Socialism is like the generalization I am going to use to describe French people. I don’t really know anything, so keep that in mind while reading my opinions. Ha, just a joke, I know stuff- Americans are really funny. I am learning stuff. I am living in Paris, learning and pretending to know stuff. I say “I understand,” not because I do, but because I am a firm believer in affirmations. I am not a “The Secret” kind-of-person, but a “positive mindset feels better” kind-of-person. When living in a new country and learning a new culture, it’s hard for me not to see how America is superior, as an American. Funny how all the parts of it I lamented are actually what makes it pretty awesome. Things, that if tempered, could serve everyone quite auspiciously, but now seem to just piss people off by pissing all over the majority (poor people)(eew). Capitalism is one of those things that isn’t really in practice here. It is really a Socialist country, France, and that tends to breed laziness, but more importantly doesn’t promote a true Joie de vie (I said that wrong, but spelled it perfectly). I am an expert on joie de vie because I grew up poor, but still laugh a lot.
Capitalism gives incentive to create something that will not only set you apart, but reward you greatly. Unfortunately, the spirit of ingenuity in American business seems to have turned in on itself and manifested in ways to fuck over people to take what isn’t earned. This is sanctioned by the government to keep them in power. The issue has become the reward for trickery instead of innovation. However, there is more of a freedom to recognize it and speak against it in America, than there is likelihood for protests against Socialism here. That isn’t out of gratitude to a benevolent government, it’s out of indifference, which is the latent undertone to everyone working their mandated jobs, with their standards 6 weeks off and free health care. Quality of life is as relative as what's considered funny by anyone.
At an early age, kids in France are encouraged to not use critical thinking skills. They are given the answers and expected to memorize them, because over half of everyone that works in France, works for the government. Artists are paid by the government and therefor must create something along the lines of everything else, even if they don’t know it (of course they don’t). They learn that being different is not a quality that is impressive. Take Lady Gaga, for example, she could finger bang a goat all day and call it a skirt (only in America).
If you have ever seen “Exit Through The Gift Shop” you would know a bit about street art and a lot about a French “artist” named “Mr. Brainwash” (ou “Monsieur Tête de Propre”). The French man, was trying to do what he saw independent-thinking-creative-types doing, but ended up creating something that fell so incredibly short of inspired, it drove the thousands of people who saw the documentary to despise him. However, he is a product of a socialist upbringing, just as Americans tend to be chubby. Do you hate fat people for operating on a level they have been raised to? Me too- yucky!
So, the thing about not wanting to be different, to the point that you fear it, makes you a little closed off to things like “spontaneity” and “friendliness”. The French (yes, another round of generalizations) can barely stand having their English corrected, where as an American is kind of raised to laugh at themselves, unless they were raised religious (then it’s rare, but still celebrated). I was having a nice exchange with a clerk here (oh, I am in Paris), who wanted to speak some English with me. He seemed friendly and fun, so when I told him that I live in Paris now, and he said “you’re welcome,” I thought that he would see how funny that was. I explained to him that it would just be “welcome” and translated to him what it would be in French. I expected (always a mistake) him to see it as ridiculously funny, because it sounds so patriotically self-important. Instead of chuckling, he immediately emanated a shameful contempt for his error and, through gritted teeth, thanked me for “learning him something.” I didn’t stretch the limits of how hard one could slap a knee, by telling him about grammar, mainly cause I don’t give a fuck if people mess up English. I mess it up on purpose, on a regular basist. However, most French people will go out of their way to point out that you are saying something wrong, even if you are saying it the same way they are (“oui” “no, OUI!”). I am not sure if that makes them hypocrites or absolutely hateful (either way, it doesn't look good, French people). Are they trying to inflict the same amount of shame that they would feel if the tables were turned? If that’s the case, the only reason the French are thinner than Americans, is because they don’t really eat and French Cuisine is designed to fuck everyone up. No wonder they are grumpy- low blood sugar!
I really relish (hot dog joke) making an ass of myself and hope that it is contagious so that I can have some more fun here. I actually like Paris, despite my criticisms, but that is only because I work hard on those “affirmations” I was telling you about. I wish I could affirm a tighter stomach, but there is too much fucking bread here! C’est la vie! “Non, C’est la VIE,” “shut the fuck up, sheep!”
Showing posts with label America. Show all posts
Showing posts with label America. Show all posts
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Twilight And Political Rapists
I am working on getting rid of a cold that I have had longer than I usually keep a cold. I have been sleeping a fair amount and haven’t been indulging in excessive sugar. However, I can’t seem to give up coffee for a day. I have decided that if my cold doesn’t show signs of improvement by tomorrow, I will just drink tea for the amount of time I need to get back to pristine health.
By giving up coffee I am missing out on opportunities in conversation, like the one I just had. I regularly patron the cafe a block away from my apartment called Latin St Germain. It is at the skirts of the Latin Quarter on Boulevard Saint Germain. A no nonsense name like that and it’s convenient distance from me is what has me coming here almost everyday. I am such a regular that I am on a first name basis with the comparatively conservative waitstaff. Comparatively, of course, to America, where being a regular in a cafe is more likely to get you an STD, than first-name recognition. Fareed, one of my two regular waiters here, feels so comfortable with me, he asked me where I’m from today, but in French of course, I responded in perfect French: “WHAT?!”
When I figured out what his question was, I smiled and said “Etats-Unis,” which is French for “United States”. This led into the subject of Dominique Strauss-Kahn, who is a politician favored to be the next president of France, but currently being held with out bail, in New York for the attempted rape of a housekeeper. My waiter began talking with me about it (it was obviously on his mind) and quickly stopped when I said “yes, I know it’s a large spectacle!” but in broken French. He must have known the futility of my simple mind, or he had a job to do and discussing rape with one of the establishment’s regular patrons wasn’t “prudent”. It’s only disappointing, because my limited French vocabulary was sure to lead to some fun hand gestures.
Next to America, France is down right medieval with respect for heads of state. I mean they show more reverence towards their politicians and their privacy. Politicians here can pretty much rape freely with little consequence, other than from their own conscience, which already seems a bit defective with all that rape it manages to allow. I heard a woman, here, upset that we put him in handcuffs, like a “criminal”. I should also reiterate that it was a woman who was upset that we snagged a fleeing dignitary who thought it proper to just have his way with the help- our help. I bet they also think “she was just a housekeeper,” but I don’t know. I may be too American/ too woman/ too “the help” to objectively report on something that offends me so much. However, what if he didn’t flee, do you think that they would have fallen in love, like Maid In Manhattan?
I like the idea for a movie that is like Twilight, but instead of Vampires they are all crazed rapists; Immortal rapists, and over the past century, they have disciplined themselves to show women respect by only raping animals. One day, a new girl comes to the Birmingham High School and sits down, right next to Johan Bullen: reformed-immortal-serial-rapist. Her appeal is the strongest he's ever encountered, making his dick so hard it tears through the desk. He has to flee the school and find an animal- any animal! An unlucky mutt lay dying along the road after being hit by a car. The dog is taking in it’s last breaths, thinking about the little girl he loved and is leaving behind when Johan runs up on it’s lifeless body. As Johan tries to expel the urge to rape that beautifully defiant, teenager he left in class, he fucks the remaining existence out of the dog. “Damn,” he says to himself, knowing there wasn’t enough fight to satiate his thirst. He ejaculates anyway and begins a new search with a flaccid, but promising penis. Later, he and the girl fall in love and he is always telling her how difficult it is not to rape the shit out of her and she gets butterflies.
I think this is a relatable script with a large demographic because who can't remember being a tormented 14 year old with an enormous crush on a boy at school? Okay, this is about me now, I had this crush. He even asked me to be his girlfriend once, but I never answered because my fear literally choked the agreement from binding us forever. I was slightly grunge, but mostly melodramatic, lamenting Cobain’s death and piercing myself outside of school. One day my crush and I were walking to school from the bus stop and I asked him if he would do me a favor and kill me. He told me “yes, but I would rape you first.” TIME STOOD STILL and I was in love with him for 2 years after that, until a “friend” of mine started sleeping with him when I went into residential treatment for "behavioral difficulty". She told me he had blackheads behind his ears, which completely expunged my affection for him. Still, I look back on the potential rape that would have changed my life and I wonder how hard an emaciated 14 year old could have fought the boy of her fancy... not too hard. Still, it was the sweetest thing a boy ever said to me until my last boyfriend looked at my stomach after sex and said “you actually have some abs under there.” My heart knows what it wants.
As I nurse myself back to health, thinking on my past, America’s past and France’s present, I contemplate a screen-play, about beastiality, that might finally restore respect for the film industry and put America and France back to the same amiability as the good ol’ slave days.
By giving up coffee I am missing out on opportunities in conversation, like the one I just had. I regularly patron the cafe a block away from my apartment called Latin St Germain. It is at the skirts of the Latin Quarter on Boulevard Saint Germain. A no nonsense name like that and it’s convenient distance from me is what has me coming here almost everyday. I am such a regular that I am on a first name basis with the comparatively conservative waitstaff. Comparatively, of course, to America, where being a regular in a cafe is more likely to get you an STD, than first-name recognition. Fareed, one of my two regular waiters here, feels so comfortable with me, he asked me where I’m from today, but in French of course, I responded in perfect French: “WHAT?!”
When I figured out what his question was, I smiled and said “Etats-Unis,” which is French for “United States”. This led into the subject of Dominique Strauss-Kahn, who is a politician favored to be the next president of France, but currently being held with out bail, in New York for the attempted rape of a housekeeper. My waiter began talking with me about it (it was obviously on his mind) and quickly stopped when I said “yes, I know it’s a large spectacle!” but in broken French. He must have known the futility of my simple mind, or he had a job to do and discussing rape with one of the establishment’s regular patrons wasn’t “prudent”. It’s only disappointing, because my limited French vocabulary was sure to lead to some fun hand gestures.
Next to America, France is down right medieval with respect for heads of state. I mean they show more reverence towards their politicians and their privacy. Politicians here can pretty much rape freely with little consequence, other than from their own conscience, which already seems a bit defective with all that rape it manages to allow. I heard a woman, here, upset that we put him in handcuffs, like a “criminal”. I should also reiterate that it was a woman who was upset that we snagged a fleeing dignitary who thought it proper to just have his way with the help- our help. I bet they also think “she was just a housekeeper,” but I don’t know. I may be too American/ too woman/ too “the help” to objectively report on something that offends me so much. However, what if he didn’t flee, do you think that they would have fallen in love, like Maid In Manhattan?
I like the idea for a movie that is like Twilight, but instead of Vampires they are all crazed rapists; Immortal rapists, and over the past century, they have disciplined themselves to show women respect by only raping animals. One day, a new girl comes to the Birmingham High School and sits down, right next to Johan Bullen: reformed-immortal-serial-rapist. Her appeal is the strongest he's ever encountered, making his dick so hard it tears through the desk. He has to flee the school and find an animal- any animal! An unlucky mutt lay dying along the road after being hit by a car. The dog is taking in it’s last breaths, thinking about the little girl he loved and is leaving behind when Johan runs up on it’s lifeless body. As Johan tries to expel the urge to rape that beautifully defiant, teenager he left in class, he fucks the remaining existence out of the dog. “Damn,” he says to himself, knowing there wasn’t enough fight to satiate his thirst. He ejaculates anyway and begins a new search with a flaccid, but promising penis. Later, he and the girl fall in love and he is always telling her how difficult it is not to rape the shit out of her and she gets butterflies.
I think this is a relatable script with a large demographic because who can't remember being a tormented 14 year old with an enormous crush on a boy at school? Okay, this is about me now, I had this crush. He even asked me to be his girlfriend once, but I never answered because my fear literally choked the agreement from binding us forever. I was slightly grunge, but mostly melodramatic, lamenting Cobain’s death and piercing myself outside of school. One day my crush and I were walking to school from the bus stop and I asked him if he would do me a favor and kill me. He told me “yes, but I would rape you first.” TIME STOOD STILL and I was in love with him for 2 years after that, until a “friend” of mine started sleeping with him when I went into residential treatment for "behavioral difficulty". She told me he had blackheads behind his ears, which completely expunged my affection for him. Still, I look back on the potential rape that would have changed my life and I wonder how hard an emaciated 14 year old could have fought the boy of her fancy... not too hard. Still, it was the sweetest thing a boy ever said to me until my last boyfriend looked at my stomach after sex and said “you actually have some abs under there.” My heart knows what it wants.
As I nurse myself back to health, thinking on my past, America’s past and France’s present, I contemplate a screen-play, about beastiality, that might finally restore respect for the film industry and put America and France back to the same amiability as the good ol’ slave days.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Versailles: Rhymes With "Le Sigh"
Yesterday was a Tuesday and it was also a day I went to Versailles with a friend of mine who was visiting. Versailles was built in the 17th century as a hunting lodge for the King, but was later turned into a small town by his son, who also became King and in his reign, decided France needed a new image... also, it needed a little protection. He built additions on the castle to... look, I’m not a historian. I am sitting at a cafe wishing the sun was not creeping out from behind the clouds because I need every excuse to wear a sweater right now. I have been knuckle deep in carbohydrates and fat since I arrived in Paris a little over a month ago. Now I can’t even masturbate without excusing my bloated belly to a pretend boss in an office job fantasy I will never be professional enough to keep from getting fired from. Why can’t my sexual fantasies be about men, searching for themselves and begrudging my insistent company or children, that’s at least accessible.
I am not a pedophile, but needed to make an inappropriate quip to lead back into my Versailles story. When Marie Antoinette was being tried, after years of imprisonment during the French Revolution, the Revolutionaries had children claim, under oath, that she had molested them. I didn’t know this, but was astonished by the progressive resourcefulness in such a puritan era- they knew how to get the job done. She lost her head shortly after. Marie Antoinette was a teenager when she became Queen and somehow she was supposed to rule someway other than for herself and her immediate desires. I am almost 30 and still have a hard time saying hello to homeless people.
I read that King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette wouldn’t go to Paris because the hordes starving to death under their rule was offensive to their olfactory. Thomas Jefferson lived off Champs-Élysées in the 1780’s, also Beyonce and Jay-Z were just here too. Americans are obviously very different, but I think Marie Antoinette would have really liked Beyonce, probably only in a “make my food” kind of way, but the fashion talks they stood to have if everyone were color blind and tone deft. Armed with the knowledge of historical residence preferences practiced by French royalty, I automatically took the role as teacher’s pet at the beginning of the guided tour my friend visiting (from Canada) bought for us. Our French guide stood with us over a replica model of the palace and asked “does anyone know why the King moved his court away from Paris and chose to live 2 hours away?”. I was standing right behind her, so that when I spoke, I was heard through the microphone around her neck as clearly as a fresh tracheotomy. In almost a detached, but slightly aggressive monotone I matter-of-factly stated “because it stunk.” The guide looked at me, embarrassed. She apologized for what she assumed was an unpleasant trip I was having to her country and continued to give the real reason: strategy. I then said, even louder “I’m from Canada.”
Today, I am just going to work with children and watch Sex and the City. I thought about running, but think my tum-tum will wiggle too much through my shirt and possibly damage my knees.
I am not a pedophile, but needed to make an inappropriate quip to lead back into my Versailles story. When Marie Antoinette was being tried, after years of imprisonment during the French Revolution, the Revolutionaries had children claim, under oath, that she had molested them. I didn’t know this, but was astonished by the progressive resourcefulness in such a puritan era- they knew how to get the job done. She lost her head shortly after. Marie Antoinette was a teenager when she became Queen and somehow she was supposed to rule someway other than for herself and her immediate desires. I am almost 30 and still have a hard time saying hello to homeless people.
I read that King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette wouldn’t go to Paris because the hordes starving to death under their rule was offensive to their olfactory. Thomas Jefferson lived off Champs-Élysées in the 1780’s, also Beyonce and Jay-Z were just here too. Americans are obviously very different, but I think Marie Antoinette would have really liked Beyonce, probably only in a “make my food” kind of way, but the fashion talks they stood to have if everyone were color blind and tone deft. Armed with the knowledge of historical residence preferences practiced by French royalty, I automatically took the role as teacher’s pet at the beginning of the guided tour my friend visiting (from Canada) bought for us. Our French guide stood with us over a replica model of the palace and asked “does anyone know why the King moved his court away from Paris and chose to live 2 hours away?”. I was standing right behind her, so that when I spoke, I was heard through the microphone around her neck as clearly as a fresh tracheotomy. In almost a detached, but slightly aggressive monotone I matter-of-factly stated “because it stunk.” The guide looked at me, embarrassed. She apologized for what she assumed was an unpleasant trip I was having to her country and continued to give the real reason: strategy. I then said, even louder “I’m from Canada.”
Today, I am just going to work with children and watch Sex and the City. I thought about running, but think my tum-tum will wiggle too much through my shirt and possibly damage my knees.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Account Dracula
Abbey- how do you do it?! How do you continuously post like this- what’s it been... over two weeks?! That’s commitment.
I was recently asked if I were rich and for once, it was an American and not an East Indian where I bumble through explaining how, technically, I am not. I wipe croissant flakes off of my face and try to explain how the class system works in America, but I feel distracted because the food I am eating while educating this fellow (and his fabulous figure) is so good! No, I am not rich, but I smugly explain how I don’t let money determine my happiness. "I don’t let it control me," is what I condescend to this tiny man with an amazing tan.
If I could be any monster, I would be a “tan”pire and I would only come out 11am to 2pm. Yes, I am reading the Twilight series- I need to know what love feels like.
I try not to ask myself about money too much, out of fear it will distract me from the “who am I?” question I scream inside to drown out the echos of my upbringing. This is a habit that will keep me from any inheritance I might stand to acquire from my father, whom has been constantly grooming me to be able to take care of myself by the time he dies. I can do without a Rat Pack poster and the amazing pair of speakers he found at a garage sale. Where would I keep them anyway, without his storage? I will miss him, but it wont be long because I already promised to kill myself if I am not rich by forty. Oh, yeah, I plan too.
Now that this is all out, I feel like a confession of my most stupid purchases can be made less clandestine than the sheath of mystery I have engulfed myself and all my accounts. IT WILL FEEL SO GOOD TO AIR THIS! I reviewed some of my many stupid fiscal investments/ frivolities and here is a short list:
Before leaving San Francisco, I bought a $9 travel tube to save about $2 worth of body wash.
This pretty much tops the list of examples, but I am sure they span across the sea in equally absurd ways, like when I spent close to 8€ on unripened strawberries... “[whining] but DAAAAd- they weren’t just strawberries- they were fraise!”
It’s easy to spend money while in a foreign place- you want to experience things that cost money to experience, for example I just spent close to 5€ for a coffee at a place that was frequented by Ernest Hemingway- like where could I find a place like that in America?! I also went to Musée National du Moyen Age, or “Middle Aged Museum” in American. I got to say, this was the worst use of 8€.... I looked at all the broken statues and thought “I spent $11.50 to walk around looking at PART of something?!”
I didn’t actually think that as fluently as I just wrote it... I had to look at the currency conversion app on my iPod touch.... a $5 app on a $300 device and I have only used it once. Hi Dad!
All in all, I am good, life is happening whether or not I have a nest fund and I will continue to evolve without food or couture, but probably not my Macbook... I would cease to exist without Facebook, I am pretty sure. Who am I without status updates?! It's a lovely day in Paris, so I am going to go buy a plant for my room and explain to the locals how I live here now in broken French. I will earn respect carrying a potted plant all around town. "She must live here, that isn't something you buy unless you are of residence." I better bring a pen too, in case someone wants my autograph.
I was recently asked if I were rich and for once, it was an American and not an East Indian where I bumble through explaining how, technically, I am not. I wipe croissant flakes off of my face and try to explain how the class system works in America, but I feel distracted because the food I am eating while educating this fellow (and his fabulous figure) is so good! No, I am not rich, but I smugly explain how I don’t let money determine my happiness. "I don’t let it control me," is what I condescend to this tiny man with an amazing tan.
If I could be any monster, I would be a “tan”pire and I would only come out 11am to 2pm. Yes, I am reading the Twilight series- I need to know what love feels like.
I try not to ask myself about money too much, out of fear it will distract me from the “who am I?” question I scream inside to drown out the echos of my upbringing. This is a habit that will keep me from any inheritance I might stand to acquire from my father, whom has been constantly grooming me to be able to take care of myself by the time he dies. I can do without a Rat Pack poster and the amazing pair of speakers he found at a garage sale. Where would I keep them anyway, without his storage? I will miss him, but it wont be long because I already promised to kill myself if I am not rich by forty. Oh, yeah, I plan too.
Now that this is all out, I feel like a confession of my most stupid purchases can be made less clandestine than the sheath of mystery I have engulfed myself and all my accounts. IT WILL FEEL SO GOOD TO AIR THIS! I reviewed some of my many stupid fiscal investments/ frivolities and here is a short list:
Before leaving San Francisco, I bought a $9 travel tube to save about $2 worth of body wash.
This pretty much tops the list of examples, but I am sure they span across the sea in equally absurd ways, like when I spent close to 8€ on unripened strawberries... “[whining] but DAAAAd- they weren’t just strawberries- they were fraise!”
It’s easy to spend money while in a foreign place- you want to experience things that cost money to experience, for example I just spent close to 5€ for a coffee at a place that was frequented by Ernest Hemingway- like where could I find a place like that in America?! I also went to Musée National du Moyen Age, or “Middle Aged Museum” in American. I got to say, this was the worst use of 8€.... I looked at all the broken statues and thought “I spent $11.50 to walk around looking at PART of something?!”
I didn’t actually think that as fluently as I just wrote it... I had to look at the currency conversion app on my iPod touch.... a $5 app on a $300 device and I have only used it once. Hi Dad!
All in all, I am good, life is happening whether or not I have a nest fund and I will continue to evolve without food or couture, but probably not my Macbook... I would cease to exist without Facebook, I am pretty sure. Who am I without status updates?! It's a lovely day in Paris, so I am going to go buy a plant for my room and explain to the locals how I live here now in broken French. I will earn respect carrying a potted plant all around town. "She must live here, that isn't something you buy unless you are of residence." I better bring a pen too, in case someone wants my autograph.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)