chez moi

lo, my french and japanese family!

we look a bit surprised because the timer on the camera is blinking

regard Isabelle's racy stockings

the soldier's legs there in that painting belong to an ancestor of Isabelle's

this one is my favorite. doesn't Tristan take such nice pictures?

cadavre exquis

Touching upon surrealism, my cool film teacher had us make a poem together and it went like this:

"l'oxygène
brillant
dessine
franchment
le fleuve
odorant"

which I translate as,
"the bright oxygen draws frankly the fragrent river"
brillant doesn't quite mean bright but it could there. anyway.

oh hey, wow, did I forget to tell you I lost my leg in the Seine?

living

There is so much beauty to charm, hidden in clear view by daily use. The French language is a perfect example. for example! One way to express perpetuity is, “à jamais”—a phrase which means in literal translation “to never” or “unto never.” I love that.

Tere are many things to love about French, many things to dislike also. Same with the French. France as an environment is almost uniformly lovable, which is probably the only thing I dislike about it. Also the fact that the keyboards are different—I can barely type on my own laptop anymore, gah.

Tristan tells me (and I think Mr. Hazard did once) that people in our current state of language acquisition—that is, edging up on and stumbling painfully upon fluency—are capable of forgetting their mother tongue if given a bad rap to the head in just the wrong place. So please, don’t anyone shower me with love and presents this Christmas, at least not heavy presents.

So why haven’t I written, why haven’t I written? Their names are Sasha, Keith, and Elen. No! no really, I have had so much to write and some time in which to write it, but the internet situation is dismal these days. My old friend NETGEAR never comes in the house anymore and so I have to resort to sleazy HICAM, always loitering on the step in the alley outside my house. Which was candy while it was just so dandy outside, but often as not this far into the Paris autumn the air is close and wet and cold, or else simply cold and cold and cold. Though I can’t complain, as there are the occasional rare and comely days when winter runs up on ahead and leaves the city at peace, breathing in some strangely warm and many-scented air.

Hm…things, which words…let’s see: Got my wallet stolen! I’m now officially a resident of Paris. The two hours in the police station reporting the loss was surprisingly unappalling, but only because the young police officer took pains to make fun of me. That and opening a bank account are probably the two most wordy and officially interactions I’ve conducted entirely in French. Godbless the French professionals who speak worse English than I speak French—they make me believe there might actually be a reason for me to learn another language.

Right, lickety-split, I’m getting a bit long-winded here it seems. I will try to write less but more frequently. Right now I am off to cook some dinner for myself and our new Japanese student, Naoko. We don’t so much have any overlapping languages, but I like her a lot anyway. Afterwards we’re going to the Louvre’s late-night student fun-party or whateverthehell. It’s fun living someplace with things to do—things specifically designed for you to do, at that!

À bientôt, mes amours-
I’ll leave you with some saint bones.