I'm heading to Kinko's to fax my loan checklist to my school. With any luck, that will finally be everything that they need from me in order to certify my loans and get things rolling financially. Mmm, delicious loans. I have a visa; I most likely have loans. This leaves that entire flat conundrum, which I plan on taking care of sur place. In an awkward, blind twist of events. I'm not totally sure what I'm doing in any respect, but it's sort of comical the extent to which packing up my life, staying in one place for a month and then peacing out again has become. I am feeling irkingly underwhelmed. I look at my bags on the floor and just feel kind of resigned.
At least, hopefully, this will be the last time I move for awhile. Fingers crossed. I've said it before and I'll say it again -- I'd like a coffee maker and a house plant and friends I'm not going to be abandoning in a few months.
An English friend asked me what I am looking forward to eating (this makes sense if you know me) once I've landed in his country. I had no real response (which may also be because.. it's England :-X). Actually, I am realizing slowly that I have no earthly idea where I am going and that perhaps before I arrive and traipse about searching for a place to live... I should invest in a map. And figure out what transportation ticket is most advantageous. And where I'd like to get a bank account. And how much a mobile phone is going to cost. And.. generally familiarize myself with this place I've decided to spend the next little while. That could be wise. And so I am wondering - am I really this disillusioned with moving? Or is this a subconscious panicked response?
I'm meeting up with D.N.P. for lunch at Penang in Boston. This will soothe! And she is going to give me tips on various ways in which to spend my days in Londinium on the cheap.
I've made it back to the States and settled comfortably into a life of too much coffee and many books on the sixteenth century pox (among other things). The last few days in Paris were as hectic as I had expected, plus a brief jaunt to Antwerp. Antwerp helped to remind me that I only know two languages, and maybe I should get on my third. Or fourth. Or fifth. I had no idea what was going on. Dutch, man. Dutch. Snit! (Hair cut). And so as I kind of eye my Master's emploi du temps, I'm strategizing Latin, German, Dutch. Uh. Maybe I should have just come up with a way to do a modern languages programme. But no. I'm enjoying all my pox reading. I am, I am.
My visa is still being processed, as are my loans. But I am feeling zen about this! Right? Right. I don't have a flat. I'm planning on arriving in London and just sort of being homeless for a week or two while I hunt down a vaguely respectable room either in a flat or a house or.. someone's attic. There are loads of possibilities, and the closer I get to the date of my embarquement, the more wide open and exciting life seems to be. The United States make me feel a little bit trapped, maybe even panicky. I'm not sure why. But yes. Flats! Oyster cards! Drizzle!
I take off September sixth.
we went out for drinky poos last night once the kids had gone to bed. on the way home at a very reasonable 11:30 p.m., we happened across the man who runs the neighborhood wine cave. fréd. he was sitting outside his shop with three friends, a table, chairs, bucket full of wine and a massive platter of seafood. we owed them about two hundred euros at the time, so we weren't sure what the protocol was for greetings. fréd popped open a sixty euro bottle of chablis and started pouring glasses. he got us stools from inside and a blanket for michelle. so, after midnight on a sunday i sat on a parisian street gobbling down raw oysters and drinking a nice chablis. for two hours.
today was on the rough side of things.
but i appreciate these little adventures.
r.m. kept crowing, "she's from boston! give her more oysters! all they do there is drink booze and eat seafood." i mean, it's not untrue.
i've lost my voice. earlier this evening, i looked at corentin and said, "coquelicot, il est quelle heure?" and he just started giggling and told me i sound like édith piaf. it's true. the warbling will commence tout de suite.
am a bit sleep deprived, but pleased as ever to be scampering around with one hundred and eighty high schoolers. there has been a bit of visa drama. a bit of a housing panic, given that i arrive in london in about six weeks. it would appear as though the illustrious kaki albritton and i will be splitting a flat with another girl. so far all the flats we've found are sort of charming in their victorian hideousness. i'm really happy. this sort of wild scheme of "let's live in london together next year," hatched over a half-pitcher of wine in paris last october, is coming to fruition. and i tend to believe that pichet plans are the most heartfelt.
the founder of the program turned up today and gave a talk to the kids. he remarked on how they have the choice to surround themselves with interesting, intelligent people and adventures. there's one big honkin' choice. this is a pretty privileged spot from which to be ogling the world, to say the least. but at some point, i was definitely given the choice, and things are working out. i am kind of beating my life into the shape i wanted it to be when i was much younger and much more idealistic. it's been mildly traumatizing, but it's turning out to have been worth it. king's sent me a preliminary reading list this past week and i just about fell over with geekish delight. and proceeded to spew geek at all who crossed my path for the next several hours. fingers crossed that nothing goes horribly wrong :x
in the meantime, i've been having sleep-deprived fantasies about quincy. i can't wait to be home on the first, with all of august stretching out before me. i keep thinking about summer nights in the den with my mom and bob. having a glass of red wine and watching an old movie with the windows wide open and the neighbors noisy. quincyyyy. i'm a-comin'. just for a bit though!
Yesterday was gay pride in Paris. The admin went out to dinner in le Marais, which is the orthodox Jewish and gay neighborhood. I saw many a pair of assless chaps. And some spectacular drag queens. We ate dinner in a killer Moroccan restaurant. Sam pointed out to me that if you looked up at your immediate surroundings - the ceiling, the walls, et c. -- there was only one object that really told you that you weren't having dinner in the 1920s. The place renewed my love of couscous. It was fine and delicious. Anyway, while standing in line to get a table, we saw Romain Duris standing on the sidewalk with a friend drinking beer out of a plastic cup. Romain Duris is a super famous French actor. Obscenely good looking. A bit of a scruffmuffing. Most notably Xavier in "L'Auberge Espagnole." I asked Corentin if he is a tremendously big deal in France and he said yes. So we ogled a bit. And then feasted.
I have made it to Paris alive. I frittered away the last four days. It was very magnificent. I sprawled in small and big parks alike, as was my goal. I ate everything. And I now have a much meilleure mine qu'avant. It's nice to be back. I didn't realize how different the Parisian accent is from the one I've been hearing in Nancy all year. My ear is readapting!
And now,
time to get down to business.
I am trying to go to sleep.
The people across the courtyard are singing along to the Grease soundtrack.
Yeahh. French people + Grease soundtrack = comedic gold.
Especially at 2 a.m.
Excellent last night in Nancy. Excellent.
My bus went by this sign on my way home from work today, my last day teachin' the chillunz the English!
My reaction to it, honestly, was, "WTF." Just those letters. In my brain.
That is Karl Lagerfeld (sp.?), big fashion man. The sign says, "It's yellow, it's ugly, it doesn't go with anything, but it can save your life." Charming PSA. And when I got home from work it was on one of my cheesy American gossip blogs I read. This of course meant that I had to post it here. Instead of writing something about being finished with work. I'll do that when I'm feeling a little less sleep deprived/frenzied. Which means. August.
Moving to Gay Pearee tomorrow!
