a note on weather, and cake, and cigarette smoke

I figure if I'm cold in Cannes in September, I'm basically screwed for Paris in October, November, December, January, February, March . . . This is why I'll be needing my winter coat before too long, and why I'll have need of some shopping. For long-sleeved shirts, cashmere sweaters from JCrew, coats, jackets, etc. Oh, well. The sacrifices I have to make.

And I have a complaint (and no one is surprised). We're here in Cannes, right? And we've got classes in the morning til noon, then lunch in the cafe (which hardly deserves any term relating to food), and then the AIFS people have scheduled all these meetings that will literally take up the entire afternoon. For what? To talk to us about housing in Paris, while they refuse to tell us who our roommates will be or where we'll be living until we get there. So what's there to talk about for 5 hours straight, I ask you? Don't get smashed and come in at 2 am? Ok, that takes like five seconds, unless you're perpetually imagining your next cigarette or drink and thus miss the announcement (or flat-out ignore it) and decide partying late into the morning and stumbling in with strangers you met at a bar sounds like a good idea. So they've taken up our afternoons when we could be out and about the city or on the beach, which is like baking a luscious chocolate cake, placing it in front of a hungry mob, and telling them they can't eat it––just look at it, and smell it. Don't you wish you had some? Oh, but wait, you can't.

Speaking of cigarettes, it isn't the French people here who smoke. It's the Americans. And anyone under the age of 50 who smokes has no excuse. It's bad for you. It will kill you, and possibly those around you. When I cough or wave a hand in front of my face as a subtle hint that I don't want to die of lung cancer because of your secondhand smoke, I've been told by one of the other study abroad kids that I'm in France, deal with it. Well, I'll tell you what. I've yet to see many French people smoke. And those who do are polite enough not to blow it in my face. So grow up, and take your cancer stick elsewhere, preferably a trash can.

But! Today at lunch, my roommate and I sat with a guy from Arkansas (who's not in my study abroad group, he stays in Cannes for the semester), a girl from Norway, a girl from Brazil, and a girl from Holland. We spoke a blend of French and English, and it was awesome. The foreign people are so much nicer, and more sensible, than the other American students in my Paris group, and they're more willing to speak French.

That's all for now, folks.