ItZ a tHuG LifE

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Since one of my roommates lives in our kitchen on a small cot next to the fridge and uses the stove as a bedside table, I’ve had to come up with some creative ways to cook. So I got steamer (for free. I know a guy) and a kettle (13 €. I didn’t know a guy) and have been working from there. My diet mostly consists of rice, lentils and vegetables, supplemented by crepes from the good place nearby. Cereal is sort of an option but it feels weird waking up Shayne to get the the fridge in the morning. He’s 71. He needs his rest.

Speaking of Shayne: The dude’s a baller. Like I said: He’s 71. He’s been married a bunch of times and has kids ranging from 30 to 12. You do the math. That’s right, he was impregnating some way younger French woman when he was like 60. He spends his days working on various writing projects, watching movies (and House) and smoking as much weed as he can afford. My other roommate (a very nice guy who does graphic design and moved here to escape LA) calls Shayne “a beat poet without a publisher.” And that’s exactly what he is. He’s this nutty dude who has been living in Paris for like 30 years. He writes and takes pictures and tries to get with younger women. So nowadays he’s after 50 to 60 year-olds. And all the while he’s talking about lines of energy and how it’s just such a relief that most communication happens telepathically--otherwise we would have to waste so much more time talking to each other. He’s nuts and I love it. The only drawback is that occasionally when I walk in the door (after climbing to floor 4 1/2 and saying “hi” to the kitten who lives on the stairs), he’ll corner me and force me to listen to the play he’s revising. Sometimes it’s the one on Joan of Arc; Sometimes it’s the one on Eva Hitler. Heavy stuff all around. Anyway, thanks for reading. Tune in next week for the entry in which I explore my latest theory: If Asian girls are the last stop for gay guys, are French guys the last stop for gay girls? Think about it.

Before Chuck Norris, dipthongs were separate sounds

Monday, September 28, 2009

So I got my certificate to teach English as a foreign language last week. That way I can justify my existence in almost any country in the world except for my own and Britain’s former affiliates. It’s fun being a teacher: you get to get up in front of a group of people and they have to listen to you. What is more, they’ll almost always do what you say and believe what you say as long as you say it firmly enough. I have a skill for saying things with conviction even when I have absolutely nothing to back it up and/or zero knowledge about the subject matter. I’ve always wondered where that skill set would come in handy. And now I know that it’s for telling little old French ladies when they should say “have to” instead of “must.” That’s really what the post-college years are all about: exploring yourself and where you fit best in society.

I also learned a thing or two about about a thing two. Mostly about Chuck Norris (from my fellow trainees) and the phonetic alphabet (from our teacher). But I also learned that grammar can suck it because I rock at arbitrary rules and labels. And don’t ever plan a language lesson revolving around how to talk about your sex-life in English unless you are 100% sure that no 13 year-old Muslim girls will show up just when you get to “How to say you slept with some one.” Boy, was her face (and mine) red.