21 July, 2006 | Comments

So the blog world has been buzzing the past few days about Petite Anglaise, the popular Paris-based Brit blogger who just got fired from her job after her blog was discovered by her employers. I’ve had her in my blogroll for a while. She has just made the news once again because she is suing the company that fired her and this will apparently be a test case for French law. This is an issue that scares me a lot. I have a certain U.S.-based job that I would very likely be fired from if my blog were discovered — no exaggeration. I never mention the job at all on my blog (though I’d love to), but many of the political views I’ve expressed here would not go over too well with the conservative people I work with. And given the nature of the job, my self-confessional posts (no matter how harmless) would just make it impossible for me to continue in my position. This is something I actually worry about quite a bit — although feeling like an outlaw is also fun. I really wish all the best for Petite Anglaise, who has a young daughter to support.

21 July, 2006 | Comments

…You should never leave litter behind you in the world’s beauty spots, for instance the Himalayas…

21 July, 2006 | 1 Comment

This will come as a shock to no one, but I’m terrified of flying. In preparation for my mega flight next week, I must now start daily Zen meditation in an attempt to bliss myself out. Valium would be easier, but drugs are never the answer. Just say no!

I hate flying for two main reasons:

1) Fear of confined spaces

2) Fear of death (i.e. crashing, mid-air collision, terrorists)

That’s an awful lot for one neurotic person to handle. And it’s also boring as hell. For whatever reason, I cannot read books on planes, only trash magazines. I think books require too much concentration. It’s much easier to stay alert for strange plane noises and potential terrorists while reading Hello magazine than Middlemarch. When I’m on a plane, all of my senses are heightened to an animalistic level. It’s quite exhausting. And hours of reading about Eurotrash and D-list royals doesn’t help.

Given my fear of flying, it was probably quite stupid to fly non-stop to L.A. My reasoning was that it results in less flying time over all (and one fewer take-off and landing), but 11 hours is a long time to sit on your ass while hurtling through the sky in a tin can. (And if the plane is full of kids going to Disneyland, that will totally suck.) At least I can be content in the knowledge that my sister has promised to take me to Whole Foods upon my arrival. Whole Foods, how I have missed thee. I may just collapse from happiness overload.

20 July, 2006 | 3 Comments

So my zany plan to live in Paris for the next year now has the approval of the French government. Go figure. The visa is only good for three months and when I arrive in Paris I have to apply for residency, which means more insane paperwork (like having my birth certificate translated into French!). This morning wasn’t that bad as far as bureaucratic hassles go. I arrived at the consulate on three hours of sleep and no food, so that was the worst of it. I forgot to bring a book (I was tired!), but I did listen to French news podcasts while I waited in the queue outside for over an hour with the biggest freaks imaginable. Apparently, I was the only French visa-seeker who thought it was a good idea to bathe, brush my hair and wear decent clothing. There was one moment of excitement when the consulate doors opened at 8:30 and the people at the front of the queue got into a massive brawl, prompting the security guard to scream that if they didn’t shut up, the police would be there “within three seconds” to arrest them. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. And while everyone else got frisked by this security guard, he just glanced in my bag and let me walk right in. Boo! You may not have guessed it, but I have a very angelic presence in person. For whatever reason, I appear sweet and fresh-faced and people can’t imagine that I’d ever do anything bad. (I’m serious. It sucks.)

Luckily, there were only two people applying for student visas. The woman there was very nice in an I’m-not-allowed-to-crack-a-smile sort of way. She basically just glanced at all the documents I had painstakingly assembled over the past few months. At one point, she asked: “Besides studying French, what will you do all day?” The possibilities are endless! Uh, have a torrid affair with the Gen X version of Jean-Paul Sartre, perhaps, or in my case the more likely scenario of becoming addicted to French soap operas. I also could have said that I was writing a novel, but an American writing a novel in Paris is such a cliché, she probably would have shredded my application right in front of my face. So we both agreed that I would be doing doctoral research in Paris, which is true. That and other things.

So anyway, there are no more obstacles left on the road to Paris. The only thing that can hold me back now is fear, but I’m not afraid. Look at my hand: Steady as a rock.

(eek!)

19 July, 2006 | 1 Comment

I waited until the last possible day (today) to round up some health insurance for my stay in Paris. I used to be an obsessive planner, so I’m not sure what’s happened to me over the past few years. I don’t write this to elicit sympathy, however. Nothing invigorates me more than a high-stakes game of beat-the-clock. When I woke up this morning I knew I needed comprehensive health insurance by the end of the day or else. I found this to be thrilling in a perverse way. Would I be victorious? Would my life be in tattered shreds by sundown? You just never know.

I think it’s annoying that the French don’t give foreign students over the age of 28 health coverage. It’s their way of saying “If you’re over 28 and you’re a student, you’re a big fat loser and we’re not going to pay to maintain your rapidly decaying body.” But at least the French medical system is supposed to be fantastic, much better than in the UK or the US. We’ll see.

So after a lot of fruitless searching this morning (and one phone call to New Zealand…grrrr), I decided to go to STA Travel (the student travel agency) and take whatever they had on offer. I ended up getting an amazing deal, but I had to work for it. I had to return three times throughout the day. The STA branch in Russell Square (like pretty much every STA branch in London) is staffed by Australian surfer dude types. Their cuteness and charm just about make up for the fact that they have no clue what they’re doing. Can an American buy UK health insurance to be used in Europe? Can an American buy travel insurance for travel in America? Etc. Etc. All of these mysteries required phone calls to STA HQ, but I didn’t mind. They had a/c there (ahhhhh!) and the Australian guy serving me actually smiled and chatted and told me he didn’t want me to leave because I was such good company. [Insert joke about English customer service here.] I spent so much time there I actually ended up buying my Eurostar ticket for my journey to Paris – and since I bought it early, I saved a ton. Gee, I should buy things early more often.

This whole experience just reminded me of how outrageous and insane the price of healthcare is in America. Six-weeks of coverage for my trip home in August cost £86/$158. A whole year of coverage for Paris cost £237/$436! That’s messed up, but then I guess a for-profit system of healthcare makes no sense anyway.

So now my health needs are covered and I have fulfilled the last requirement of the visa application. Starting in September, if I step foot outside Europe or spend more than 24 hours in the UK, my insurance policy is void. I guess I’ll just have to be stealthy.

19 July, 2006 | Comments

We’re having another “heatwave” here today. It’s very hot and miserable and according to the media, the tube is melting and we’ll all probably be dead by the weekend (”the hottest week ever!”, “stay indoors!”, “don’t look at the sun!”). For the record, the high today is supposed to be 93(F), which is hot (especially given that most people don’t have a/c), but I mean, come on people — a heatwave? When does it cease to be a heatwave and just become…normal summer heat? Oy, the drama.

19 July, 2006 | Comments

The Plan: Become so stressed out you stop eating much of anything.

Pros: Lose 10 pounds in three weeks; save money on groceries.

Cons: Nearly pass out in public on numerous occasions; lethargy; difficulty starting and completing projects (i.e. packing).

Verdict: Not recommended.

18 July, 2006 | 2 Comments

I achieved a major milestone in my packing saga today. All the junk I’m leaving behind in England (books mostly, plus some dishes and odds and ends) is now safely stowed in the loft of Nicole, aka Nicole in London, another American blogging from this side of the pond (who just posted something on our encounter!). I had never met Nicole before or even talked to her outside of blog comment land, but she contacted me after reading my post about having tons of books and not wanting to drag them all to Paris. In an act of supreme generosity, she offered to keep some boxes of my belongings at her home until I return next summer, thus saving me from either selling most of that stuff or paying a fortune to store it. The fact that she would look out for one of her homegirls in such a way is just too sweet for words and very touching. I don’t know what I did to deserve such kindness, but I am relieved to know that a) There are people who do nice things just to be nice; and b) People who read my blog but have never met me assume I am a cool person they’d want to hang out with. I often worry I might appear hopelessly neurotic or borderline insane. Whew.

This is the first time I’ve ever met another blogger face-to-face, so it was an interesting experience. (The other bloggers I know were my friends before they started blogging.) There was about two seconds of awkwardness when she opened the door (we joked that it felt like we’d been fixed up through an online dating service), but then I just felt like I knew her. Blogging is weird in that way. You may not know someone personally, but you can know a lot about their life and their personality just by reading their blog. After we dragged my boxes up to her loft, we had a nice long chat and discovered we have a surprising amount in common.

So thanks to Nicole, I am much less stressed out now. I have a week left to go. I have no DVD player or dishes, but I’ll survive somehow. I wonder what my life will be like when I show up on Nicole’s doorstep next summer to retrieve my boxes? A year seems like an incredibly long time in some ways, but then I’ve been here for almost a year and it seems like I just arrived yesterday. We shall see.

18 July, 2006 | 4 Comments

Thirty-one years ago today, my swinging life as an only child came to a crashing halt. With the birth of SpliceGirl, I began my role as bossy older sister. While I think I was the more responsible and determined one growing up, perhaps our roles have reversed now. Last week I called SpliceGirl to get her opinion on something because, I told her, sometimes I need a reality check. The laughter that followed this was a bit too loud and emphatic. I am not flighty, I am a free spirit! I will own furniture and real estate eventually, once I’m a real grown up. And if you aren’t nice to me, I won’t reproduce and then all the pressure will be on you to give birth to a grandchild. So there!

So anyway, have a swell birthday, Sis. Yes, as I promised you on the phone I have a fabulous present for you that I am bringing to LA next week. [Note to self: Add "buy sister fabulous present by next Wednesday" to mile-long to do list.] Have fun at the Chateau Marmont tonight and if you happen to see Johnny Depp in his bungalow (as hoped), please don’t do anything that would violate the principles of your Christian upbringing. You may not understand Johnny’s attraction to the French kewpie doll, but he seems to like her.

18 July, 2006 | Comments

I usually read the news online, but today for the first time in ages I bought a real newspaper. Of course, I only bought it because I needed something to wrap my dishes in, but that’s as good a reason as any.  And for the record, I bought the Guardian. I refuse to wrap my dishes in a tabloid.

17 July, 2006 | 1 Comment

I was chatting with my sister last night about our mutual love of Amélie, which is one of the all-time great romantic films. While very few films can come close to the loveliness of Amélie, the other night I watched The Girl on the Bridge (La Fille Sur Le Pont), which certainly ranks right up there as one of the sexiest and most romantic movies I’ve ever seen. What is it with the French?

The Girl on the Bridge is from 1999 and stars Vanessa Paradis and the exquisite Daniel Auteuil. (Quick! Name a French movie that doesn’t star Daniel Auteuil!) In this film, the two lead characters never have sex or even kiss, which to me gives the film much of its power and passion. How very un-Hollywood.

This film is quirky in the extreme and it’s very very French. If you don’t love French movies, you won’t like this. This is a visually stunning film, shot in black and white and taking place in Paris, Monaco, Italy, Greece and Istanbul. The music is also fantastic.

Paradis’s character is a down-on-her-luck nympho who, early in the film, is about to commit suicide by jumping into the Seine. Auteuil’s character (self-described as “manic-eccentric”) is a knife-thrower who travels around performing in circuses and carnivals. [This film is a homage in many ways to silent movies, hence the kooky profession.] He hangs out on bridges looking for desperate women to be in his act, believing that only a woman with a death wish would allow a man to throw really sharp knives at her.

The two characters take their act on the road and are a big hit. Together, these two luckless losers bring each other incredibly good fortune. Their act isn’t just standard knife-throwing – Paradis is covered with a sheet, spun around on a wheel, etc. The relationship between the characters grows quite intense. (Ooh la la!) They develop a psychic bond. Knife-throwing is an obvious metaphor (no need to spell it out!) and you’re probably thinking it’s a violent, twisted and perhaps even sexist one. It may seem that way on paper, but you just have to submit to the story and not think about it too much.

This isn’t a deep or profound film, it’s just whimsical and fun and bizarre. The two people at the heart of the story are lost and damaged souls who find each other and forge a connection. Their bond makes them each feel extremely vulnerable and at the mercy of the other, but choosing to surrender and trust the other person is what saves them both. It makes them whole. To me, the knife-throwing simply heightens and intensifies the story’s exploration of the risks inherent in human relationships.

After watching this film, I couldn’t help but feel disappointed that I’ve never met a man I’d be willing to let throw knives at me. But in the grand scheme of things I’m still fairly youngish, so perhaps there’s hope…

Link: Roger Ebert Review

Tags: The Girl on the Bridge, La Fille sur le Pont, Daniel Auteuil, Vanessa Paradis

17 July, 2006 | Comments

I have experienced horrific nightmares over the past few nights, the kind that haunt me during the day once I wake up. This happens to me from time to time, though thankfully not often. Last night was the weirdest. I dreamt that a woman killed herself with a laptop computer. I swear. There was blood everywhere and it was terribly graphic. This dream disturbs me on many levels. In my subconscious, why is a laptop an instrument of death? That can’t be good. But even worse, the woman who killed herself is someone I know, someone I haven’t been in touch with in a few years, someone who has attempted to commit suicide in the past. I normally don’t read too much into my dreams, but I’m wondering if I should contact her. I wonder if she’s okay.

17 July, 2006 | 2 Comments

I have an appointment at the French Consulate later this week to apply for my student visa, which I am not completely prepared for (shocking!). The French are world-renowned for their insane love of bureaucracy. Since I’m applying outside my home country, I get to jump through extra hoops. Lovely. This process is so different from the UK visa application process, for which I filled out a form, gathered a few supporting documents and FedEx’ed my passport to the consulate in New York. That was it. (Oh, there was an astronomical fee involved, but then everything English costs a bloody fortune, so it was all part of the acculturation process.) As opposed to the English, the French are demanding to see me in person (but they charge less). I hope they aren’t trying to assess whether I’m chic enough to walk the streets of Paris, because if that’s the case, we all know I’m screwed.

They told me I must arrive at least an hour early to “queue up outside” with the huddled masses yearning to be French. Here is what I must take with me to my appointment [and whether I have it yet]:

U.S. passport w/ UK student visa [oui]

2 copies of visa application, completed in French [oui]

Three color passport photos [mais oui]

Letter from PhD supervisor, stating that studying in Paris is important to my work [ouai]

College transcripts [oui]

Letter of admittance from French university [oui oui]

A signed lease for a Paris apartment [eh oui]

Proof of comprehensive private health insurance [alors, non!]

Bank statement [si]

Letter from my bank stating that I have the funds to support myself in Paris [Non! What kind of bank would write such a letter? Certainly not my American superbank with a bazillion customers. Not sure what to do about this one.]

£35 in cash [ah, ça oui]

Photocopies of all these documents [non]

A snotty attitude [but of course!]

And once I arrive in Paris, I have even more bureaucracy to deal with, like having to be examined by a government doctor (!) and getting a residency card at the police station or something like that. But instead of getting annoyed at this, I’ll just laugh at it. I’m sure I’ll be laughing a lot over the next year. Ha. Now I must locate some health insurance…

16 July, 2006 | Comments

In the midst of several packing-related meltdowns today, prompted by such potentially life-shattering dilemmas as “do I take the collected stories of John Cheever with me or leave them here?”, I suddenly realized that I’m moving to Paris.

Yippee!

15 July, 2006 | Comments

No.

Today I went to get more book boxes. I had to carry them home from Tottenham Court Road, a bit of a schlep. I was carrying other things as well and by the time I got back to my neighbourhood, I was really dragging. So this guy comes up to me when I’m about three blocks from home, asks where I’m going, then offers to carry the boxes the rest of the way for me. Bless him! Not surprisingly, this angel of mercy wasn’t a native Londoner – he was from Africa. But Londoners can be helpful too. On my way home today with six giant boxes, the vast majority of people I passed refused to even move aside to let me by. I can’t tell you how many times I was pushed and knocked around by mean people who were just being mean. Oh, and a taxi almost deliberately hit me because, you know, stepping on the brakes is too much effort. As much as I love London, the pushiness of people here is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. And I used to live in New York! Sigh.

15 July, 2006 | 1 Comment

I am getting ready to clean out my desk and bookshelves (boo hoo!). I took a few snaps for posterity:

When I look up from my computer, I see this:

The Virgin Mary surrounded by Penguin Classics.

Here is my beloved pig mug (many people have tried — and failed — to steal it):

A clock set to U.S. Eastern Daylight Time (because subtracting by 5 is too much effort):

And last but not least, my collection of Will & Grace DVDs. Laugh if you must, but they helped me get through some rocky times!

14 July, 2006 | 3 Comments

I’ve started packing, my least favorite thing to do. I have been in total and complete denial about the fact that I am moving, much to my own detriment. If the French Consulate here in London hadn’t taken pity on me, I’d be really and truly screwed. And while I still feel oddly disconnected from this whole process, I am going through the motions. I have boxes!

I’m sad to be leaving London for the next year, but I am thrilled to be leaving my current residence and everything it represents about this past year. The past six months rank up there with some of the most difficult months I have ever experienced in my life. This is not because of London or school or anything, just personal stuff. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, or so they say, but I don’t have that sense of victory yet. The decision to go home for a 5-week visit was a smart one and it may help me put the past few months into perspective.

Packing and moving always bring up a lot of issues for me and probably for most people. I’ve moved a lot, so I have been in this situation too many times. I am thrilled to be going to Paris, but I must admit I feel a bit nervous about it all of a sudden. For the second time in a year, I’ll be moving to a country where I don’t know anyone and this time I will be at a linguistic disadvantage. No matter how strong a person is, this can take a toll. I think I expect myself to be way too resilient sometimes. The fact that I’m even worried about this is a good sign, because I usually don’t concern myself with such practical matters at all. I thought nothing of selling practically all of my possessions and moving to London. In the past, I thought nothing of moving to New York City, Boston and other places without really knowing people or having a clue what I’d do (or where I’d live) once I got there. [I have a vivid memory of being recently arrived in New York as a 20-year-old and waking up in the middle of the night with a feeling of terror, suddenly realizing that I didn’t know one single person in a city of millions. I had a similar experience last September when I arrived in London, though now that I’m older and wiser I experienced it a few more times and a bit more intensely.] Aside from these moments of panic, moving to a strange new city has never freaked me out or made me feel daunted in the least. And really, I don’t think this is normal. So my current cautious attitude towards Paris is a relief. I will be very careful to look after my emotional well-being this time around.

[A confession: Throughout my entire adult life, I have refused to subscribe to magazines, purchase return address labels, buy plants or adopt a pet because I didn’t want to feel tied to where I was living. After moving away from Brooklyn, I left the New York license plates on my car for almost two years to avoid committing to a new locale. I’m not sure how I got away with this.]

So anyway, I started examining all of this craziness because of my refusal to get packed and organized over the past few weeks and I think I’m gaining some clarity. I’ve only been in London for a year and now I am hitting the road once again, much to my surprise. On some level, I think I’m worried that it is my secret twisted desire to float through life without getting too attached to anyone or to anyplace or to anything. This is certainly the way I’ve operated thus far in my life and I thought perhaps I would have outgrown this pattern of behavior by now, but apparently not. I think my avoidance of packing and moving stuff was just a way to avoid thinking about all of this. The good news is that my instincts are telling me that this move to Paris will be the last time I venture into the great unknown. It will be my last hurrah, if you will, and what a way to end my career as a vagabond! I’ll return to London next summer like a good girl, retire my wanderlust and finish my PhD. Really. (Those of you who know me, stop rolling your eyes.) I can see this happening.

To prove that I’m growing, even though I’ll only be in Paris for a year, I’m committed to ordering return address labels. I’m going to do it! I may even subscribe to a magazine or buy a plant, but not both. Baby steps.

13 July, 2006 | Comments

I thought I was finally done writing about the World Cup, but I want to post two quick follow-ups to previous posts on Zidane and the WAGs…

As anyone who is following the Zidane head-butt saga knows, last night he stated on French television that the reason he attacked the Italian player Materazzi during the final moments of the World Cup is because Materazzi made vile comments about his mother and sister, though he wouldn’t get specific. Britain’s top lip reader is convinced that Materazzi called Zidane’s mother a “terrorist whore.” (And now Materazzi’s camp is circulating the rumour that Zidane insulted Materazzi’s mother first.) This whole incident has fixed the international spotlight on the kind of juvenile, idiotic trash talk that goes on between football players. The misogynist nature of such talk is completely disgusting but not altogether surprising. Too bad the global sense of Zidane-induced outrage isn’t focused on this issue instead. When will that self-righteous blabber mouth, FIFA President Sepp Blatter, start threatening players with punishment for this kind of sexist talk? Oh wait, I forgot, this is the guy who wants female football players to wear tighter shorts in an attempt to increase viewership.

More WAG news. Apparently, the FA is considering banning the wives and girlfriends from all future football tournaments, given how much of a distraction they proved to be during the World Cup. Not surprisingly, some are even blaming the WAGs for England’s loss. Yes, that makes perfect sense.

Tags: World Cup, Zidane, Materazzi, Sepp Blatter

13 July, 2006 | Comments

Here are my word-of-the-day entries for the past few weeks. Why do I keep forgetting to post these round-ups?
#1

Britspeak:

petrol

Amerispeak:

gas

(more…)

12 July, 2006 | 3 Comments

Yesterday after my Sylvia Plath pilgrimage I visited the London Zoo, which is in the same neighbourhood. An odd way to spend the day, sure, but then I like to mix things up. Ever since I read James and the Giant Peach, where James’s parents get eaten by a rhinoceros that has escaped from the London Zoo, I wanted to visit. Twenty-five years later, I finally made it.

To be honest, it was a bit of a disappointment (and it cost a fortune to get in!). It’s the oldest zoo in the world and they are doing a lot of construction; perhaps it’s on its way to becoming a world-class zoo, but it’s definitely not one right now, at least in my opinion. What kind of zoo has COWS but not elephants? I love elephants!

I didn’t take many photos, but wanted to share these two. The first one, a sign from the lion enclosure, I find to be darkly humorous (and it reminded me of James and the Giant Peach, sorta):

And this last photo is of a tiger’s paws. When I was visiting the zoo, many of the animals were passed out (nap time? heat stroke? suicidal depression?). This tiger was zonked out right in front of the glass and there was a huge crowd of people just watching it sleep, looking at its tummy go in and out on each breath. If you were able to forget that this animal could rip your limbs off, it actually looked quite cuddly and sweet napping like that. Its paws were so chubby and cute, I couldn’t resist taking a photo:

Tags: London Zoo