The Sorbonne has in each classroom a coat rack with wooden hangers. Chalk boards are used instead of dry-erase. And they have a light to specifically illuminate the board. I think that's a nice indication of where the French rank education in their priorities. Although the chalk board might seem random, they never have markers die out halfway through class and because the classroom comes equipped with boxes of chalk, they don't run out of that either.
"We could've been killed. Or worse: expelled." -(Pop quiz: place that quote.)
This update comes to you from a day of classes (9:00 to 18:00) and a boredom hits whenever I'm in a classroom and lack any creative writing inspiration. It's sad that though I listen with one ear and never take notes, I still get the best grade on my Societé Française test. 18/20. Maybe a tad unfair that half the questions were about French history, history buff (not to mention major) that I am.
Yesterday in the late evening I went out to dinner at Breakfast in America, the American diner I've talked about before. I had eggs, pancakes, and bacon. Real bacon. We'd planned to go to the movies (the Duchess) but it got to be late and we did have class today. Instead we walked along the Champs Elysee lit up for Noël. Up and down the street they've set up these little white houses that during the day are shops and cafes. Some sell scarves, hats, ties, others sell Christmas decorations and trinkets, and at the cafe stands, they serve what's called vin chaud. Hot wine. It was incredibly cold last night, with spitting rain, so we got cups of said vin chaud, sipping it as we walked beneath white-lit trees. Smelling strongly of wine but tasting a mix of wine and cider, it made the perfect finish to the evening. I'm bringing home a bottle for Christmas (along with a Beaujolais-Nouveau and a wine from the Pays d'Oc).
This morning I have my early class so getting up wasn't fun before the sunrise.It gets light around 8:30 and starts getting dark at 16:00. Class is booooooring hence I get the chance to write all this. Then I have French class from 12 to 14 (cours practique) and a make-up painting class this afternoon at the Louvre. Time flies fo a history major in a city where churchs a hundred years old are new. Which means it's already December and tonight is the Lion King.
In French Society today, we're discussing food. In the Middle Ages, they didn't have tomatoes, potatoes, corn, chocolate, or coffee; meat was reserved for the nobility and the wine was undrinkable by today's standards. Cabbage and turnips were staples fo the diet, along with a grey-ish or yellow-ish colored wine. Forks didn't exist until the 16th century. They'd keep bread for years, making it not just moldy but hard as brick. In order to eat it, they had to put it in their soup. And here I think a baguette is inedible after two days.
Which is a thought that reminded me of a comment I made last week regarding a certain fad of the moment. "I think if I hear anymore fangirl squeeing over Twilight, I'm going to beat someone with a two-day old baguette." Needless to say, a months old baguette would be much more effective. The point being, of course, that I am sick of this Twilight obsession. In order for my venting to make sense, it requires some exposition:
Twilight is a book series by Stephanie Meyer about an ohsospecial girl named Bella and a vampire named Edward. Classic vamp love story: he thinks he can't be with her because (gasp!) he's dead and he'd have to make her dead too. Oh, wah. Then there's a bad vampire (versus Edward, who only drinks animal blood) who wants to kil Bella. Edward (::enter swooning fangirls::) saves her; end of first book; enter guilt about putting her in danger; cue Edward taking off for the unknown. Meanwhile, Bella spends the second book whining, pining, and trying to get herself killed because (oh noes!) Edward left her. Her werewolf neighbor tries to win her over because he loves her and they make out. Edward returns, there's a whole other book of will-we-won't-we angst between the couple, and then the fourth, most recent book. Edward and Bella get married, go on a honeymoon (but no sex), Bella gets pregnant with a half-vampire baby that kills her from the inside and fully develops in only a month. In a truly grotesque and over the top scene, the baby (unfortunately named Renesme—Rene and Esme being the names of Bella and Edward's respective mothers) bursts out of Bella's stomach, killing her quite dead. Edward decides now's a good time to vampifiy her, and the new mommy awakes, reborn, with superpowers and better at being a vampire than those who have been the undead for hundreds of years. Ohsospecial Bella, remember? It's a happy little family, including werewolf Jacob, who fins out when he first looks at baby Renesme that she is his True Love and Soulmate. ("Hey, babe, there was this one time I made out with your mom . . .")
But it's romantic. Or so say all the preteen, teen, and young adult women who adore these books. Okay, fine, to each their own, right? And if the purple prose does it for 'em, well, it's just more proof that few appreciate good writing. (An example of purple prose would be: Sue was beautiful, with long waves of chocolatey brown hair and sparkling emerald eyes.") Except in these books, Edward has "topaz" eyes and "sparkling" skin (literally—he sparkles in the sunlight. Dazzles.) Can these books get anymore ridiculous?
Oh, wait. Yeah they can. Because I haven't even gotten to the reason I cannot condone the reading of these books. They're a joke, bien sûr, poorly written, but mostly harmless, right?
Except they're not. The relationship between Edward and Bella is the definition of unhealthy. Around 70% of what ol' Eddie tells his lady-love is in the imperative—a demand. An order. And she "obey[s] silently". In one particular scene, she tries to leave but Edward grabs the back of her shirt and tells her, "You're not going anywhere" and not in a playful way. Edward—the guy hundreds of thousands of young girls think is oh-so-romantic and oh-so-sweet and oh-so-perfect and gosh! I just want my own Edward—breaks into Bella's room back in the first book and sits in the corner to watch her sleep. She has no idea he is there.
That? Not romantic. That? Is creepy. It's out-and-out stalking. How these books got to be so popular and how these girls can think such misogynistic behavior is romantic is beyond me.
Whoa. Once I get on a tangent . . . .
One of the other AIFS students has started packing. We go home in two and a half weeks. I can't believe I've been here for going on three months.
À demain.
No comments:
Post a Comment