17 December 2012
16 December 2012
15 December 2012
Post Title is Post Title
I've been paralyzed when it comes to this blog lately. And when I say lately I mean the past few months, but there's nothing better than a final exam in seven and a half hours to push me to write. Anything but economics, anything.
I've decided -
How many of my posts include that phrase...when the problem is that I can't stop deciding and start doing. So...how are you? Anyone still out there in the void? Anyone ever out there in the first place? I can only imagine that as the words pile up so will the eyes reading them.
I would include an illustration but that's some spasm-inducing spine-tingling imagery.
Today was the first day I left my room in a week. And I'm sure I've done the same with less discomfort many times back home, but here, it's different. In California the sun is always shining through the window, whereas right now it's the dead of winter in Northern France. At least, I hope it's the dead of winter, because if it gets worse from here on out...I'm gonna need a bigger coat.
The shades on my windows are electronic, which is impressive at first, but grows old the first time the power goes out and you realize you can't open your windows. And finally, in fake house arrest (and probably real as well) you learn to be very vocal about everything, even if no one can hear you - precisely because no one can hear you...and any noise, even a weird grunt as you flip your grilled cheese sandwich, is better than silence.
So today I ventured back into the world at the end of reading week, taking out an embarrassing amount of trash to the trash...thing. It's a row of three small deposit...boxes? One for glass bottles, one for plastic, and another for good old trash, and you'd wonder how the waste of around 300 people could fit in these tiny boxes, but one day I arrived at the residence as the trash truck was doing its business, and a crane emerged from the back of the truck and lifted the boxes away and lo and behold underneath each of those boxes is a metal container maybe two stories tall...and then you remember that sometimes the trash bin still overflows and you shudder and run to your room to wash it all away in alternately scalding and freezing shower water.
After my shift at the library, my collaborative project group took a bus to the city center for our weekly séances. We don't speak with ghosts, but it's close enough. We teach some children about cinema as part of their after-school activities. This week they're starting to write their stories, which we'll make into a short film. The final séance is next week, and then the hair-pulling insomnia-inducing fun of preproduction can begin. I'm really looking forward to it.
But after a week of zero human interaction, an hour with a group of children was exactly what I needed to recharge my batteries...and welcome to the origin story of the creepily vain fairytale stepmother.
An hour has gone by...my final is now in six hours. Still not sleepy. It'll hit me like a brick wall in a few hours...and I haven't even started telling you about my stupid decision to start an 80+ episode Taiwanese drama on Saturday.
For once, I'm dreaming of going home - both Los Angeles and Taipei, rather than leaving it.
I've decided -
How many of my posts include that phrase...when the problem is that I can't stop deciding and start doing. So...how are you? Anyone still out there in the void? Anyone ever out there in the first place? I can only imagine that as the words pile up so will the eyes reading them.
I would include an illustration but that's some spasm-inducing spine-tingling imagery.
Today was the first day I left my room in a week. And I'm sure I've done the same with less discomfort many times back home, but here, it's different. In California the sun is always shining through the window, whereas right now it's the dead of winter in Northern France. At least, I hope it's the dead of winter, because if it gets worse from here on out...I'm gonna need a bigger coat.
The shades on my windows are electronic, which is impressive at first, but grows old the first time the power goes out and you realize you can't open your windows. And finally, in fake house arrest (and probably real as well) you learn to be very vocal about everything, even if no one can hear you - precisely because no one can hear you...and any noise, even a weird grunt as you flip your grilled cheese sandwich, is better than silence.
So today I ventured back into the world at the end of reading week, taking out an embarrassing amount of trash to the trash...thing. It's a row of three small deposit...boxes? One for glass bottles, one for plastic, and another for good old trash, and you'd wonder how the waste of around 300 people could fit in these tiny boxes, but one day I arrived at the residence as the trash truck was doing its business, and a crane emerged from the back of the truck and lifted the boxes away and lo and behold underneath each of those boxes is a metal container maybe two stories tall...and then you remember that sometimes the trash bin still overflows and you shudder and run to your room to wash it all away in alternately scalding and freezing shower water.
After my shift at the library, my collaborative project group took a bus to the city center for our weekly séances. We don't speak with ghosts, but it's close enough. We teach some children about cinema as part of their after-school activities. This week they're starting to write their stories, which we'll make into a short film. The final séance is next week, and then the hair-pulling insomnia-inducing fun of preproduction can begin. I'm really looking forward to it.
But after a week of zero human interaction, an hour with a group of children was exactly what I needed to recharge my batteries...and welcome to the origin story of the creepily vain fairytale stepmother.
An hour has gone by...my final is now in six hours. Still not sleepy. It'll hit me like a brick wall in a few hours...and I haven't even started telling you about my stupid decision to start an 80+ episode Taiwanese drama on Saturday.
For once, I'm dreaming of going home - both Los Angeles and Taipei, rather than leaving it.
12 September 2012
Strega Nona and the Exploding Cucina
Cooking pasta for the first time in my new place.
I feel a bit like Big Anthony.
Some of the other students at my residence and I have dinner together practically every night in the common kitchen. Everyone brings their own dinner and we talk for an hour or so about the day or our native countries, and inevitably plans are made. A pancake breakfast followed by a picnic at the park where we were annihilated with pantry staples during orientation week. Mass at the 801 year old cathedral. A week-long road trip around France.
I know I shouldn't wish to get used to this, that I should wander around for the next two years in a constant state of amazement and wonder. But I am getting used to it, and that too feels kind of nice. I'm not going to separate my life into wonderful bits and monotony.
For years, I wanted nothing more than to leave Southern California for the rest of the world. But when I watch people's eyes light up when I tell them where I'm from, images of the happiest and glitziest and sunniest place on the planet projected upon their minds, it occurs to me that ultimately, these dream destinations are just pieces of land that have grown abstract over the course of human civilization.
Waxing pseudo-philosophical, I know. I just mean that sure, France is France, with its romantic bready cheesy baggage. And how wonderful it is that I get to live here like it's not all of that, like it's just another place - another collection of dirt and plants and rock and humans and animals and insects - on a mass of rock and lava spinning in an edgeless vacuum.
Some of the other students at my residence and I have dinner together practically every night in the common kitchen. Everyone brings their own dinner and we talk for an hour or so about the day or our native countries, and inevitably plans are made. A pancake breakfast followed by a picnic at the park where we were annihilated with pantry staples during orientation week. Mass at the 801 year old cathedral. A week-long road trip around France.
I know I shouldn't wish to get used to this, that I should wander around for the next two years in a constant state of amazement and wonder. But I am getting used to it, and that too feels kind of nice. I'm not going to separate my life into wonderful bits and monotony.
For years, I wanted nothing more than to leave Southern California for the rest of the world. But when I watch people's eyes light up when I tell them where I'm from, images of the happiest and glitziest and sunniest place on the planet projected upon their minds, it occurs to me that ultimately, these dream destinations are just pieces of land that have grown abstract over the course of human civilization.
Waxing pseudo-philosophical, I know. I just mean that sure, France is France, with its romantic bready cheesy baggage. And how wonderful it is that I get to live here like it's not all of that, like it's just another place - another collection of dirt and plants and rock and humans and animals and insects - on a mass of rock and lava spinning in an edgeless vacuum.
05 September 2012
Whirlwinds
I've been away for a long time, and I'm sorry.
But I have a really good excuse! Really, I do.
Have you ever been swept away by life - and I don't mean in a romantic way - where you barely have time to pause and reflect? Things are constantly happening and errands must be run and knowledge must be learned and friends must be made and how the hell am I supposed to make copies of my visa if I haven't received my student card for the copier yet.
Immigration is kind of a hassle. Even the temporary kind.
Still, everything's been a whirlwind of excitement and unexpected friendliness and brain stimulation.
I have no photos and no videos of it all, which, in today's world, seems like a serious loss. I'd rather see it as an indication of something extraordinary, something from which it is impossible to detach oneself.
I will, I think, find one weekend or another to take some photos.
Sometimes I think that this little old city, with its old ladies dragging wicker grocery carts and crumbling walls, is the ultimate gateway drug to the rest of Europe.
P.S. Last night, I dreamed that the director of PotC 4 had also made "Cars 2," and then I gave up on the fandom because of how low it had fallen.
But I have a really good excuse! Really, I do.
Have you ever been swept away by life - and I don't mean in a romantic way - where you barely have time to pause and reflect? Things are constantly happening and errands must be run and knowledge must be learned and friends must be made and how the hell am I supposed to make copies of my visa if I haven't received my student card for the copier yet.
Immigration is kind of a hassle. Even the temporary kind.
Still, everything's been a whirlwind of excitement and unexpected friendliness and brain stimulation.
I have no photos and no videos of it all, which, in today's world, seems like a serious loss. I'd rather see it as an indication of something extraordinary, something from which it is impossible to detach oneself.
I will, I think, find one weekend or another to take some photos.
Sometimes I think that this little old city, with its old ladies dragging wicker grocery carts and crumbling walls, is the ultimate gateway drug to the rest of Europe.
P.S. Last night, I dreamed that the director of PotC 4 had also made "Cars 2," and then I gave up on the fandom because of how low it had fallen.
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