31 July, 2009 | 6 Comments

[On this street, the American Library of Paris.]

To the person who checked out the only copy of Haruki Murakami’s The Wind-up Bird Chronicle from the American Library of Paris – I hope you’re satisfied with yourself.  I really, really hope you are.  You, with your selfish actions, have possibly ruined my entire novel and ten years of hard work.  I bet you’re not even reading the novel – I bet you’re just using it as a coaster.  I really need Murakami’s words right now to show me the way.  Last summer he saved me when I couldn’t write a word and now I need him to work his magic spell on me again.  But no, you checked out his book and now I am left with nothing.  My copy is back in London, locked up tight in a storage unit in Camden Town.  I could buy a second copy here, but given the mark-up on English-language books, it’d probably cost 57.50€, which is money I need to buy chocolate and bottled water.

I swear, some people are so selfish.

Anglofille is feeling blue.  Or to translate that into French…bleu.

It’s not just because of the Murakami situation (though that certainly doesn’t help).  I just feel depressed the past couple days.  The main reason is that starting tomorrow, I have to go back to the dark place.  I move into my new accommodation tomorrow, which means I have 30 days left in Paris, which means I have to write as much as possible.  Writing requires me to go to the dark place.  I don’t want to go back there.

I’m not writing a fun book.  I’m not writing a book about a boy wizard.  I’m not writing a comedy about a zany American expat in Paris looking for love.  Most of my friends in London are writing fun books like this and describe their writing process as “escapism.”  The writing of my novel is more like having a Band-Aid stuck to your eyeball and then having it ripped off.  Repeatedly.  In the last chapter of my book, a woman tried to castrate her boyfriend.  I spent my first month in Paris researching everything about pornography and then writing about it, a horrific experience.  I spent all my days doing this – I saw nothing of Paris, never went to a museum, nothing, but instead saw and read about the most misogynist, vile things imaginable. I lived and breathed this.  Tomorrow it begins again and I just have a knot in my stomach.  I don’t know if I can do it.

The past few days, I’ve actually fantasized about giving all of this up.  It’d be so easy to walk away from it, wash my hands of it and do something else. These thoughts worry me.  If it weren’t for the PhD, I don’t think there’s any chance I’d finish this book and it hurts to admit that, but the content is just too unpleasant. However, I’ve invested time and money in the PhD and that’s not something to casually throw away. Mind you, the PhD won’t be worth anything, the English department says as much.  “There are no jobs!” they chuckle smugly, safe in their own jobs, all the while cashing our cheques. I’m putting myself through all of this for what pay off, exactly?  On those days in the dark place, I often wonder.

On top of all this, I have a lot of anxiety about returning to London, since I have nowhere to live, so will likely end up in a hostel.  The countdown clock has started – I can hear it ticking in my ear.  Last night I sent off my registration for a conference in September.  The form asked for my address, but I don’t have one so had to leave that blank.  I explained to the conference organiser that for the foreseeable future, I am an entity that has no fixed address in the physical world.

Then, this afternoon I was at the aforementioned American Library.  I spent a relaxing time reading American magazines – Oprah, Gourmet, Film Commentary, whatever.  While this was fun, it ultimately made me feel worse.  The people in Oprah magazine don’t live in hostels when they’re in their mid-thirties.  They have picnics with gourmet foods and they wear handmade jewelry and have fresh flowers in their beautiful homes.  Meanwhile, my home is a storage unit in Camden Town. These bastards in Oprah magazine just rubbed salt into my psychic wounds and fears.  I curse them.

I don’t want to go back to the dark place tomorrow.  I want to spend the month of August going to museums and eating ice cream and sitting in the Jardin du Luxembourg in the sunshine, reading low-brow fiction.  I just want to be carefree like the people in the magazines. The choice is mine, I guess. Right now I’m on the fence.

29 July, 2009 | 3 Comments

You know what I really hate?  People who have to act like complete as*holes when boarding trains.  Sadly, this includes pretty much the entire train-riding population.

Today is a case in point.  I was in Rouen this afternoon, waiting on the platform for the train to Paris.  The train was not originating in Rouen, but was just stopping there on its route to Paris.  The crowd awaited the train, acting jittery and crazed.  Nevermind that mainline trains don’t normally stop for 30 seconds and then drive away, leaving ticketed passengers stranded on the platform.  If you’re there on time, it’s guaranteed you’ll get on the train.  No need to panic.

The minute the train pulled up, the awaiting crowd ran toward it with such intensity, you’d think it was literally a matter of life and death to make this train.  In fact, the way these people were acting, you might think that enemy warplanes were at that very moment en route to the city, preparing to bomb it into nothing more than a fine layer of dust.  Their very survival as humans depended on catching this train to Paris, which meant trampling anyone in their path to the doors.

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29 July, 2009 | 2 Comments

It’s time to wrap up the vacation.  I know this because I have “cathedral burnout,” my term for what happens to me after I’ve been traveling in Europe for a bit.  I love cathedrals as much as the next girl, but yesterday I blew off my visit to Rouen Cathedral (!) and went to the movies instead.  I know – shameful!  Please don’t make me feel worse about it than I already do.  This is how I know it’s time to go home, or in my case, since I have no home, time to return to Paris on the afternoon train.

I’ve had a lovely time in Normandy and will write more about it soon.  You know what has really shocked me about Normandy?  How many beggars there are.  I expect this in Paris since it’s a big city, but all throughout Normandy there are so many people begging for money.  They are camped outside the tourist attractions with their little cups.  And not only that, but people come up to me on the street – people who don’t look homeless or dirty, just regular teens and parents with children – and ask for money.  [And these people are not “gypsies.”] In addition to this, I’ve seen a surprising number of people sleeping rough on the streets. Isn’t France a quasi-Socialist country with lots of welfare programs?  What’s going on?

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26 July, 2009 | 5 Comments

Photo of Omaha Beach on D-Day – June 6, 1944:

My photos of Omaha Beach and the American Cemetery that overlook it.  2009 is the 65th anniversary year:

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24 July, 2009 | 3 Comments

Menu at a Chinese restaurant in France…ewwww.

22 July, 2009 | 4 Comments

Bayeux is a lovely medieval town.  It’s very close to the D-Day beaches, but it wasn’t destroyed during WWII.  The cathedral here is one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen.  I hesitate to put my photo up, because it just doesn’t do it justice.

I haven’t seen the world-famous tapestry yet, but will do that tomorrow or Friday.  Today I’ve had a mild sore throat and headache, so I mostly rested.  The weather is wacky – warm and humid one day, rainy and cold the next.  Not sure if this has contributed to my feeling a bit under the weather. I hope I don’t have swine flu.  I wonder what that’s called here – flu du cochon?

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20 July, 2009 | 11 Comments

Caen is the city of William the Conqueror, who I was only vaguely aware of before this trip.  For those as ignorant of medieval European history as me, William the Conqueror became William I of England, after he conquered England, hence the catchy title. [Though really, his other handle, William the Bastard, is pretty awesome.] In Caen there is a lot of Norman history that I’m just not familiar with (though I am now – thanks Wikipedia!).  Did you know that before William I, the king of England was Harold Godwinson?  I don’t think this is accurate.  How could a king of England from 1,000 years ago have a name that sounds like he should be living in a retirement community in south Florida next door to the Golden Girls?  Surely this can’t be right.  I’ve never heard of anything so absurd.

According to Wikipedia, 80 percent of Caen was leveled during WWII.  Amazing, then, that the centuries old cathedrals and the 1,000-year-old castle made it through completely intact.  I wonder if they were bombed and then patched up, otherwise it’s incredibly lucky that these places weren’t destroyed.  There are many cathedrals here – you turn a corner and bam! – cathedral. Spires everywhere.  They make a nice backdrop for Subway, McDonalds and all the other cultural gems that abound.  Seriously, there are a lot of chains here, but it’s actually a very nice city.

I’m being a lazy photographer on this trip, just to warn you.  I don’t have the dedication to take tons of photos, edit them and organize them. It’s just too much work.  You can view my very small Caen set here on Flickr.  [At least I finally got an adapter to connect my photo card up to my MacBook - it's only taken a year.  I found one today at FNAC. I think it's ridiculous that MacBooks don't have a slot for an SD photo card.]

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19 July, 2009 | 5 Comments

Though my French skills are rusty, I can usually always figure out how to pronounce any French word that I’m faced with.  Once you learn the rules of pronunciation, it’s pretty easy to figure out how to say things.  French is pretty consistent in that way.  What actually comes out of my mouth may not sound correct, but in my mind I usually know how something is pronounced.  I don’t think English is consistent in this way. For example, a non-native speaker asked me why “go” and “do” don’t rhyme.  I had never thought about it before and didn’t have an answer for her, but she’s right that it makes no sense that “go” rhymes with “dough,” not “do.”  And why doesn’t “dough” rhyme with “tough”?  Insane.

Anyway, all of this is my extremely long-winded way of saying that as I prepared to visit the French city Caen, capital of the Basse-Normandie region, I could not for the life of me figure out how to pronounce it.  This doesn’t happen often, where I have no clue how to say something. My guess was kay-en (with the “n” not really pronounced), but I was wrong.  The pronunciation, to me, sounds exactly like the French word “quand.”  (I’m sure it doesn’t sound like this to a French person, whose ears are trained to decipher imperceptible differences in sound.)  It’s nearly impossible to write Caen phonetically in English, but it’s sorta like “kahn” but you don’t say the “n” – it stays on the roof of your mouth.  Luckily, despite this butchered pronunciation, I bought the right train ticket and ended up in the right place.

Since I arrived here on a Sunday, nearly everything (and I mean everything, except McDonalds and a couple cafes) was closed.  Also, there are a lot of scary white guys around here with shaved heads.  I hope there isn’t some sort of neo-nazi convention going on.  There were sevearl scary dudes on the train up here, one with an enormous, vicious-looking dog that kept patroling the aisles.  Still, even with skinheads and vicious dogs, it was a more pleasant journey than anything offered by South West Trains. [Sorry, that joke is really just for Londoners - and too bad it's not really a joke.]  On the train there were separate bathrooms for men and women, which is odd, given how many unisex public bathrooms there are here.  I’ve never seen anything like that on a train.  Anyway, in the women’s loo, there was a toilet with a PINK seat!  I can only surmise that the pink seat is meant to shame and humiliate any man who dares to use the women’s loo.

19 July, 2009 | 9 Comments

What a frantic day!  I am heading off to Normandy on Sunday.  I’ll travel around the region a bit.  I think it’ll be tricky without a car, but I hesitate to rent one because I haven’t driven a car in four years and also, I’m used to driving-on-the-wrong-side Britain, so I’m afraid driving for me could turn out to be a recipe for disaster.  Better stick to trains, even though I may miss a lot of the countryside.  I’m planning on going to Caen, Bayeux, Lisieux, Deauville and Rouen, plus Giverny (though that could end up a daytrip from Paris).  I’m open to suggestions, keeping in mind I don’t have a car. I’m skipping Mont St. Michel because I went there when I was 18 and would rather go back sometime with a car.

I’m not really sure how I decided upon Normandy.  My dream is Provence, but I would need to do that with a car and I’d prefer to go with other people, so I’ll wait for that.  I thought of Bruges, since I really want to go there, but the hotels are insanely over-priced.  Plus, there’s nothing else I want to see around Bruges.  So then I thought of Normandy, because Rouen has been on my list forever (and it was also recommended in the comments of another post).  Plus, it’s close to Paris and I’m lazy – I don’t feel like a 5 or 6-hour train ride.  Everyone (and by that I mean Americans) thinks that it’s so easy to travel Europe by rail.  Of course it is compared to America, but after doing a lot of research into France, I think it’s really much, much easier to travel around France by car.

I didn’t expect to be traveling this week, but now I’m excited about it.  Tonight I took a suitcase full of books and clothes to leave in luggage storage at Gare du Nord.  It would be impossible for me to travel with all my stuff and I swear, that suitcase weighed as much as a Volkswagen.  It’s 5€ a day at Gare du Nord, which is totally worth it.  Cheaper than back surgery.  So anyway, outside the train station some drug addicted psycho started harassing me.  What else is new.  I really thought he might attack me.  So anyway, I’m glad to get out of the city for a while.  I hope there are no drug-addicted psychos in Normandy – I’ve had my fill.

17 July, 2009 | Comments are off

To begin this post, I want to say something nice because the rest of this post is kinda bitchy.  I tried to enter the metro today, but it would not accept my ticket.  I have no idea why, since it was a brand new ticket.  I tried twice with no luck and was getting frustrated.  Then this old man who was coming out of the metro came to my rescue.  He took his metro pass out of his wallet and used it to let me through the gate.  How SWEET!

Other than that, this has been a very irritating day.  I was supposed to move out of the apartment on July 15th.  Originally I had planned to do some traveling between the 15th and August 1st, when I move into my other accommodation.  But then I decided to extend my stay in the apartment instead of traveling.  Though the apartment is over-priced, per day it is cheaper than a hotel.  Also, here I can cook, which saves money.  And finally, train fares are much more expensive than I’d realized.  I am very indecisive, so it took me ages to reach this decision.  This apartment has had lots of problems, which I already wrote about, but finally the internet and everything was working okay, so I thought I’d just stay here.

So I extended the contract on Wednesday and then yesterday the internet and phone went out completely.  AGAIN.  So this morning I called the agency.  They said that France Telecom had cut the line.  The agency apparently knew this was going to happen.  Remember, I’d told them a million times I need the internet to do my work for my American job.  They are well aware of this.  Yet they never thought to tell me the line was going to be cut.  France Telecom cut the line because they need to repair it….on July 27th, ten whole days from now.  I told the woman on the phone that she needed to call France Telecom that instant and have the line switched back on.  She said that was impossible.  She said “This is FRANCE, not America.  We don’t do things that quickly.”  That’s exactly what she said. Then she said there was nothing she could do.  I demanded to speak to the head of the agency, but of course he was on the other line.  I waited ages for him to call me back.  Finally I called him again and he was out to lunch.  I told the woman how upset I was that they had done this and that they didn’t even seem to care about fixing the problem.  Then I said that they had no right to leave me without local telephone service – what if there was a fire or something?  I have no phone to call the police besides a British mobile.  Not good.

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14 July, 2009 | 1 Comment

I came across this clip on YouTube of Noam Chomsky discussing pornography. It’s refreshing to hear his thoughts, given how many people on the left (including too many so-called feminists) frame pornography as a “choice” issue – i.e., if a woman “chooses” to be humiliated and abused, then it’s an empowering act, even feminist.  Oh – and if anyone (like me) comments on that “choice” as being a bad one, then I’m judgmental, slut-shaming and no better than a right-wing Christian fundamentalist. This bastardization of the word “choice” by so many on the left really upsets me.  It certainly doesn’t benefit women, but it sure does beneift the porn overlords profiting off women’s degradation.  Anyway, it’s nice to hear Chomsky cut through all these ridiculous arguments. It’s only three minutes long, but worth watching.

13 July, 2009 | Comments are off

So I guess Sotomayor’s confirmation hearings begin today.  The right-wing is concerned that Sotomayor’s being Latina will influence her view of the law.  Yeah, ‘cuz all the white dudes on the Supreme Court are completely unaffected by their race and gender.  Being white and male is the default human perspective!  Everyone else, like white females and all people of color, are special interest groups.

Of course, it’s possible that Sotomayor is too fat to be on the Supreme Court.

There’s something regarding Sotomayor that I wanted to write about ages ago, but was distracted by other things.  So I’m going to write about it now.

Before these hearings, Sotomayor resigned her membership from an elite women-only club, the Belizean Grove, because Republicans had been raising questions about it.  Sandra Day O’Connor also resigned from this club under pressure before she became a justice.

The NYT: “Federal judges are bound by a code that says they should not join any group that discriminates by race, sex, religion or nationality.”  I think that’s a great code, but I wonder – why weren’t Justices Thomas, Scalia, Alito, Kennedy and Chief Justice Roberts pressured to resign from the Catholic church before joining the Supreme Court?  The church discriminates against all women by not allowing them to become priests and hold other leadership positions.  Over half of the members of the United States Supreme Court belong to an organization treats women as secondary to men.  Does this influence their views on women’s rights?  In the case of many of these men, there can be absolutely no doubt about that.  But you know, as long as Sotomayor is out of the insignificant Belizean Grove – which discriminates against men! – that’s all that matters.

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10 July, 2009 | 13 Comments

I need some help from the evil minded amongst you (and I know you’re out there).  In my novel, there are quite a few murders.  This is just a subplot, but it runs through most of the book.  I don’t normally spend much time thinking about murder, which is too bad, because I’ve got to kill off several more characters and I’m stumped for ideas.  So far in my book I’ve had two people shot in the head, one person killed by a car bombing, and 12 people pushed out of a plane at 13,000 feet.  Ho hum.  The murders I’ve created so far aren’t much more interesting than your garden-variety stabbing.  In the book, what’s interesting is the murder victims and why they’ve been chosen, but I can’t share that here.  So anyway, if you can think of any interesting ways to dispatch people and send them off to Jesus forever, please let me know. Think of David Fincher’s film Seven.  Yeah, like that.

Oh – and don’t worry.  Those being killed aren’t really very nice people.

Today starts a 4-day holiday weekend in France, or so I gather – you know I’m on the periphery of society.  But anyway, Tuesday is Bastille (rhymes with Lucille!) Day, so I think a lot of people will skip work on Monday and have a nice long weekend of doing whatever the French do on long weekends.  I wouldn’t know.  I don’t know many French people.  The last time I saw my one French female friend she told me I needed a complete make-over, so I haven’t bothered to call her since I’ve been in town.  And the very kind French family from whom I rented a chambre de bonne I haven’t called either.  They have a giant apartment near the Arc de Triomphe and a big country house.  Sigh. But I can’t call them, because the last time I saw them I was asking them to give depositions in my lawsuit against the other landlady.  And that whole episode was humiliating and I’m sure they want to forget my existence.  [I would if I were them.]

So have fun French peope at your BBQs.  Don’t worry about me.  I’ll just be home alone, thinking up interesting ways to kill people.  I wonder what kind of food is served at French BBQs?  Paté with a side of slaw?  I guess.

9 July, 2009 | Comments are off

It’s bad enough that at the G8 summit currently ongoing in Italy, the wives of the leaders are herded together, taken on various activities and are all dressed to impress – life’s a fashion show!  [Angela Merkel's husband, the only male spouse, skipped the trip and who can blame him, given how highly gendered all of this is.]  Before the summit, a group of female Italian academics appealed to the wives to skip the summit to protest Silvio Berlusconi, all-around misogynist pig and lover of underage sex and prostitutes.  Sadly, it seems all the wives except for Carla Bruni showed up.  Since Berlusconi’s wife is not there (due to her filing for divorce and all), the women are being hosted by the government’s Equal Opportunities Minister, the anti-feminist, anti-gay rights former beauty pageant contestant and nude model Mara Carfagna:

[Carfagna is at far right]

How could any self-respecting first lady be a part of this grotesque farce? I just don’t get it. It’s an insult to all women.  Perhaps at future events, the first ladies can use their time more wisely and hold their own summit to discuss the secondary status of women in the G8 countries.

9 July, 2009 | 3 Comments

One day I will rent a Parisian apartment and things will go right.  I don’t know what I base this hope upon, given that this is the fourth apartment I’ve rented in this city and each one has brought nothing but headaches.

Because of my American job, I must have internet access each day.  Before I moved into this apartment, I asked repeatedly whether the internet in this apartment worked top-notch and was repeatedly assured that there were no problems. The agency lady was annoyed that I didn’t trust her, so I explained that I’ve moved into other apartments here where I was promised internet and it didn’t work.  Furthermore, every hotel I’ve stayed at in Paris has promised internet, yet when I check in it conveniently doesn’t work. Excuse me for being skeptical.

So after all of the assurances I received, does the internet in this apartment work as it’s supposed to work?  Of course not.

You know, the internet is like water and electricity.  It’s a basic utility. Without the internet, our whole society would be paralyzed and everything would fall apart and crumble.  So what the hell is the problem getting internet service?  I just don’t understand it.  It’s not exotic, it’s not a luxury – it is a necessity of modern life.

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7 July, 2009 | 5 Comments

tacky [adjective]:

1. crass; cheaply vulgar; tasteless; crude.

2. Michael Jackson’s memorial service.

disgraceful [adjective]:

1. bringing or deserving disgrace; shameful; dishonorable; disreputable.

2. news media’s decision to cover aforementioned memorial service, rather than important news.

dignity [noun]:

1. bearing, conduct, or speech indicative of self-respect or appreciation of the formality or gravity of an occasion or situation.

2. what the Jackson family lacks.

Source: Dictionary.com

6 July, 2009 | 2 Comments

This article from the Daily Mail is a real gem. The headline: “How chubby stars ‘are feeding the obesity epidemic’…by proving it is possible to be fat AND famous.”  It’s possible to be fat and famous?  This is outrageous!  These uppity fat people must be stopped.  They should know their rightful place is at home with a paper bag over their head, not out in public amongst normal people.

In the article, “obesity expert and surgeon” (not to mention asshat) Michael McMahon says: “The increasing profile of larger celebrities means that being overweight is now perceived as being ‘normal’ in the eyes of the public. We talk about the dangers of skinny media images but the problem actually swings both ways.”  Yes, the problem does swing both ways.  For example, 99.99% of female celebrities are rail thin, but that tiny, teeny, invisible demographic of fat female celebs is cause for major alarm. If I see one more fat woman on the cover of Vogue…that’s it!  I’m cancelling my subscription!  Enough is enough.

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4 July, 2009 | 3 Comments

In honor of Independence Day, I went to Place de la Republique today and ate lunch at McDonalds.  That’s about as American as I can get.  I rarely eat at McDonalds, not because I’m morally opposed to fast food like a lot of people out there, but because McDonalds in London ranks about one notch above raw sewage in terms of taste.  [If you want American fast food in London, go to Burger King.]  However, McDo in Paris is LE YUM!!!!  It actually tastes like real food.  I ordered a filet-o-fish and fries.

In ten days, the French will have their national holiday.  Britian doesn’t have one, which is a topic of debate.  I guess it’s un-British to light fireworks and scream, “Yay, we’re so great!”  In these politically correct times, I think we should change the name of the American holiday from “Independence Day” to something else, because the current name disses the British and that’s really not very nice.  The British are our friends!  I think I’m going to write to the healer-in-chief about this.

I’ve actually been missing London a lot this week.  I finally have a good group of friends there and a real life.  And I miss the English language – I miss it so much!  Here, I’m pretty much alone and I can’t really speak to many people, which is isolating, but it’s one of the reasons I came here: isolation = total immersion in work.  And so far, I’m getting much more work done here than I did in London.  Only eight weeks to go!

Happy 4th!

1 July, 2009 | 2 Comments

It’s so hot here!  Each time I go outside, it’s like standing on the threshold of Hell.  And inside ain’t no picnic either – my Nestle Crunch is just sitting here on the table and it melted.  It melted!  Everywhere you go, people keep saying “il fait chaud,” which thankfully is one of the French phrases I know.  The way they’re all commenting on it, I’m hoping this is abnormal weather.  Otherwise, I have a long summer of being cranky ahead of me.

Good news: Lorrie Moore has a new novel coming out in September!  She’s one of my all-time faves.  The synopsis online actually doesn’t look too compelling (gulp), but I’ll buy anything she writes.  She also has a story in the New Yorker this week, which I haven’t read yet because I’m too hot.

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