Raj and I went wandering into downtown and by chance ran into a high school friend of his mom at Pasana, and ended up hanging out with her and an elderly gentleman who was with her. It was absolutely fantastic -- they were wonderful people, very kind, and interactions like that remind me why I still have faith in humans. They did seem to think I had a lot of energy, which I found kind of funny, because I was really dead that day from work and a stressful afternoon rehearsal. Ah well, at least I fake well, right?
In any case, I'm leaving Asheville a week from Wednesday. There. I said it. Yikes. Yay.
Until next time.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
August 11th, 2010
It is two weeks to the day until I leave. It's not as far as I thought it should be, and I have the feeling that it's going to feel a whole lot shorter than that. I think I can say honestly that I don't want to go and I desperately want to go, exactly at the same time. (If you think it's impossible to do that, I point you in the direction of everyone; human beings are remarkable in their ability to want opposite things equally).
Went dancing again on Saturday night -- I was exploding at the seams with energy after a short little power nap, and finally got in touch with the boy. We ended up at BoBo's gallery for a bit, then the Haywood Lounge, notable for the fact that it was mostly empty, 2 in the morning, and we were the only white people there, right smack in the middle of the dance floor. I have the feeling the people watching were probably laughing at me, but I also think I managed to hold my own pretty well. In any case, by the time we actually went to sleep, it was about four. My alarm went off at six, and I dragged my carcass up the Clingman hill and into work, where I drank coffee like water and somehow managed to survive perfectly. I even managed to meet Hilary at Malaprop's and have an intelligible conversation before returning home and sleeping for three hours.
We ended up going to Shakespeare in the Park on Sunday night; they just opened "Troilus and Cressida", which is actually about the Trojan war and is a little performed play. I really like the story of the Iliad anyway (probably more than the Odyssey, which I realize makes me highly bizarre), and it was very clever and funny, so I quite enjoyed it. Troilus and Cressida is actually somewhat of a subplot, of a love affair between Priam's youngest son and a somewhat capricious Trojan woman who ends up in the Greek camp (where she falls in love and causes poor Troilus no end of heartbreak). There were some takes on things that I wasn't too wild about, but I thought the cast did a good job and took an interesting interpretation, so that was cool. Hilary and I also found our latest motto, which we quote to each other at every possible moment, whether or not appropriate -- it is from Achilles, who is trying to explain something, then stops, shrugs, and goes, "I know not, 'tis trash. Farewell!" And walks off the stage. Hilarious. Raj and a friend joined us for the first act - they had promised food, but were delayed by some accident involving a car and a neighbor's fence, and so Hilary and I ate a bag of chips and a candy bar apiece from the concession's stand for dinner. Mmm, healthy.
This week I'm assistant stage managing again for Terpsicorps, this time a show called "The Dream Project", which is essentially dance interpretations of people's dreams. The prop list is insane, and has been described as a "clusterfuck", and with opening night tomorrow, we have still not run through the entire show with lights and sets. I probably shouldn't tell you that. Oh well. In any case, I wasn't sure if I was going to be helping out, since I hadn't heard anything, but it turns out that just no one had time to get back to me, so when I e-mailed the stage manager, he basically said that whenever I'm not working would be a good time to help out. I have rehearsals all day today and tomorrow, and shows tomorrow night, Friday, and Saturday. Oh yeah, and I don't have an off day from work. So this week, including two jobs and the Terpsicorps project, I will be working roughly 70 hours. Fun times. Ah well, no one can say I didn't sign up for it. I just want to be able to sleep in for a change.
Since I'm not leaving quite yet, I won't say all of my impressions of Asheville -- I think some of those are best left to when I'm no longer actually there. But it does seem incomprehensible to me that my summer is almost at an end, and even less so that I will be in Paris in about three short weeks. (Good lord.)
Until next time.
Went dancing again on Saturday night -- I was exploding at the seams with energy after a short little power nap, and finally got in touch with the boy. We ended up at BoBo's gallery for a bit, then the Haywood Lounge, notable for the fact that it was mostly empty, 2 in the morning, and we were the only white people there, right smack in the middle of the dance floor. I have the feeling the people watching were probably laughing at me, but I also think I managed to hold my own pretty well. In any case, by the time we actually went to sleep, it was about four. My alarm went off at six, and I dragged my carcass up the Clingman hill and into work, where I drank coffee like water and somehow managed to survive perfectly. I even managed to meet Hilary at Malaprop's and have an intelligible conversation before returning home and sleeping for three hours.
We ended up going to Shakespeare in the Park on Sunday night; they just opened "Troilus and Cressida", which is actually about the Trojan war and is a little performed play. I really like the story of the Iliad anyway (probably more than the Odyssey, which I realize makes me highly bizarre), and it was very clever and funny, so I quite enjoyed it. Troilus and Cressida is actually somewhat of a subplot, of a love affair between Priam's youngest son and a somewhat capricious Trojan woman who ends up in the Greek camp (where she falls in love and causes poor Troilus no end of heartbreak). There were some takes on things that I wasn't too wild about, but I thought the cast did a good job and took an interesting interpretation, so that was cool. Hilary and I also found our latest motto, which we quote to each other at every possible moment, whether or not appropriate -- it is from Achilles, who is trying to explain something, then stops, shrugs, and goes, "I know not, 'tis trash. Farewell!" And walks off the stage. Hilarious. Raj and a friend joined us for the first act - they had promised food, but were delayed by some accident involving a car and a neighbor's fence, and so Hilary and I ate a bag of chips and a candy bar apiece from the concession's stand for dinner. Mmm, healthy.
This week I'm assistant stage managing again for Terpsicorps, this time a show called "The Dream Project", which is essentially dance interpretations of people's dreams. The prop list is insane, and has been described as a "clusterfuck", and with opening night tomorrow, we have still not run through the entire show with lights and sets. I probably shouldn't tell you that. Oh well. In any case, I wasn't sure if I was going to be helping out, since I hadn't heard anything, but it turns out that just no one had time to get back to me, so when I e-mailed the stage manager, he basically said that whenever I'm not working would be a good time to help out. I have rehearsals all day today and tomorrow, and shows tomorrow night, Friday, and Saturday. Oh yeah, and I don't have an off day from work. So this week, including two jobs and the Terpsicorps project, I will be working roughly 70 hours. Fun times. Ah well, no one can say I didn't sign up for it. I just want to be able to sleep in for a change.
Since I'm not leaving quite yet, I won't say all of my impressions of Asheville -- I think some of those are best left to when I'm no longer actually there. But it does seem incomprehensible to me that my summer is almost at an end, and even less so that I will be in Paris in about three short weeks. (Good lord.)
Until next time.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
August 7th, 2010
It’s become a tired refrain, and I honestly doubt it will change before I leave: The internet is broken again. It sometimes spasmodically returns for a few minutes, enough to entertain me for a bit, before retreating to whatever hole it hides in. I am quite convinced that our neighbors are being swindled, or something like that.
Of course, I’m sure that finding internet in Paris could be equally difficult, especially if my host-mom, Mme Colette, doesn’t have wifi in her apartment. I don’t know that yet. I suppose I should ask. Is WiFi the same word in France? (Doubtful, l’academie française would have a fit). In any case, I am back to composing posts in word and wondering when the connection will return. Probably, never. (I am exaggerating, I hope).
It hasn’t been a good couple of days; my energy is all out of whack. I keep dropping things and inadvertently throwing things (often at myself, like the pitcher of creamer this morning at the restaurant). Yesterday, I had one absolute terror of a day, beginning with being chained to the hostess stand at the restaurant for an impossibly slow morning, and then thrown into the fire at the theater, during which the phone constantly rang, tickets were misplaced, and questions were asked to which there are no real good answers without asking tetchily, “…and what exactly are you referring to, sir/ma’am?” Not to mention that during this time, I was trying desperately to figure out the bank information in order to wire my housing deposit, and by the time I finally got through to the page, I realized that the euro had unexpectedly gotten stronger and I no longer had enough money to cover the thing.
I called my mom. I really, really, really did not want to have to ask my parents for money, seeing as it’s just as tight for them as it is for me, but I had to make that call, “Hi Mom, I need money.” I asked for fifty; I got a hundred. It was enough to cover it – and then I noticed that by the time the wire went through, it would be actually transferred Monday morning, August 9th, a day after the due date.
At this point, I got to my feet, told my co-worker I was going across the street for a second, and bought a gigantic brownie. Hey, sometimes there is only one solution to life – chocolate. (At least it wasn’t alcohol, right?!) I sent several e-mails to the program, so hopefully they won’t smack me with late fees, because I can’t afford them. In fact, I can’t afford anything right now. I am so broke they need to invent a new word for it.
I hate being poor. I’m not being facetious at the moment, either, I’m being honest. I think I went on a rant earlier this summer about that, but I just can’t stand that everything I spend, everything I do has to be regulated with the knowledge that I can’t afford anything. It’s not enough to make me want to be a lawyer, just because that pays well, but still.
I actually don’t have much to say; time is clipping along quickly and my days are filled with work, and again I couldn’t really tell you what happened on Monday without a great deal of thought. The City of Light is waiting for me.
Until next time.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
August 2nd, 2010
It is August already, and I have barely three weeks left in Asheville. I'm not quite finished here -- there are still people that need to be seen, jobs that must be finished, and conversations that must be had -- but it is definitely on the back side of things and time is flying by as though all of the clocks are on speed -- or maybe it's the earth itself, turning restlessly faster and faster.
July, it seems, was in a hurry to leave.
It's been a week since I last wrote, but if you came up to me right now and demanded what had happened in the time between then and now -- I'm not entirely sure I'd be able to tell you. Even right now, I have to really think about it. I'll have to blame the aliens -- or maybe, more pragmatically, I was working almost all week. My one day off was Thursday. I spent Wednesday night hanging out with Raj, and in the process managed to give him a rocking haircut, and he made me a rocking dinner. So it was a good trade.
I would like to note that I have never actually cut someone's hair before, even though I spend a lot of time getting my own hair cut - the wonders of short hair. And yes, it was kind of cheating because he had that fancy schmancy buzzer thing that regulates the length, I could have still screwed it up. But I didn't. So there.
We also went for dinner and a show on Saturday, taking advantage of the fact that my job at the box office allows me to sneak into shows in the theatre, generally speaking. By sneaking in, by the way, I mean I get in for free with the blessing of everyone involved. On Saturday, it was the Freddie Cole Quartet playing -- for those of you who don't know, that would be Nat King Cole's little brother, who has to be almost 80 years old and is still touring and making music. It was more lounge jazz than swing jazz, so it wasn't my favorite style, but it was still really cool. He played a few of my favorite songs, like "I'll Be Seeing You", "Paper Moon", and "Nature Boy."
I went to the baseball game after work yesterday. It was one of those hot, sticky days, the world uneasily accepting the sun after a morning of fog and rain. It was beautiful, really, until it tried to clear off. I was convinced that it was going to rain during the game, but it didn't. I had a great time, however -- Hilary had been chatting with one of the player's dad because he had been in the gift shop, and they'd really hit it off, so I ended up chatting with him as well. Since I was there by myself, I ended up sitting with his family and chattering away to the mom. It was a lot of fun, and the Tourists won, so it was an all around good time.
Hilary and I were planning to go to Shakespeare in the Park, because they just opened a new show, Troilus and Cressida, but we decided not to. After working all week and several fifteen hour days in a row for Hilary, we were just too tired. So we sat and did nothing at all.
(Yeah so blogger just erased what was left of this post. I am not amused. It has been one of those happy naproxen fueled days, just made better by the fact that my favorite jeans ripped all the way down the leg (am I getting fat?!?!). I was not amused then, either).
I think the only other thing I was talking about was the fact that I picked my visa up from the post office today, so I am now legally allowed to reside in France for a year. Score. The last thing I have to do is go bankrupt paying for my housing deposit. (Yay?)
The sound you hear is my energy crashing, by the way. I work a lot this week, and my presence is required at some mandatory meeting tomorrow for all hotel employees, which has as much chance of enriching my life as watching paint dry and will be relevant for about as long as the life span of a flea, but they are paying me to sit there and be bored, so what can I say.
Until next time.
July, it seems, was in a hurry to leave.
It's been a week since I last wrote, but if you came up to me right now and demanded what had happened in the time between then and now -- I'm not entirely sure I'd be able to tell you. Even right now, I have to really think about it. I'll have to blame the aliens -- or maybe, more pragmatically, I was working almost all week. My one day off was Thursday. I spent Wednesday night hanging out with Raj, and in the process managed to give him a rocking haircut, and he made me a rocking dinner. So it was a good trade.
I would like to note that I have never actually cut someone's hair before, even though I spend a lot of time getting my own hair cut - the wonders of short hair. And yes, it was kind of cheating because he had that fancy schmancy buzzer thing that regulates the length, I could have still screwed it up. But I didn't. So there.
We also went for dinner and a show on Saturday, taking advantage of the fact that my job at the box office allows me to sneak into shows in the theatre, generally speaking. By sneaking in, by the way, I mean I get in for free with the blessing of everyone involved. On Saturday, it was the Freddie Cole Quartet playing -- for those of you who don't know, that would be Nat King Cole's little brother, who has to be almost 80 years old and is still touring and making music. It was more lounge jazz than swing jazz, so it wasn't my favorite style, but it was still really cool. He played a few of my favorite songs, like "I'll Be Seeing You", "Paper Moon", and "Nature Boy."
I went to the baseball game after work yesterday. It was one of those hot, sticky days, the world uneasily accepting the sun after a morning of fog and rain. It was beautiful, really, until it tried to clear off. I was convinced that it was going to rain during the game, but it didn't. I had a great time, however -- Hilary had been chatting with one of the player's dad because he had been in the gift shop, and they'd really hit it off, so I ended up chatting with him as well. Since I was there by myself, I ended up sitting with his family and chattering away to the mom. It was a lot of fun, and the Tourists won, so it was an all around good time.
Hilary and I were planning to go to Shakespeare in the Park, because they just opened a new show, Troilus and Cressida, but we decided not to. After working all week and several fifteen hour days in a row for Hilary, we were just too tired. So we sat and did nothing at all.
(Yeah so blogger just erased what was left of this post. I am not amused. It has been one of those happy naproxen fueled days, just made better by the fact that my favorite jeans ripped all the way down the leg (am I getting fat?!?!). I was not amused then, either).
I think the only other thing I was talking about was the fact that I picked my visa up from the post office today, so I am now legally allowed to reside in France for a year. Score. The last thing I have to do is go bankrupt paying for my housing deposit. (Yay?)
The sound you hear is my energy crashing, by the way. I work a lot this week, and my presence is required at some mandatory meeting tomorrow for all hotel employees, which has as much chance of enriching my life as watching paint dry and will be relevant for about as long as the life span of a flea, but they are paying me to sit there and be bored, so what can I say.
Until next time.
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