Thinking

I've noticed that once I think it's about the be dinner time, I take a break from homework, thinking, "Ok, good. I'll finish after dinner." However, my idea of when dinner time is is consistently very different from when they think dinner time is. Despite that, I still waste time waiting, even though an hour and a half later, when I could have finished all my work, I'm still saying to myself, "Dinner will be....soon. And then I will have the time to do my homework."

I'm an idiot, and I'm hungry.

Thinking

Three things I did today:

1. Took my Physics final at the Univeristy, which was an 1hr40 minute oral exam. I started studying about a week in advance, but none of that seemed to matter this afternoon. I was really nervous, and every time I wrote something on the board, my professor would go, "Ooohla." And then he'd say, "Are you sure about that?" and I would say, "...oui?wait Non.....wait..uh, oui?" Even though I knew it was "oui" and he'd just say "Oohla" again, and scribble something on his paper.

2. Had my last session with the two girls that I teach. As a Christmas gift, I found two easy Roald Dahl picture books in English for them. They seemed to know who Roald Dahl was, and were really excited about the new books, though I kind of doubt they'll actually read them. Oh well.

3. Went to the theatre with my host mom and her friends. It was a 3 hr. comedy of errors, that was really well done and had a massive audience, and I understood presque tout.

Thinking

My host brother, Jacques, baked me cookies this afternoon. And then chased me around the attic, pretending to be a zombie. I think he's trying to fatten me up to eat me.

A Day in the Life

This is a little late, but one day, I thought it would be interesting to take pictures of the things I see every day in France.

My house. #17.

The alley way I walk down, where the crazies hang their heads out the window and yell at me.

Poop. There is a lot, a lot, of this by my house.

The church I walk past every day.

Rue d'Alger. Ever single day, I march my booty up this street...

...until I get here (I.E.S building)...

...where I do this (French literature.)

Ha. This was on the window of the house next to mine.

Thinking

Just came back to my room after Sunday lunch, and found Pamela, the house cat, asleep on my pillow. I think this means she likes me.

Edit: The cat is snoring. She kind of looks like a little snoring rug. Adorable.

Thinking

Onwards and upwards.

"You're ever welcome with me any time you like
Let's drive to the countryside, leave behind some green-eyed look-a-likes
So no one gets worried, no
So no one gets worried, no"

--"Blue Ridge Mountains" Fleet Foxes

A Revival of the Archaic

My host father is descended from a long line of nobles, and his family has owned for many years, a "small" 17th century chateau in the countryside, about an hour north of Nantes. The chateau is a national monument, open to the public most of the year and can be rented out for marriages, etc. For now, Geoffroy's uncle, Count Loik and his family, live in the chateau and maintain it, as well as the surrounding park grounds, which are often used for hunting.

When we first got there, I was introduced to Loik, his two sons and their wives and children, as well as some of his son's friends. They hunted during the morning while Veronique showed me the chateau, and then after we met for lunch I walked with the hunters for the remainder of the day.

Geoffroy getting ready to hunt.

Now, the southern side of my extended family lives for hunting. I once spent an enthralling weekend walking through cornfields in South Dakota with my semi-crazy grandpaw while he blasted the hell out of any unlucky pheasant that happened to cross his path. But French hunting is a world of its own. They get about 20 people, line up and walk straight through a section of forest, shooting at anything they happen to see. Two or three hunters will stand the end, so if any poor beast tries to escape, it's caught immediately.

I kind of have a problem with hunting in general, and I really have a problem with this. But I went along so that I can have something besides Obama to argue about with my grandpaw at Christmas this year.

After the hunt, we returned to the chateau for showers and aperatifs, which we took in a room fancier than any one I've ever been in. Over champagne in crystal glasses, Loik, Geoffroy and I argued about abortion (it was right at about this moment how heavily Catholic this family is), but, we left the conversation still friends. While we were in there, Eglentine (the wife of one of Loik's sons) arrived with a massive platter of small sandwiches, and with her, a large party of 20-somethings arrived, all carrying bottles of whiskey, wine, and Coke.

The room we took our aperatifs in. I took this photo standing next to the grand piano.

Suddenly, Loik and Geoffroy had disappeared, and I was standing awkwardly in a room filled with about 13 over-wealthy 20 somethings, all wearing ridiculous tweed jackets, Ralph Lauren, and hunting boots. I thought, 'French people my age! I should try to make friends." But they wanted nothing to do with me, so I left to find Geoffroy and Veronique, to wait for dinner.

At about 11 pm. we finally had dinner with the group of rich assholes, Loik, Veronique, Geoffroy, et moi. The dinner was glorious, and lots of wine was passed around, and all of a sudden, everyone started talking to me. No, not talking, more like making fun of me for being American. So I made fun of them back, saying things like, "Oh la la! I'm soo French." They loved it, and everyone including Veronique and Loik, laughed.

"...et, courant comme un mendiant sur les quais de marbre, je la chassais..."

Aube, par Rimbaud.

It was an interesting weekend.