I wanted to travel more than I have this year, but there are a number of reasons I haven't.
1. Money. I haven't really had the funds this year to make a trip far and away possible.
2. No travel buddy. I haven't found anybody to travel with--and traveling by yourself can be good, but it can also be really lonely. Aside from day trips, I have not really traveled.
3. Time. My schedule at school gives me Wednesdays off, but otherwise I have to work. School vacations are nice, but they seem to coincide with me having not money--so I stay home.
4. I am having trouble deciding where to go. At first, I wanted to look around Provence, but it's the wrong time of year to truly enjoy it. I've also been bouncing around the options of heading up to Paris or down to Spain, but I'd have to choose one.
5. Visa: my bureaucratic problems have been keeping me home. Not knowing when THE letter will come and how many COPIES I will need to make, not to mention the hazardous email (or seven) from the Rectorat, among others.
Perhaps I will throw caution to the wind and let the February winter break be my travel time. Now all that's left is to save up a bit of money and decide on a destination!
Oh, and I guess it is mildly ironic that just before this, I posted about going to Aix. By "tavel" I guess I mean "take a weekend trip" or the like.
Saturday, January 26, 2013
Saturday, January 19, 2013
A Trip to Aix-en-Provence
At the beginning of the month, Epiphany to be exact, I made it up to Aix-en-Provence to look around and do a little shopping. I ended up buying an incredibly delicious chèvre cendrée (goat's cheese with an ash rind--it sounds gross, but it is not! Just don't eat the ash) and Turkish apricots that were to die for at the farmer's market; drooling over a pair (...make that several pairs...) of Ubu earrings at a boutique; and hightailing it to the Musée Granet to see some of the lovely works of native son Cézanne--as well as other Impressionist, etc., artists.
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| Paul Cezanne lived here once |
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| Santons: little figures for your Nativity scene made in Aix! |
Here are some more pictures of santons:
And here are more pictures of Aix:
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| Hotel de Ville |
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| A protest?!? In FRANCE?!? |
One thing I learned at the museum, which was small but good, is that Cézanne and Emile Zola met when they were kids at school, and continued a lifelong friendship, even after they each became famous! Definitely cool. I also learned the French for "still life": nature morte. It just seems so much more philosophical and expressive!
Here is a famous Cézanne nature morte:
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Post-Graduate and Fancy Free
Well, "fancy free" is pretty much a lie...
But! I am thinking (again) about getting a post-graduate degree. More than thinking, actually: I've applied to grad school for next year, and in the coming weeks, I will hopefully hear back from those schools, which will most likely determine what I'll be doing next year.
I've applied to two programs at three different schools: Translation and Germanic Studies. I have a really hard time narrowing down my choices--last time I applied to grad school, I applied to two different courses of study as well, Comparative Literature and Journalism. Both were ultimately too competitive (or something--I did not end up pursuing those options, to say the least) and I have crossed law school off my list. I really didn't want to be a lawyer anyway. I need a career that's more...artsy-fartsy, shall we say?
Since this is the last year my GRE scores are valid (the last thing I want to do is take another standardized test put out by the Princeton Review), I figured it was now or never! I shall update with admissions results when they become available.
But! I am thinking (again) about getting a post-graduate degree. More than thinking, actually: I've applied to grad school for next year, and in the coming weeks, I will hopefully hear back from those schools, which will most likely determine what I'll be doing next year.
I've applied to two programs at three different schools: Translation and Germanic Studies. I have a really hard time narrowing down my choices--last time I applied to grad school, I applied to two different courses of study as well, Comparative Literature and Journalism. Both were ultimately too competitive (or something--I did not end up pursuing those options, to say the least) and I have crossed law school off my list. I really didn't want to be a lawyer anyway. I need a career that's more...artsy-fartsy, shall we say?
Since this is the last year my GRE scores are valid (the last thing I want to do is take another standardized test put out by the Princeton Review), I figured it was now or never! I shall update with admissions results when they become available.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Aux Armes?
I did a lesson on American vs. French stereotypes before the holidays, and one of the things that constantly came up was:
Thank goodness someone with more sense also wrote an opinion piece I found on Gawker: "The Unbearable Invisibility of White Masculinity," by David Leonard, I found much more to the point. In it, Mr. Leonard argues that portraying a mass killer as a victim just because he is or was white (he cites the Wampole article as well) is inexcusable, and a privilege that apparently comes with being white. One of the underlying reasons, he argues, that people are so shocked over the Newtown killings, and the movie theater shooting in Aurora, CO, over the summer, is partly due to the fact that they occurred in mostly white, suburban neighborhoods that are supposed to be safe--as opposed to the south side of Chicago, which is mostly black and obviously unsafe. People expect to be murdered out there.
Obviously, I'm just expressing my own opinions and frustrations now, since those pieces are way too tough for my students, too. I found a much simpler article from US News & World Report complete with gun pictures (I honestly had no idea what an AK-47 or an M16 looked like before I read the article); that should start them off--from there, I'll drop a few gun stats and ask some probing questions. That will fill an hour, and maybe even give the kids some food for thought.
AMERICANS LOVE GUNS AND ALL AMERICANS OWN AT LEAST ONE.
In the aftermath of yet another gun tragedy (this time in Newtown, CT), and a renewed interest in debating gun control back home, I decided, since the stereotype is becoming all too real and evermore difficult for me to defend as...well, a stereotype and NOT TRUE, that I would like to do a lesson on gun control with my students.
It totally plays into the subjects they expect us to prepares students for, too: gun control could fit (with or without a little maneuvering) into "Myth and Hero," or "Spaces and Exchanges," or even "Places and Forms of Power." The topics are so vague, it's not much of a stretch at all.
It doesn't really matter if the kids like it or not, anyway, but I'm betting they will. It's a hot topic right now, and it would do them some good to catch up on current events. And it's definitely more interesting for me than listening to them recount their weekends, or tell me what they ate for Christmas dinner--the lessons of the past week--why prepare for an empty crowd, after all?
In my research, I've come up with some interesting things. At first, like most Americans, I was just horrified at the school shooting, and wanted to know what happened exactly. New gun regulations was one of the first things to come up, then comparison statistics of gun violence in other countries, including the firearms ban implemented in the UK after a similar school massacre occurred in Dunblane, Scotland. But you know what? The United States has a hella bunch of guns out in circulation: 300 million at one count, which is enough for every man, woman and child in the country to have their very own.
Later, I started reading reactions to the news, like the "I am Adam Lanza's Mother" article and other calls to arms (sorry) for better mental health resources in the United States such as "Can You Call a 9-year-old a Psychopath?" from the New York Times. Although reading about the woman with an uncontrollable, possibly autistic teenager, and a clearly psychotic nine-year-old shoved off to a case-study sleep-away camp were fascinating, I unfortunately found them way too tough for my students. There would be so much explaining to do on a cultural level, not to mention the length, the advanced vocabulary...it gives me a headache to think about, honestly.
But are those really side issues to the gun control debate, or do they reach the heart of the matter? What comes first, limiting gun use, or limiting people who feel the need to use guns to harm others? What comes first, the psychopath or the NRA membership? Are video games to blame? There are no easy answers. And the questions lead to even more divisive topics.
Part-time opinion writer for the New York Times and French professor at Princeton Christy Wampole wrote a piece commenting about the fact that overwhelmingly the mass shooters of America are young, white men, and opined that they feel disenfranchised, like their lives are unimportant, maybe even meaningless. They have no place in society, because women (and minorities) are taking away the "hero" status of the young man. Whereas his grandfather brought home the bacon to the wifey after a glorious stint in Normandy or the Pacific, the contemporary American young man cannot even be guaranteed that he will have a higher salary than his wife. In effect, he has nothing. Sitting alone in his basement playing World of Warcraft he is even outsmarted by his computer, because his sparring partner in Chechnya recently found himself a girlfriend--one who won't talk back, or want to do something dumb like go to college.
This premise, not of a need to redefine masculinity in our culture--which is what I was hoping for--but of blaming women and minorities for usurping power from white men, was even weirder and scarier to me than the idea of allowing teachers to carry concealed weapons in schools to protect students from future school shootings. Although sometimes in France it feels like the world has not changed since 1950, that's not a good feeling--unless benevolent sexism comes out in my favor. My guess is either Ms. Wampole has taken too literally her francophilia, or her Texas roots are showing (she mentions in the article she grew up near Fort Worth).
Part-time opinion writer for the New York Times and French professor at Princeton Christy Wampole wrote a piece commenting about the fact that overwhelmingly the mass shooters of America are young, white men, and opined that they feel disenfranchised, like their lives are unimportant, maybe even meaningless. They have no place in society, because women (and minorities) are taking away the "hero" status of the young man. Whereas his grandfather brought home the bacon to the wifey after a glorious stint in Normandy or the Pacific, the contemporary American young man cannot even be guaranteed that he will have a higher salary than his wife. In effect, he has nothing. Sitting alone in his basement playing World of Warcraft he is even outsmarted by his computer, because his sparring partner in Chechnya recently found himself a girlfriend--one who won't talk back, or want to do something dumb like go to college.
This premise, not of a need to redefine masculinity in our culture--which is what I was hoping for--but of blaming women and minorities for usurping power from white men, was even weirder and scarier to me than the idea of allowing teachers to carry concealed weapons in schools to protect students from future school shootings. Although sometimes in France it feels like the world has not changed since 1950, that's not a good feeling--unless benevolent sexism comes out in my favor. My guess is either Ms. Wampole has taken too literally her francophilia, or her Texas roots are showing (she mentions in the article she grew up near Fort Worth).
Thank goodness someone with more sense also wrote an opinion piece I found on Gawker: "The Unbearable Invisibility of White Masculinity," by David Leonard, I found much more to the point. In it, Mr. Leonard argues that portraying a mass killer as a victim just because he is or was white (he cites the Wampole article as well) is inexcusable, and a privilege that apparently comes with being white. One of the underlying reasons, he argues, that people are so shocked over the Newtown killings, and the movie theater shooting in Aurora, CO, over the summer, is partly due to the fact that they occurred in mostly white, suburban neighborhoods that are supposed to be safe--as opposed to the south side of Chicago, which is mostly black and obviously unsafe. People expect to be murdered out there.
Obviously, I'm just expressing my own opinions and frustrations now, since those pieces are way too tough for my students, too. I found a much simpler article from US News & World Report complete with gun pictures (I honestly had no idea what an AK-47 or an M16 looked like before I read the article); that should start them off--from there, I'll drop a few gun stats and ask some probing questions. That will fill an hour, and maybe even give the kids some food for thought.
Saturday, January 12, 2013
Keeping it Vrai
I've been a little down on my experience in France in these last couple of posts, so I think switching gears to something more positive is in order.
Recently I've come to a conclusion: all young women in their prime should live, even if briefly, in the south of France. The French attitude toward women is a blend of benevolent sexism and objectification, with a smattering of misogyny. So...why am I then recommending an experience here? Have I lost my feminist bearings?
Let's think about it. If you are a cute girl, you can skip the line at the post office. You can talk your way out of your bar tab. You are more likely to get the last piece of cheesecake at the restaurant not because you ordered it first, but because the waiter likes you better...and then you're also more likely to get the waiter's card or telephone number at the end of your meal, but you shouldn't feel obligated to call unless you think he's cute, too...
The plain and harsh truth, ladies, is that after you hit the peak of your attractiveness (for most around age 25) you have only a few years before you start to look your age--if not older--and, as your grandmother warned you, things can go downhill really fast. Now that I'm 26, I guess the prospect has become more real to me, having transcended that "magical" chronological number.
The take-away message is, get in that flirting while you can. Bask in a couple of compliments, even if mislaid, because there will come a time when you will not get compliments anymore no matter how hard you try. Unless you are someone like Demi Moore or Nicole Kidman and can afford expensive anti-aging treatments, botox, a personal trainer, etc., you probably won't get wolf-whistled at by construction workers when you're 45.
If you live in Wisconsin, it is even less likely you will be complimented on your shapely legs by a man old enough to be your grandfather who sips his espresso at the table of an outdoor cafe, walking cane propped up against an adjacent chair, no matter your own age or personal attractiveness. A puritanical sense of decorum, lack of outdoor cafes, and a general disregard for the sex lives of people over 70 sees to it that such a situation just wouldn't arise, and if it did, you'd call the police.
In the south of France, however, you do not call the police. You have two options: 1) ignore Grandpa or sleazy construction worker, or 2) say "thank you" for the compliment and move on. Option #2 may get you more attention next time, so you're going to have to decide if it's worth it to you. Personally, like with the waiter, I would gauge the other party's attitude (and personal attractiveness). Flirting is supposed to be fun--something the French seem to have mastered--and if it's not, be brief without being rude. You don't want to have an angry stalker on your hands.
Another point: although the French are getting better about issues that affect women, such as rape and sexual harassment in the workplace, and are (as far as I can tell) better about such things than their neighbors in Italy, they are by no means as cognizant of such issues as people are in the United States. There is not much recourse for women who feel they have been harassed or discriminated against at work--and a woman earns 60 cents to every Euro a man makes.
That's called the plafond de verre, people, and it is one of the (many) reasons I do not recommend packing up and moving permanently to the south of France. For most, I'm sure a visit will suffice.
Recently I've come to a conclusion: all young women in their prime should live, even if briefly, in the south of France. The French attitude toward women is a blend of benevolent sexism and objectification, with a smattering of misogyny. So...why am I then recommending an experience here? Have I lost my feminist bearings?
Let's think about it. If you are a cute girl, you can skip the line at the post office. You can talk your way out of your bar tab. You are more likely to get the last piece of cheesecake at the restaurant not because you ordered it first, but because the waiter likes you better...and then you're also more likely to get the waiter's card or telephone number at the end of your meal, but you shouldn't feel obligated to call unless you think he's cute, too...
The plain and harsh truth, ladies, is that after you hit the peak of your attractiveness (for most around age 25) you have only a few years before you start to look your age--if not older--and, as your grandmother warned you, things can go downhill really fast. Now that I'm 26, I guess the prospect has become more real to me, having transcended that "magical" chronological number.
The take-away message is, get in that flirting while you can. Bask in a couple of compliments, even if mislaid, because there will come a time when you will not get compliments anymore no matter how hard you try. Unless you are someone like Demi Moore or Nicole Kidman and can afford expensive anti-aging treatments, botox, a personal trainer, etc., you probably won't get wolf-whistled at by construction workers when you're 45.If you live in Wisconsin, it is even less likely you will be complimented on your shapely legs by a man old enough to be your grandfather who sips his espresso at the table of an outdoor cafe, walking cane propped up against an adjacent chair, no matter your own age or personal attractiveness. A puritanical sense of decorum, lack of outdoor cafes, and a general disregard for the sex lives of people over 70 sees to it that such a situation just wouldn't arise, and if it did, you'd call the police.
In the south of France, however, you do not call the police. You have two options: 1) ignore Grandpa or sleazy construction worker, or 2) say "thank you" for the compliment and move on. Option #2 may get you more attention next time, so you're going to have to decide if it's worth it to you. Personally, like with the waiter, I would gauge the other party's attitude (and personal attractiveness). Flirting is supposed to be fun--something the French seem to have mastered--and if it's not, be brief without being rude. You don't want to have an angry stalker on your hands.
Another point: although the French are getting better about issues that affect women, such as rape and sexual harassment in the workplace, and are (as far as I can tell) better about such things than their neighbors in Italy, they are by no means as cognizant of such issues as people are in the United States. There is not much recourse for women who feel they have been harassed or discriminated against at work--and a woman earns 60 cents to every Euro a man makes.
That's called the plafond de verre, people, and it is one of the (many) reasons I do not recommend packing up and moving permanently to the south of France. For most, I'm sure a visit will suffice.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Let sleeping teenagers lie...
...in their beds while you wake up at six for class at eight.
This will be a fruitless action because no one else will be there at five to eight when you open the classroom door, and neither will they be there at five after eight, so you will have forty-five to kill waiting for the next class who may or may not show up as well. In which case, it's recommended to bring a good book, since you might be sitting alone in a room for the better part of a day. A really, thick, concussion-causing book like Anna Karenina in hardcover, or the Collected Works of Shakespeare will do the trick.
Don't throw your back out carrying it to and from school, now. You don't have a "real" social security number in France, so you'll be SOL if some sort of health problem should arise, not to mention sick days--HA! You think you get those?!
Not as a penniless teaching assistant you don't. Unless you come down with something like tuberculosis, in which case you'll get one sick day: the day they deport you for "medical reasons." The French government has a whole ministry devoted to weeding out people with faulty immigration statuses and infectious diseases.
Lucky you to be chosen, out of so many, to represent your country and culture for a school year in France!
This will be a fruitless action because no one else will be there at five to eight when you open the classroom door, and neither will they be there at five after eight, so you will have forty-five to kill waiting for the next class who may or may not show up as well. In which case, it's recommended to bring a good book, since you might be sitting alone in a room for the better part of a day. A really, thick, concussion-causing book like Anna Karenina in hardcover, or the Collected Works of Shakespeare will do the trick.
Don't throw your back out carrying it to and from school, now. You don't have a "real" social security number in France, so you'll be SOL if some sort of health problem should arise, not to mention sick days--HA! You think you get those?!
Not as a penniless teaching assistant you don't. Unless you come down with something like tuberculosis, in which case you'll get one sick day: the day they deport you for "medical reasons." The French government has a whole ministry devoted to weeding out people with faulty immigration statuses and infectious diseases.
Lucky you to be chosen, out of so many, to represent your country and culture for a school year in France!
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
There is no need for red-hot pokers*
Hell is French Bureaucracy.
Sartre had it wrong. Perhaps he was too enmeshed in it to totally see the horror.
The advice I was given by a PhD student and fellow American language assistant back in November was that those first three months of living in France always suck. I thought I'd be all in the clear come January, seeing as this would mark my three-month stint.
"Not so fast!" says the French government: "You have to sign some random form you've already signed (yeah, that other one was a FAKE OUT! LOLZ!) and photocopy it in triplicate, expedite it to our regional branch, national branch, and some other random branch we'll think of later...oh, PS, we need it by the end of the week, or you won't get paid this month, and possibly not next month, either. What's that? You haven't received that form yet? Well, don't worry. It'll come soon."
Yeah, like the package for Christmas my mother sent me on December 4 that I got on January 2? Efficiency and the French postal service are just a bit at odds.
I'm stressing out here. I didn't realize they could do that to us. In Austria, all I had to do was register with the police, snag my Aufenthaltstitel (visa) from the Bezirksamt (district agency...in Amstetten it was also the mayor's office) and I was good to go! No dragging out this immigration status b***s*** three plus months! I have the feeling I'll be doing this once a month until April--the necessity of which I will not understand, all the way through to the end.
Though, to be fair, I had plenty of annoying occurrences at certain magistrates to bog me down in Vienna...
*Borrowed, for effect, from the English translation of Huis Clos by Jean-Paul Sartre. The more famous, subsequent line is, "Hell is other people."
Sartre had it wrong. Perhaps he was too enmeshed in it to totally see the horror.
The advice I was given by a PhD student and fellow American language assistant back in November was that those first three months of living in France always suck. I thought I'd be all in the clear come January, seeing as this would mark my three-month stint.
"Not so fast!" says the French government: "You have to sign some random form you've already signed (yeah, that other one was a FAKE OUT! LOLZ!) and photocopy it in triplicate, expedite it to our regional branch, national branch, and some other random branch we'll think of later...oh, PS, we need it by the end of the week, or you won't get paid this month, and possibly not next month, either. What's that? You haven't received that form yet? Well, don't worry. It'll come soon."
Yeah, like the package for Christmas my mother sent me on December 4 that I got on January 2? Efficiency and the French postal service are just a bit at odds.
I'm stressing out here. I didn't realize they could do that to us. In Austria, all I had to do was register with the police, snag my Aufenthaltstitel (visa) from the Bezirksamt (district agency...in Amstetten it was also the mayor's office) and I was good to go! No dragging out this immigration status b***s*** three plus months! I have the feeling I'll be doing this once a month until April--the necessity of which I will not understand, all the way through to the end.
Though, to be fair, I had plenty of annoying occurrences at certain magistrates to bog me down in Vienna...
*Borrowed, for effect, from the English translation of Huis Clos by Jean-Paul Sartre. The more famous, subsequent line is, "Hell is other people."
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Les Contes d'Hoffmann
In September, the Opéra National de Paris put on one of my favorite operas, Les Contes d'Hoffmann by Jacques Offenbach. It "came" to La Ciotat recently as live-filmed version at the Cinéma Lumière.
I also saw a live performance last year in Vienna and another televised version at home on PBS (Great Performances at the Met, anyone?); after seeing three different versions, I have to say that seeing an opera live is the best of all possible worlds. Even if some of the characters are miscast and annoying at the theater, if you're watching a "filmed live" version from the comfort of your living room or an overpriced cinema seat (the freaking Paris version cost me 12€), it just isn't the same!
That said, there were a number of things I really enjoyed about the Opéra Bastille's version. The opera was directed by a Canadian, Robert Carsen, who did not have quite the grandiosity of mise en scène as Mr. Friedkin, the director in Vienna, nor the penchant for puppets; in the beginning, the stage is set bare-bones, with the eponymous character lying in a drunken stupor stage right--his muse arrives in Greek habit and sings to him.
The muse, played by Kate Aldrich, was wonderful: a great combination of comedic and soulful, with a beautiful voice. Hoffmann, on the other hand, was horrifically miscast as a dumpy little Italian whose trilling "R"s got in the way of his singing. The imposing Franck Ferrari, cast as Lindorf, Hoffman's doppelgänger and evil side, was much more convincing--and one of the few times I didn't feel bad rooting for the villain rather than the hero.
The bare-bones set continued on through the opera--the Keller scene transformed into intermission at the opera, where Hoffmann awaits a glimpse of his beloved Stella. The Teutonic charm of the student pub Stammtisch was ruined for me by this posh, Franco-centric rive droite version. Blech. It was OK...but it lacked charm and an element of Faustian suspense that was certainly present in the dark, damp, Punsch-filled scene of Friedkin's direction.
The bare-bones set design annoyed me at first, but I've since forgiven, considering that Mr. Carsen got his start in Shakespeare, where less is more and more is silly. The Olympia act is the only one that deviated from this scheme, transforming the stage into a mad scientist's laboratory fit for Frankenstein. The coquettish Olympia, well-voiced by Jane Archibald, was a little too coquette for my tastes--at one point she mounts Hoffmann on a hay barrel--a little obvious, if you want my opinion. Oh, the French and their obsession with sex!
The Antoina act is one I always find a little tedious. I guess I have a hard time figuring out how singing would kill a woman with a weak heart, when singing is supposed to heal the body--yes, certain studies have come out showing that music has the power to heal!--however difficult I find the premise, I enjoyed the beautiful Ana María Martínez as Antonia. In fact, I think she was the best-cast and most talented of them all, considering the Antonia act is always too long, too boring, and smack in the middle (typically right before the intermission, when I'm trying to keep my bladder from bursting). As mentioned, the muse was great, too, but their roles are so utterly different, and the muse is almost, if not always, a role that's hard to turn sour.
As for Giulietta, interpreted by Sophie Koch: talk about a prima donna! She completely overshadowed poor Hoffmann, belting out her lines and then stood on the stage looking bored when she wasn't singing. There was very little finesse to her performance--I know Giulietta is supposed to be a femme fatale and a bit of a bitch, but it didn't seem like there was much acting going on.
The ending was all right, pretty standard. Hoffmann and the muse go off into the sunset with a bottle of wine under each arm (I thought maybe the muse should enroll him in AA). I love the message of the opera: that an artist will always have inspiration, which is just as good, if not better, than love. Makes me feel good about being a writer with no social life.
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