I was just doing some reading on liberalism for my Int'l Relations Theories class. Among many aspects, the chapter discusses free trade (unregulated exchange of goods and services between nations) and the spread of Western, liberal ideals such as democracy and human rights. So for example, liberalists in international relations may consider one or both of these as ways to pacify relations amongs states and other actors.
It's perhaps a little sarcastic, but the political cartoonist in me couldn't help imagining Condolleezza Rice walking into Osama Bin Laden's cave to strike a deal.
"Listen, Osam', we'll let y'all engage in free trade with the big boys if y'all stop terrorizing us Westerners," Condie would say.
"Finally!" Bin Laden would think, remaining silent with a stern look on his face. "I could satisfy my decades-long craving for peanut butter!"
Et voila! Problem solved. Who would have thought??
Speaking of peanut butter, I witnessed a great injustice to American culture and cuisine yesterday. I was reading the label on a jar of a French version of the stuff I bought a while back. In translation it states: "Le Peanut Butter is a spread that you may enjoy on any type of bread: toast, sandwiches...for a treat "à l'américaine", use le Peanut Butter on our brand's delicious pancakes!"
Has anyone ever heard of people eating peanut butter on pancakes? I'm sorry, but the French are often just as guilty of commiting cultural blunders as we Americans are...
25 September 2008
Housekeeping
I'm really glad that no one was around just now to witness my 30 minute battle with a duvet cover. It was literally swallowing me whole at one point and I could barely find the opening to get out!
I have no classes on Thursdays, so I decided to take advantage of my free morning to stock up on more toys for my dorm room. I got a collinder, a thermos, and cleaning supplies...and I couldn't resist the temptation to finally overhaul my room when I got back. Squeaky clean! But I am devoting this afternoon to starting research for my first report at AGS. It is to investigate the progress and/or efficiency of one of the initiatives that have been established in Africa in response to the "resource curse." For example, Transparency International's Anti-Corruption Campaign is a movement that has created a corruption perception index to assess judiciary, educational, and other public processes in a number of sub-Saharan African countries.
We have to call people or go into the Parisian offices of these initiatives if there is one in Paris, and hassle people until we get a clear idea of whether or not they actually achieve their objectives. I'm itching to start, although I probably didn't come across as so at the end of class when I told the professor that I finally figured out who he reminded me of: Shaggy from Scooby Doo!
But seriously, here goes my first project at the Masters level....wish me luck!
I have no classes on Thursdays, so I decided to take advantage of my free morning to stock up on more toys for my dorm room. I got a collinder, a thermos, and cleaning supplies...and I couldn't resist the temptation to finally overhaul my room when I got back. Squeaky clean! But I am devoting this afternoon to starting research for my first report at AGS. It is to investigate the progress and/or efficiency of one of the initiatives that have been established in Africa in response to the "resource curse." For example, Transparency International's Anti-Corruption Campaign is a movement that has created a corruption perception index to assess judiciary, educational, and other public processes in a number of sub-Saharan African countries.
We have to call people or go into the Parisian offices of these initiatives if there is one in Paris, and hassle people until we get a clear idea of whether or not they actually achieve their objectives. I'm itching to start, although I probably didn't come across as so at the end of class when I told the professor that I finally figured out who he reminded me of: Shaggy from Scooby Doo!
But seriously, here goes my first project at the Masters level....wish me luck!
16 September 2008
Plantaze Vranac 2004, and Riko from Toulouse
Last night on the way to Germain's for dinner, I decided to buy a bottle of wine at a store that imports products from Eastern Europe and Central Asia. I picked one more or less at random, which I don't like doing, but I was kind of at a loss since I can't read Polish or Romanian. Come to find out I had bought a wine, year 2004, from Montenegro. From my class with Professor Taras, I remembered that this country had more or less recently become its own state. After taking an initial taste, Germain and I decided to Wikipedia it-sure enough, it gained its independence from Serbia in 2006. I noticed that the bottle had obtained a label upon its arrival in France stating 'Made in Montenegro' despite its fabrication two years before it shed its former recognition as Serbia-Montenegro. The bottle must have been exported after the country's independence...the wine was called Plantaze Vranac.
In other news, I bought a homeless man named Riko some yogurt the other day, and he gave me his business card. He apparently used to be a painter from Toulouse in the south of France, and after tragically losing the love of his life he let go of everything and hit the streets. He said that in Paris, unlike in the south, you can live fairly well as a homeless person. People who walk by will just give you anything--and he even admitted that no woman has ever refused to buy him yogurt. I thought it was a strange request when he first approached me in the grocery store, but this guy was an experienced hobo and knew how to play on people's attributes to get food. Think about it: would a woman be more willing to buy something sweet for a homeless man, or something less healthy and less appealing like greasy potato chips? His 'business card' was in fact his portrait drawn by a well-known satirical cartoonist named Cabu, on the back of which he wrote his cell phone number in crayon. I'm not sure how he obtained a cell phone, but he said he'd be in the area for a week or two, so maybe I'll get to check up on him again before long.
In other news, I bought a homeless man named Riko some yogurt the other day, and he gave me his business card. He apparently used to be a painter from Toulouse in the south of France, and after tragically losing the love of his life he let go of everything and hit the streets. He said that in Paris, unlike in the south, you can live fairly well as a homeless person. People who walk by will just give you anything--and he even admitted that no woman has ever refused to buy him yogurt. I thought it was a strange request when he first approached me in the grocery store, but this guy was an experienced hobo and knew how to play on people's attributes to get food. Think about it: would a woman be more willing to buy something sweet for a homeless man, or something less healthy and less appealing like greasy potato chips? His 'business card' was in fact his portrait drawn by a well-known satirical cartoonist named Cabu, on the back of which he wrote his cell phone number in crayon. I'm not sure how he obtained a cell phone, but he said he'd be in the area for a week or two, so maybe I'll get to check up on him again before long.
12 September 2008
The coincidences never cease to amaze me
I registered for classes and met the administration, professors and other students at AGS this afternoon, which was a very pleasant experience full of surprises. The first among them was finding out that Meredith Rainey, a girl who was in my brother's class in middle school in Mandeville and whose sister was in mine, is also starting a Masters at the school this semester. We figured it out when she mentioned that she was from New Orleans, though even from the beginning I thought she seemed slightly familiar. However I never pursued the thought since the likelihood of it being true was so miniscule.
This is however not the first completely absurd coincidence that I've ever experienced in this city. During my year here as an undergrad, I was at the grocery with a Finnish friend when a certain monsieur started chatting with us. About two weeks later, I was walking in a completely different neighborhood probably a half hour away from the site of the first encounter with this monsieur, and I passed him on the street. I am positive that it was him, because our eyes met and exchanged a look that is rare and hard to describe. All within half a silent second, our eyes said to each other, "I know you, we never said our names, only chatted about brioche at the Franprix for 2 minutes, I have nothing to say to you but boy is this a coincidence!!!"
To get back to registration today, I enrolled in courses on:
Global Communications, Media and Int'l Affairs;
The Scramble for African Oil;
Factors and Theories of Analysis in Int'l Relations;
and Current Economic Problems and Policies
The first I chose because it seemed logical to take advantage of the current US presidential elections and all the media I consume in France and from elsewhere that puts its own spin on it. The second, because I want to be able to critique my father's and many of his friends' profession from an academic standpoint (it's my duty as the youngest child to challenge everything my family does!). The third will be key to lay the theoretical foundation of what I'm studying at AGS; and the fourth seemed highly relevant due to the recent US and global economic downturns. Then I could thoroughly participate in debates with Germain and all of his friends who are math and economics majors...
Competition can be an okay motivation sometimes...?
This is however not the first completely absurd coincidence that I've ever experienced in this city. During my year here as an undergrad, I was at the grocery with a Finnish friend when a certain monsieur started chatting with us. About two weeks later, I was walking in a completely different neighborhood probably a half hour away from the site of the first encounter with this monsieur, and I passed him on the street. I am positive that it was him, because our eyes met and exchanged a look that is rare and hard to describe. All within half a silent second, our eyes said to each other, "I know you, we never said our names, only chatted about brioche at the Franprix for 2 minutes, I have nothing to say to you but boy is this a coincidence!!!"
To get back to registration today, I enrolled in courses on:
Global Communications, Media and Int'l Affairs;
The Scramble for African Oil;
Factors and Theories of Analysis in Int'l Relations;
and Current Economic Problems and Policies
The first I chose because it seemed logical to take advantage of the current US presidential elections and all the media I consume in France and from elsewhere that puts its own spin on it. The second, because I want to be able to critique my father's and many of his friends' profession from an academic standpoint (it's my duty as the youngest child to challenge everything my family does!). The third will be key to lay the theoretical foundation of what I'm studying at AGS; and the fourth seemed highly relevant due to the recent US and global economic downturns. Then I could thoroughly participate in debates with Germain and all of his friends who are math and economics majors...
Competition can be an okay motivation sometimes...?
09 September 2008
Leaving Biarritz
Hello all, this will be a short one as I am on my way out of Biarritz, a city in the Basque region of France, in a couple of minutes. We spent lots of time on the beach in full view of the Pyrenees. It was a marvelous final vacation before classes start. I have registration this Friday, will start my weekend waitress job at Thanksgiving Paris's Cajun Brunch this Sunday.
I'm currently jamming to Tony Parker's album; the basketballeur français who plays for the San Antonio Spurs, married to Eva Longoria. It's about as crappy as Shaquille O'Neil's appearances on the movie screen.
Gotta go! Miss everyone!
28 August 2008
Packing
I was packing yesterday and going through all the things my mother got me for my trip when I came across a Pez (the candy) made in the shape of a Democratic Donkey. I sized up my themed piles to determine which one I should throw it into, out of "bathroom supplies," "winter clothes," "important documents".....I decided to go with "first aid kit supplies" since it seemed to be the only remotely fitting option.
After my last trip to the Consulate yesterday to certify translations of my passport and birth certificate, I have finally obtained all the paperwork I need for my travels. Now if I want to get thrown out of France, I'm going to have to do something drastic like break an unspoken rule of Parisian fashion. Before my Junior Year Abroad, the only rule of fashion that I knew anything about was that you were never supposed to mix black and brown. But in the wintertime there, the rule seems to be altered to: wear any combinations of colors that are as dark and depressing as people's stares on the metro. And don't smile. Never smile.
Which brings up an interesting point I was chatting about with someone the other day. Americans wonder why people in certain foreign cultures never smile, whereas people in certain foreign cultures wonder why American people are always smiling. I find that I often have to stretch my jaw when I'm in Paris, and I never realized why until that conversation: because I apparently don't smile there as often as I normally do. Nevertheless, I know I'll be happy to go back and am very much looking forward to la rentree! (First day of school)
After my last trip to the Consulate yesterday to certify translations of my passport and birth certificate, I have finally obtained all the paperwork I need for my travels. Now if I want to get thrown out of France, I'm going to have to do something drastic like break an unspoken rule of Parisian fashion. Before my Junior Year Abroad, the only rule of fashion that I knew anything about was that you were never supposed to mix black and brown. But in the wintertime there, the rule seems to be altered to: wear any combinations of colors that are as dark and depressing as people's stares on the metro. And don't smile. Never smile.
Which brings up an interesting point I was chatting about with someone the other day. Americans wonder why people in certain foreign cultures never smile, whereas people in certain foreign cultures wonder why American people are always smiling. I find that I often have to stretch my jaw when I'm in Paris, and I never realized why until that conversation: because I apparently don't smile there as often as I normally do. Nevertheless, I know I'll be happy to go back and am very much looking forward to la rentree! (First day of school)
21 August 2008
Irony, irony
Readers, don't get spoiled by my daily updates, because I'll be in classes soon. But until then, I don't have much going on.
So today's theme has been, ok, do you guys hate my guts and want me to die? Or am I loved by society? Case in point: I had a horrible experience at the Consulate this morning (see below). I mean, my confidence was brought to the lowest it's been since I got the bite-me letter from Sciences Po.
But I show up at my doctor's appointment earlier, out here in Magnolia, where they had me fill out waiver forms and patients' rights agreements. I had to laugh when I wrote my initials next to the line that read "You have the right to be treated with respect and dignity by our healthcare professionals." I was tempted to write "Oh no no, that's fine, no need. I don't have any more self-esteem to respect. A.L.F."
I was in to obtain a prescription for migraine medicine, for which I had seen a neurologist several months ago but never called back for the meds. He had however written up a patient's report with all the detail, so I brought it in to show the doctor here in Magnolia. She stood up at one point and said she'd be back in a few, she was just going to make a copy. My eye twitched with the painful memory of the last time I was spoken these very words, just hours before at the Consulate. I almost lept out of my chair screaming, "Please don't hurt me!"
Ok the next drastically different and ironic twist in today's prose is that the doctor GAVE ME A HUG at the end of our consultation. She said she'd remembered me from my appointment two years ago and wished me the warmest wishes for my Masters program in Paris.
Again, world, do you hate me or love me??
Finally, I leave the doctor's office and proceed to the pharmacy on the first level and am engaged in a very natural, friendly conversation with the pharmacist, who even complemented me on my earrings. After the verbal abuse from the women at the Consulate, I seriously thought this woman was hitting on me.
So today's theme has been, ok, do you guys hate my guts and want me to die? Or am I loved by society? Case in point: I had a horrible experience at the Consulate this morning (see below). I mean, my confidence was brought to the lowest it's been since I got the bite-me letter from Sciences Po.
But I show up at my doctor's appointment earlier, out here in Magnolia, where they had me fill out waiver forms and patients' rights agreements. I had to laugh when I wrote my initials next to the line that read "You have the right to be treated with respect and dignity by our healthcare professionals." I was tempted to write "Oh no no, that's fine, no need. I don't have any more self-esteem to respect. A.L.F."
I was in to obtain a prescription for migraine medicine, for which I had seen a neurologist several months ago but never called back for the meds. He had however written up a patient's report with all the detail, so I brought it in to show the doctor here in Magnolia. She stood up at one point and said she'd be back in a few, she was just going to make a copy. My eye twitched with the painful memory of the last time I was spoken these very words, just hours before at the Consulate. I almost lept out of my chair screaming, "Please don't hurt me!"
Ok the next drastically different and ironic twist in today's prose is that the doctor GAVE ME A HUG at the end of our consultation. She said she'd remembered me from my appointment two years ago and wished me the warmest wishes for my Masters program in Paris.
Again, world, do you hate me or love me??
Finally, I leave the doctor's office and proceed to the pharmacy on the first level and am engaged in a very natural, friendly conversation with the pharmacist, who even complemented me on my earrings. After the verbal abuse from the women at the Consulate, I seriously thought this woman was hitting on me.
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