27 janvier 1945

January 27, happens to keep coming up. [see earlier entry]

I don't think I even read the news on that actual day, but now I come to find out something else rather significant (delayed information, I know, bear with me)--

I cannot very well write such a passionate entry about J.D. Salinger's passing and fail to mention all together the importance of what happened on the very same day in 1945.

This date marks the liberation of Auschwitz (Poland)!

27 janvier 2010

J.D. Salinger died on January 27.

J.D. Salinger, people.

Now, to give myself a little credit, let me just say that I thought about writing at least a short tribute to the good 'ol author here in my blog, but obviously I never did. Then I thought it was too late, overdue ya know? Like everyone already knew, it was news spread over the dew of a few days; overdone, in the sum of a few days .....

but I'm not going to let a few days conquer me!

These past few weeks I've been trying to keep my head around French, but I'll be honest, I've been longing for some good 'ol American literature. Craving some Kerouac - some Jack (not the Daniel's), some Steinbeck even, or Hemingway ... but they're all so seemingly far away.

The thing is, though, having J.D. Salinger pop up in the news made me fondly think of Catcher in the Rye, a book I re-read one summer strictly because I had earlier declared it as my "favorite" book and felt that I needed to be well equipped to answer any questions that might come up about it. When really, it was my favorite book because it gave me that feeling of truly understanding Holden Caulfield, and admiring the sentences of Salinger's style simply in one read. Once would have been enough. That's what makes it extraordinary. Of course, a second, third, or fourth read won't hurt, but it's that first read that touches home. And I must say, I fondly remember picking up Franny and Zooey from the shelf of a family friend one summer in Indiana and finishing it in a mere two days (despite it's small size, that's fast for me!).

So, I gave up all this American literary 'anxiety' that I've been trying to suppress (because of being in France and all, you know... 'live in the moment,' 'focus on your goals,' etc, etc) and turned to the internet for a haven of American quotes and excerpts.

In this deep internet-bound literary plunge (and in my attempts to write a poem about Chicago) my mind reeled toward Carl Sandburg. One of my favorite poems written by Sandburg is "Mamie" (which, I must say, I heard and saw miraculously performed by Marc Smith at Green Mill Jazz Club in Chicago). The poem is simply about always wanting something more, something bigger, something better - locationally, aesthetically, and physically. Don't we all, if even a little bit, want more, want what we can't have, wish we were somewhere more exotic, exciting, more oh....exacerbatingly fulfilling?

Holden Caulfied said (not J.D. Salinger, but his most famous character, an important thing to note, because GOSH the quoting websites really need to get it right and start distinguishing between the artists' quotes and those contained in their works! how annoying!). Anyway, Holen said:

"That's the whole trouble. You can't ever find a place that's nice and peaceful, because there isn't any. You may think there is, but once you get there, when you're not looking, somebody'll sneak up and write 'Fuck you' right under your nose." - Catcher in the Rye

The above (unfortunately convincingly bleak) idea can relate to Sandburg's "Mamie:"

Mamie beat her head against the bars of a little Indiana

town and dreamed of romance and big things off

somewhere the way the railroad trains all ran.

She could see the smoke of the engines get lost down

where the streaks of steel flashed in the sun and

when the newspapers came in on the morning mail

she knew there was a big Chicago far off, where all

the trains ran.

She got tired of the barber shop boys and the post office

chatter and the church gossip and the old pieces the

band played on the Fourth of July and Decoration Day

And sobbed at her fate and beat her head against the

bars and was going to kill herself

When the thought came to her that if she was going to

die she might as well die struggling for a clutch of

romance among the streets of Chicago.

She has a job now at six dollars a week in the basement

of the Boston Store

And even now she beats her head against the bars in the

same old way and wonders if there is a bigger place

the railroads run to from Chicago where maybe

there is

romance

and big things

and real dreams

that never go smash.

-Carl Sandburg

And alas, here I cannot HELP but to turn to another favorite line of mine, taken from the popular artists Jump, Little Children :

"In the cathedrals of New York and Rome / There is a feeling that you should just go home / And spend a lifetime finding out just where that is" - Cathedrals

And there you have it, my literary thoughts of the day. I suppose I oughta turn back to appreciate where I am here and now and let my American bookworm desires wait until I get back to a place where they speak English....

But hey there READER, do you have opinions on these excerpts??? --

What do you think? Do you see the link? Do you sniff the stink?

trop mignon...trop!

I guess French kids learn so much that they need an extra free day to soak in all their knowledge. There's no elementary school on Wednesdays! Of course, this means I don't work on Wednesdays ... except from 8am-noon when I babysit Emma-Lisa, the most adorable girl EVER. To me, she's a six-year-old little genius. She knows the capitols of all the countries in Europe, for example (which makes me look like a goofy fool). What's more, she truly absorbs the things that I teach her in English.
But the hightlight of this week was: Violin Practice! She's taking violin classes and apparently doesn't enjoy them at all. Her parents, however, like any persevering and motivating parents, are encouraging (forcing) her to continue. I mean, they did buy a violin and pay for the classes, so I don't blame them. Plus, she's good at it! She taught me a thing or two when I tried to play myself for the first time ever in my life!
I've taken a video of her but this blogger program doesn't seem to want to download it, which is really "dommage" (too bad) for you people because I was really hoping to share it. Perhaps I'll figure something out soon to post the video....for now, the photo:

à decouvrir

I attended a concert the Thursday night at a venue that was like an old cave "au milieu de nulle part" (in the middle of nowhere). Thanks to Sylvain's car and knowledge of the area, we got there easily...and boy was it worth it.

I cannot help but share my new discovery of this spectacular band. Here is the description found in the local monthly magazine (with my own personal translation, greatly modified but not butchered [hopefully]) :

"Rest assured that this group of three guys and a girl present a sonorous and visual adventure which comes to life, captivating their audience in an arena of pop culture. Resembling Anthony&The Johnsons, Arcade Fire, [and Radiohead,*] their music is situated in quite the colored universe." -BVV

*I read in a different article that their music resembled Radiohead. I couldn't agree more! The performance was incredible. They had two inflated balloon-type apparatuses on which were projected images of some of the following: a young drummer girl, a ballerina, the lead singer, dark branches juxtaposed against a blue sky, clouds and a boy creating more clouds out of cotton balls, a little girl with a zebra/antelope mask.

The lead singer played the piano with stamina and energy, while the drummer and the guitarist were equally as energetic. The fourth player, the "girl," was not present Thursday, though, and we don't know why.

Simply click and check out their music on their myspace page.

réalité dans la neige

So what we’re feeling, I guess, is something that is real. But we can say that it isn’t real. We can say that it’s surreal. That’s the whole point, the whole irony. Something is real because we say it is. Something is surreal because we say it is. Something is beautiful, exquisite, damaged, or crooked because we say it is. And we say that it is like this because we’ve been told that it is like this. And we’ve been told that it is like this simply because someone, somewhere decided one day that some brains are crooked and some are beautiful. Some minds are riding a straight path, and some a serpentine.

But this weekend, snow is covering this whole city. No one ever told me that snow was gentle, I just know it is. It’s just so peaceful. Feels peaceful, too. I’m not afraid of you snow! You come from something illuminous*. And you’re illuminous* because I say you’re illuminous.*

*and illuminous is a word because I say it is a word.

- This post is dedicated to my friend Sarah Morris -

Salut-là, Je reviens

I’ve been missing from this blog-world for a while. A lot of things have happened, but I haven’t written about them. I think the biggest reason is because most often when I write, I write personally, about personal things, in a personal manner. And personal is not for the world wide web, people. But perhaps I shall get personal? For now? Mmmm, nah...sorry to tease. I’m still going to write for you, for me, for whoever the hell reads this (keeping it public-friendly), which is the thing about blogs. I’m not so sure it’s the thing for me, but it’s good for me comme même. And it’s fun.

Let’s see, the last time I wrote was about my flight from the states back to France. That’s right, I went home for the holidays and it was well worth the trip. There’s nothing more important than family. I was in Florida, which is not really “home” to me as much as it is the place where my parents live; but home is where the heart is, and the heart is where the family is. I was home for 8 days. It felt gooooood.

I did, however, spend the earlier tier of the Christmas season in France. Got to experience the French Christmastime cheery-cheer-warmth. Much like our consumerist American Christmases back in the states, France has its own marketing tactics: Christmas markets! (These are real markets, by the way, not imaginary money-glommering internet cyberspheres of figures and never-ending formations of frantically-changing formulas).

I must say, the French Christmas markets are simply much more charming than the shopping malls of, say, Frisco, Texas. Many of the vendors (though not all, I will admit) are true artisans, specializing in a specialty just for you! You’ll find homemade hats, handmade breads, and happily-made wooden knick-knacks galore. I bought a rather nifty wooden trinket my brother Jack. A little piece of wood, about the size of your fist (assuming you’re not like 8 years old), that transforms into an intricate little castle. I oughtta post a picture of it, the thing is so cool, though I failed to snap a photo and have already given the gift. My brother opened it on Christmas Eve, 16 days ago. Which brings me to the fact that this post is, unfortunately, way out of date!

Christmas has already passed, and so has New Year’s. HOWEVER, it snowed all day today in Besançon. So, despite the fact that the holiday season is apparently “over,” I gladly opened up my iTunes screen today and clicked it into shuffle-mode of Sufjan Steven’s Songs for Christmas. (Click here to watch an awesome cartoon video that I now realize could have potentially used as a teaching tool due to all the repetition. Probably all the better, though, that I left it for you all to check out and not for the kiddos).

Here's me and Catherine under some Christmas lights!

You can also buy vin chaud at the Christmas markets.

That deserved it’s own paragraph. This stuff is amazing. 3€ in Paris, 2€ in Besançon. Worth it! Red wine, (sometimes) rum, honey, ginger, nutmeg, cinnamon, orange slices, warmth. The combination creates magic.

You can also, of course, buy insanely tasty foods: raclette, tartiflette, tartine, crêpes, gauffres, and more. Me and some friends went to Montbéliard for the soul purpose of attending their Christmas market, and that’s where I bought a tasty Nutella crêpe with an added touch of some sprinkled coconut inside, yum!

But enough about crêpes and food! I could write about food and the amazingness of the food I eat here for pages, hours, DAYS! I’ll save it for another time. Here's a pic of me with my coconut-nutella speciality.

[P.S. - the Christmas market you'll find on the famous Champs-Elysée run is not what I'm talking about when I'm talking about French Christmas markets. That thing is a commercialized, Paris-ized madness of fake and tacky wooden huts that want to get all the tourists who have succumbed to traveling around in the wintertime!]

I spent New Year’s Eve in Paris.

Doesn’t that sound so exquisite!? It was (except for the part where we were packed into the entrance of a metro stop for twenty minutes...packed so tight that I couldn’t even move my arm. I could have lifted my feet of the ground and have been in the same spot, like floating. Come to think of it, why didn’t I do that?!).

I passed the arrival of 2010 with Jordan and Tim, some buddies with whom I worked last summer. My favorite part was New Year’s Day, when slept in so late that we literally ‘woke up and went out to dinner.’ We spent almost a total of three hours in a restaurant somewhere not too far from Notre Dame. We didn’t spend three hours there because we wanted to, I don’t think even the French would have sat through that long of a meal. The service was poor (big surprise). But the company made it worth it (and the food was just good enough to bear it).

After, we walked to Notre Dame and you wouldn’t believe it, but there seemed to be a full moon - smack dab dangling there above the centre of Notre Dame. It was glorious. That building is incredible. Of all the touristy things that are over-rated, Notre Dame is not one of them. The moon situated there in the perfect spot fondly reminded me when I was in Toulouse at les Jacobins (see my October entry entitled 'l'automne') and the sun was settling behind the surrounding buildings in just enough time to leave some light for a glow into the stained glass windows from the interior.

It was so cool to be there and see the way that light works so exquisitely with architecture. The sun and the moon. And the chances! It makes me feel balanced when that happens, or at least feel, if even a little bit, the balance of the world. Nature positioning itself so pristinely with our eyes resting on magnum opuses. Gaudi would have liked to join me that night, I’m sure. I’d have shook his hand, but I think I’d be more impressed by the moon than by shaking the mastermind's hand. The moon is always around, which makes it more rare than you might think. Think about it, if the moon were gone, we'd miss it much more than we miss Gaudi.

Et voilà, I’m back in Besançon, and I’m a’ feelin’ good. I was quite happy to see my students again the first week back from vacation. They’re so good and cute and I love ‘em. This past week I taught them the major countries in the world where people speak English. I taught them eight. Can you guess which eight? Don't cheat, they're listed right below!

USA - Canada - Great Britain - Ireland - South Africa - India - Australia - New Zealand

...gotta also post a picture of the trio from New Year's, of course..

dans le ciel ce nuit, ce matin

Dallas-Fort Worth to Paris Charles de Gaulle

31 déc 2009

(To accompany this entry, you can listen to Beach House's "Tokyo Witch."

Search on google or youtube and listen to their music here.)

Flying at dusk is her favorite time to fly. Forward. Facing fading formations of one unseemingly sallow blanket of clouds, resting together in such a way as to gather beauty toute ensemble. One continuous cotton canopy seen from above. Above everything. Dusk above everything. The deep orange, rouge, and thin layer of thick blue that lets the eye gently lose sight of light, welcoming evening with ease.

It made her want to dive. Dive into those clouds like light-weight waves resting on the ocean. She was there, imagining herself descending to a quick splash and emerging refreshed, cleansed, reinvigorated with the nature of the sky.

(This is something our human bodies cannot feel, and so it had a strong appeal).

She didn’t dive, though, nor imagine herself diving. Those clouds were too delicate. Too peaceful. They weren’t waiting for the disruption and eruption of her dive, so she didn’t even offer it to them. Rather, she just thought about how glorious it would be, and how real it would feel.

It was dusk, and darkness was coming from high up. Here, she didn’t feel the sun setting as much as she

felt the earth turning away from the sun. When standing on the sand, gazing at the horizon, the sun left her. But up high, she could feel that turning, that sanctuary salut in the slowly arriving colors, growing deeper and deeper. Nighttime in the sky.

It was then she was calmly reminded that night isn’t frightening, only uncertain, and uncertainty isn’t frightening unless it is allowed to be.