chère marée noir, j’en ai marre!

It’s funny the way some things surprisingly effect us. Lately, I’ve been deeply effected. The oil spill in the gulf coast is really getting to me. As you might have caught from an earlier post, I briefly expressed these lines in a poem entitled “The Newspapers”:

A tick in the steel

and you can no longer feel.

The Gulf is crying crude tears

while the coast receives its fears.

And an oil giant blunder

just over five feet under

ruined a life on Monday

and left some dollars in disarray.

The news always has something depressing to say. I think we sort of become numb to news headlines. Lately, I’ve really had to prepare myself before I read the news, mentally and emotionally, because the oil spill is somehow getting to my heart. Each time I look at the damn headlines the technicians are trying something new, the crews are cleaning up, the tourism industry (+fishing industry+restaurant industry+boating industry) is completely shot, Obama is giving speeches, BP is denying information, and the oil is still spewing.

It’s absolutely incredible. I mean, really. It’s incredible. And BP deserves all the credit for everything that has happened.

I spoke with my mom the other night to ask her about the public reaction back home in the states. She said that people are upset about it, of course, and they’re trying the best they can, that people are saying all the time, everywhere, ‘don’t use BP oil.’ I replied, “yea, if that happened in this country, there would be strikes and protests!” (side note -- France has grèves [strikes] and manifestations [protests] very often, usually every month). Of course, there have been protests back home, and some are even trying to boycott. I think I just feel so far from any anger that I feel like it’s hard for me to understand ... and I want in!

The morning after I chatted with my mom, I woke up to find that there was a bus strike. I wasn’t about to wait around for ages (the bus I was waiting on was only coming every hour, instead of the normal 15 minute-cycles), so I hopped on my bike and mounted some hilly roads to get to school. It was kind of like a sign, a personal reminder (or slap in the face) that I oughtta skip the petrol and pedal more often. Plus, it was much more agreeable to ride along the large Boulevard to school without a million busses constantly spewing exhaust in my direction. Throughout the day, I asked a number of French people if they think that people would strike if there was such a catastrophic oil spill caused near France or by a French company. They all said no - people strike for things like retirement and salary raises, not environmental issues. Peaceful protests maybe, but not strikes. So I was wrong, but it’s still nice to think that there’d be an uproar somewhere, somehow. One friend told me that there was a major French company, Total, that caused an oil spill a few years back and many people stopped using Total gas stations for a long time. Another person mentioned that there are not very many BP stations in France, and for the moment (obviously) he’s happy about that.

The problem is, though, we need oil, we need petrol, and we need gas stations. BP or not. So it’s a matter of continuous effort and changing things. There are large-scale renewable energy efforts, but we can help even in our personal lives. Here’s a fact that we can start to change first: Americans.have.too.many.cars. Most of the time, we need cars -- we cannot get to work without them! But there’s probably a grocery you can walk to in ten minutes, or a friend’s house in 20 minutes. Skip the car for a Saturday. Meanwhile, we’ll hope that Obama builds some railroads.

I participated in a ‘manifestation à vélo’ (bike protest) today and we got to ride down the middle of some of the busiest streets in Besançon. It was to promote the construction of more pistes cyclables (bike paths). So there’s a start. Though many bisontines (the name for Besançon locals) probably weren’t thinking about oil giants and top kills, I had the gulf coast in mind. (I also was protesting against the little jerk who ruined my classy bell and changed my speeds the other day for no good reason! thank you very MUCH).

plus de la pétrole, vive le vélo!

quand il fait le soleil, il faut faire le vélo

CURE for the 'arriving-winter-blues ': bicycle rides on sunny-autumn-days!

^meet my bike GiGi ^

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^in the beginning there was water...^
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^and then there was land ...^

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^and then there was man...^

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^and then there were man-made road signs...^

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^and then GiGi needed to take a siesta.^

The End.

Les Paragraphes au Hasard

1. Dreams
I dreamt that I married my brother, Jack, last night. Is that a bit too personal to write in a blog? Probably. Especially considering that I personally believe dreams are one of the most important parts of ourselves (next to our souls). But then again, it's probably not too personal, eh? I share this because Natalie explained to me her perspective. She thinks that it just means I miss him. Naturally, she thought the dream was completely normal (coming from her NYU Freudian viewpoint).
Meaning: I love my family, and I miss them.

2. Trucs
My bike fell over in the hallway as I was exiting my apartment today. The left break broke. The actual metal part literally broke in half. My friend Fréderic happens to work in a bike shop. And M. Bassenne is bound to either have a "truc" (thing) to replace it with, or he'll find something. Also, the guy I bought the bike from, Thomas, said I could call him anytime if something went wrong. He buys old bikes and fixes them up for sale, so he might have a "truc" to help me out, too. I was very sad about it for about two seconds, but I actually don't care. With all these seemingly positive prospects, I'll get it figured out.
C'est la vie.
breaks- freins
metal- métal
to weld- souder
screw- vis
screwdriver- tournevis
kickstand- béquille ; 'kickstand'
Meaning: I get to learn new words and USE them for something NECESSARY! whoooooo.

3. Dictionaries
I bought a francais-francais dictionary. I'm all over it, but don't think I'm giving up on my francais-anglais dictionary. That thing is a treasure. I've had since 7th grade! ...since my very first French class at Renner Middle School. I'll never forget that class. We sang happy birthday in class, and also some other song involving 'stand up, sit down, left, right.' My teacher even looked French. I don't remember her name, and I'm pretty sure she was American...but I remember her face as if I saw her yesterday. And she'll always be French to me.
Meaning: I'm making progress with intelligent purchases. (no matter how long it takes, damnit!)

4. Hikes
I went on a hike Sunday with four other people, all of whom were French. We went in the Jura mts. along the Loue river. Sylvain drove us there in his car (about a 45 min. trip outside of town). We hiked for almost six hours! It was way more than I was expecting and soooo worth it. We saw open fields and cows close up (really close up). At one point we were in what felt like a rain forest, practically climbing vertically (at least it seemed so to me ... I'm not a hiker, or a climber so you can imagine!). We ended up above the clouds and saw the town below. We walked for a long time along clear, transparent, flowing water (I'm talking transparent for over 12 feet down!). We saw that clear water fall, and fall, and fall, and therefore we admired waterfalls! We went inside a cave -- deep inside a cave! We ate walnuts that we found on the ground and cracked open with our feet. We felt rain. We felt leaves tumble.
After all was said and done, I was content. Very content
Meaning: Nature can heal.

5. Evil Nametags
Classes are going well with the kiddos. Ages 9-11.
Today I had one of my youngest classes make nametags with their new English names.
A girl made hers half green and half red, then kindly explained to me that the red was "sang" (blood) and the green was "l'herbe" (grass). One half was "la beauté, la nature" and the other half was [in a low, scarier voice] "le mort de la vie! l'enfer! le diable!" (the death of life! hell! the devil!). I told her that those were the colors of Christmas. She didn't know that (I guess they don't have all the red/green stuff going on here?) En tout cas, she liked the idea and decided to write Christmas-themed things around her name (but she wrote them in French! Whatevs. she'll learn that vocab in a few months.)
The kid in front of her wrote "diable" (devil) all over his nametag, and something about fangs that I didn't understand. Isn't that just splendid? Ah, that nice 'lil French boy. But he did his notebook correctly so I had to give him a sticker. Should I shun him for making an evil nametag? I didn't have time to do anything about it. Literally, class was practically over.
But seriously, what's up with these kids and the devil?!?!? Is it some inbred existentialist something going on? Sartre, oh where art ya?
Meaning: no idea.

6. Swimming
I went swimming today! With Catherine and Fréderic from upstairs and up-upstairs. I was cold in that water. Also, I sported my two-piece bathing suit that is totally for the beach and not the exercise pool. I have nothing else, don't make fun!
Meaning: use what yo mama gave you and have fun.

Pictures to come.
But now you fools just have to read!
Peace.

vaporous vendredi wanderings

I slept at Julia’s last night and I had to ride my bike to get home this morning. It felt so wonderful; it's nice to wake up and know that there's a place to get to at the starting hours of the weekend. There were cigarette butts on the pavement as I rode out of centre ville. They were matted and flatted down from the rain that fell the night before. I wondered who they belonged to and what the night had been like--if the smokers meant to leave a trace, if they hope to leave a indication of who they are. Everyone smokes here, even the most gorgeous girls. It’s true that French women make smoking look sexy.

I was riding over cigarettes butts and trailing in the exhaust of the city buses,
I was following grafitti tracks and buried railroad plaques,
I was zooming past too many chilled SDFs* and sleepless boulangerie chefs,
But all the time I was rolling upward, my movements unheard.

There were tractors riding all through the center of town yesterday. Hundreds of tractors. It was a manifestation, a grève, a strike. It is the first I've seen in Besançon. I was in the midst of a conversation with Sibylle (a new friend) when all the tractors began honking and blowing their noise-makers and flashing their lights and making their way toward…toward change I suppose. Sibylle said that they were "fed up with the government." "What did the government do?" I asked. "Nothing, really," she said with a chuckle. But then she explained how the farmers are upset because there had been cuts in goverment aid because of too much milk production. So the farmers are upset. All I can say is that the French like to manifest (and they like milk-products). Here, the police block off the streets and protect the manifesters. If this happened in the States, there'd be cops out there pushing the people back and if it got really crazy, maybe there'd be guns!
Guns.
Guns.
Guns.
Foreigners associate America with guns (thanks, Michael Moore). I've already had two French people ask me about guns and violence in the U.S. They are curious to know the truth from a real American. I have to tell them that yes, people have guns in the United States. The laws are different according to each state. I explain that Texas’ gun laws are scary in theory, but I was never afraid of someone pulling a gun on me.
I lived in Texas for half my life, eleven years, but I lived the first half of my life in Chicago. So, I just get to choose to say where I’m from. I usually tell people that I studied in Texas, but I am from Chicago. This way I get to mention both states, as they both are a part of who I am. I also get to gain perspective and am asked questions about both places. So far, here are some observations I have made from personal interaction and experience**:
When the French hear “Texas,” they think of:
- George Bush
- “Dallas” (the TV show)
- deserts
- Houston
When the French hear “Chicago,” they think of:
- Barak Obama
- gangsters
- The Bulls
So that’s that.

Yesterday I had a true French lunch chez M. Bassenne petite ‘bricolage’ apartment, the man who gave me Jiddu’s book (see previous entry). It was absolutely amazing and I think I may very well become good friends with this sweet old man…he’s so generous and just wants a friendly face around. He eats all “bio” (organic). We ate:
- BRUT Champagne
- salad with mixed greens, sunflower seeds, beets, radishes, and citron-based dressing
- raw corn on the cob
- Ratatouille! (yummmmmmm…completely organic and phenomenal!!!)
- fresh grain bread and three kinds of “chèvre” (goat cheese): moist, semi-dry, and dry
- “infusion” – the absolute BEST tea I’ve ever had in my life, ever.
- a spoonful straight of fresh honey from the forest not far away
- small pieces of chocolate
I brought him a baguette but he wouldn’t accept it and made me take it back, along with an ear of corn and a “bio” muffin from his favorite “bio” boulangerie. heehee.

Later I met Sibylle at Bar de l’Université for a language exchange. She is 18, her first year the “fac” (university) studying English. She told me she thinks I’m better at French than she is at English. I told her the same thing but vise versa. She’s a keeper.

It was cold and rainy so instead of trekking it all the way back home, I rode over to Julia’s and she introduced me to a program called ‘garage band’ on her Mac. Amazing. How I have never seen or played with it before?!? She also showed my her boyfriend’s poetry. I slept in Estelle’s (Estelle is Julia’s roomie) sleeping bag. Estelle looks like Belle from Beauty and the Beast. She’s an artist, very loving, and giggly. We all love Estelle. Also, Estelle smokes.

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*"SDF" stands for "sans domicile fix," which means 'homeless'
**these are generalizations....and I'm no sociologist....so that's that.

Music: The Helio Sequence:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wF01UyuV5xk