Internet Showdown

Ryan, Olivier, and I faced off this evening with a round of clips from the internet. Ryan had been showing small clips from MadTV here and there, but tonight's Internet showdown opened with an email/powerpoint Olivier got from a friend about weather and weather-detecting devices. One was a picture of a rock on a string with a sign that talked about how to interpret the rock. The second involved a certain male appendage and how it might be used to gauge the weather as well. Ryan mentioned a singer from "Nouvelle Star" (France's American Idol/Pop Idol) that became an internet sensation after comparing herself favorably to Celine Dion. I immediately followed this with clips of Tina Chen singing "Gimme More." The death blow and end to the internet showdown came when I asked them whether they had seen 2 Girls 1 Cup. After much advance warning, I showed it to them and Olivier immediately sprang off the couch and ran away shouting about how it disgusting it was in French while Ryan curled up into the fetal position with his hands in front of his eyes. When Olivier came back into the room and Ryan uncurled himself, we finished watching and then split our guts watching the reaction videos on YouTube.

Ah, the glorious internets.

Theatre in the Courtyard

In addition to the Tour de France, Pau hosted all sorts of activities to celebrate Bastille Day. On the 14th, they had all sorts of free concerts in the park, fireworks, movies played in "plein air", and best of all they had a play in the courtyard of the Chateau de Pau (picture on the right) on the 14th and the 15th.

It was a play by Moliere, Le Mariage Force (The Forced Marriage) and starred none other than Gerard Holtz, sports announcer of France 2, playing the lead role. It also happened to air live on television on the day that we went to see it. Unfortunately, as we arrived at the castle, we noticed there was a crowd around the entrance. The sign on the wall said that the play was by invitation only and that it was full for both nights.

As we waited to see what would happen, Ryan noticed a woman who often hosts students in her home there with a friend. The two are history professors at the university and the four of us began to talk. It seemed strange to us that it was advertised on all the brochures for the weekend's activities, but it never mentioned that it was by invitation only or that it was already full. As we spoke, the two professors began to talk animatedly with a woman who was letting people into the gate. It turns out that she was a former student of theirs and if there were empty spots, she guaranteed that we would be let in to see the show.

So we waited until the starting time of 9:30 came and went. The courtyard seemed to be filling up completely and we began to lose hope, but then at the last minute, they decided to let a few people in. Another man opened the gate and they told everyone to remain calm (apparently the crowd had gotten out of hand the night before and tried to push their way in to see the play) while he let a few people in. He had almost let too many people in and didn't see the woman trying to get us through the gate, when finally, she said "Hurry, let's go" and directed the two women to enter. They paused and pointed at us to ask if Ryan and I could come as well and they let us in, just before they closed the gate again! I was literally the last person to enter the gate.

We walked in and sat ourselves in the courtyard and noticed there were more chairs and were relieved to see that the others who were waiting were let in as well. There were six cameras posted around and one man who shot the audience for reactions. We're not sure if we made it on TV or not, because we didn't know it would be airing until after we were already inside. We should have called Olivier and asked him to tape it for us, but they had already told us we needed to turn off all cell phones.

The play was great and it turns out that the sports caster really can act. I managed to understand about 80% of it, and Ryan translated the rest so it was a really enjoyable evening. I've never done anything like it before so it was a pretty amazing experience. We finished up the evening at around 11:30 by having a glass of wine at a wine bar around the corner. Even though it was a Tuesday night, and quite late, there were still a whole bunch of people downtown sitting in restaurants and bars outside. Ryan said they must have all been there for the Tour de France and were enjoying the "jour de repos (rest day)" before heading off to follow the Tour to the next stop. We made it home by midnight, not bad for a Tuesday night!

119 Intestinal Distress

Poor Ryan. As he is the Asst. Director of the exchange student program, he often has to deal with students' problems. Just this past Friday, some students came to his office and asked him to help plan their long weekend trip--they were leaving the next day. That evening, he got a phone call from a student in Spain, saying her travel buddy had left his passport on the train and asking what to do. Those problems are relatively easily dealt with, but last night he had a doozy.

A student called at 4:30 am to say her friend was vomiting and was having horrible stomach pain. Since she didn't speak very good English and her friend spoke even less, Ryan had to take the girl to the hospital to translate. It turns out that she was, um, backed up and that was the cause of the vomiting and cramps. Poor Ryan had to break the news to this girl that she was full of poo and that she would be getting an enema. Nothing like early morning poop-shoot cleansing to bring two people together.

This afternoon we ran into the girl and her friends leaving downtown to go to the 'pharmacie' for her medicine. She was appreciative and a bit embarrassed, as one can imagine.
I've been worried about something similar happening to me since there's a whole lot of white crusty bread and cheese around, but almost nothing with any fiber. Luckily, I picked up a box of cereal at the grocery store that bears a strong resemblance to Super Colon Blow Cereal. I think I'll survive.

Former Minor Celebrities

The best part, by far, of the trip to France was waiting in the Cleveland Airport at the baggage check in counter. As I fumbled with the self-check in machine, and then two other Continental folks fumbled with their machines to get me checked in, I looked around. Who did I see two machines away? None other than Scut Farkus of The Christmas Story himself! I was so excited! Unfortunately, I couldn't remember the name of the character, the name of the actor, and barely the name of the movie, and I couldn't say "Hey, you're that one guy from that one movie about Christmas, right?"

Ryan didn't believe that I could possibly recognize him 20 years after he made this movie, but I had recently seen an episode of Charmed (thanks TNT for your many, many reruns!) in which he had appeared. At the time I thought, "Hey, that's that one guy from that one movie about Christmas!" Now, I wished I had looked up his name.

Anyway, it was him. Flying out of Cleveland to who knows where. Ah, former minor celebrities...

The Dax Connection or "You're not dead!"

Adventures have a way of jostling all the best laid plans. Despite my plan to fly into Paris, jump a shuttle to the airport, and take a direct train to Pau, I ended up in an unanticipated situation.

The non-stop flight from Cleveland was great and I had even lucked out by getting a seat in the emergency exit aisle. Extra leg room ahoy! Unfortunately, it turns out the extra leg room comes at the cost of reclining the chair even the tiniest bit. Now, I know those chairs are not La-Z boys in any sense, but I'll tell you what, those two inches make all the difference on an 8-hour flight. Well, a 7-hour flight normally, but with the huge thunderstorm that rolled in 20 minutes before the flight was scheduled to leave, we had about an hour delay.

This kind of threw the whole schedule out of whack because I foolishly had only scheduled 2 hours and 45 mins to get myself from the airport to the train station. In any case, as I landed, I got myself as quickly as possible to the shuttle stop. I had planned it so that if I got on a shuttle between 8:00 and 9:00, I could make it to the train on time, with a bit of time to spare. So, when I boarded the shuttle at 8:45, I thought to myself "I'm still in the window. I can make the train."

Then we hit the traffic.

I'm not sure why I thought the shuttle would only take 50 minutes when it was in the thick of late morning rush hour in one of the BIGGEST CITIES IN THE WORLD. Dumbass. Anyway, the shuttle took about 1 hour and 35 minutes to get to the train station and I rolled up at 10:25, 15 minutes after the departure of my train to Pau.

Now, some of you may be familiar with the problems I've had scheduling this train to begin with. When buying the ticket the first time around, in my haste, I forgot that I was landing on the 9th, but leaving the States on the 8th. So, I was forced to exchange my ticket for a hefty $50 USD fee. Luckily, it ended being cheaper to take a seat in First Class, so I thought that at least I would be on a direct train to Pau and I would be riding in comfort.

So here I am in Montparnasse, which in the 6 years since I've been has become a rundown craphole filled to the brim with incredibly impatient people, with a useless ticket and bundle of nervous energy in my stomach. I had already resigned myself to having to buy a new ticket on the shuttle, but I was worried that I didn't have any contact information for my friend Ryan. No phone number, no address, just a name and a city. So I really had no way of telling him that I wouldn't be on the train, nor of telling him when I would get there. Mistake number 2.

At this point, it's 10:30 am (about 4:30 am my time) and I've been up for about 22 hours or so and was seeing no end in sight. So I make my way up to the counter, after being yelled at for zoning out in line behind a woman who had also zoned out and wasn't moving, and attempt to tell the woman what has happened in my rusty, rusty French. It must have worked because she only giggled at my broken French once and I got a fresh ticket for a train leaving in a few hours. Luckily, I didn't have to buy a whole new ticket, but I did have to pay an extra 22 Euro, making this ticket officially the most expensive one-way ticket of my life. In addition, I had been bumped back to 2nd class and would now be changing trains in Dax, with a one hour wait between trains. Ack!

As I wait, I concentrate on not falling asleep and not having my passport stolen. I become irrationally nervous that someone will try to steal things from me when I travel internationally, so I often hole up somewhere and stay until it is time to leave. Call it paranoid, but it has worked for me so far.

About a quarter to noon, I take my things into the large waiting area where the huge signs indicate the train schedule. It says that the sign will display the platform the train is arriving at 20 from the train's departure. So, with my train departing at 12:10, I look at the board anxiously and wait. 15 minutes later, it still doesn't say where this train is and it's leaving in 10 minutes. At this moment, the words of ticket clerk are running through my head. "Don't miss this train or you will have to buy a whole new ticket." As my nervousness mounts, I finally hear the clack of the tiles turning and our platform number appears. Suddenly a mass of people begin moving towards the platform to catch our train. It's a bit crazy as folks start running down the platform to get their car in the remaining five minutes before departure. I thank myself for removing as much extra weight as I could from my bags as I struggle to lift the gigantic suitcase I still have up the stairs and through the train car.

As I plunk myself down, I take a deep breath and just wait.

The rest of the train trip went smoothly and I even managed to get myself a bottle of water and a snack during the hour layover in Dax. The weather was beautiful and the temperature wasn't too hot. I still had now way of contacting Ryan, but I figured that he manages students all the time, so he must have some that miss a train. I knew he would be worried, but I hoped he would wait for the next train from Paris to see whether I was on it. I hoped that he hadn't called my parents and made them worry that I had gotten lost, kidnapped, or killed somewhere in France, or even that I hadn't made it France at all.

By the time I had pulled into Pau, I had come up with a plan. If Ryan wasn't at the train station, I would ask someone at the ticket counter about a man who had been there looking for me. I knew that he would have asked someone about me (which he confirmed when we did finally meet up) and maybe even have left a number or someway of reaching him. Luckily, when I stepped off the train I looked up and saw him waving his arms and smiling at me. He ran under the tracks and came over to meet me and said "You're not dead!"

So we made back to his place and I got unpacked. 36 hours was a long time to be awake and alert. Next time, I'm taking the train directly from the airport, no matter how many connections I have to make. I'd rather not hassle with traffic in the future.

Revival

As I'm actually having an adventure other than grad school, I've decided to revive my blog. I'll post photos from my vacation here to share with you. I hope you enjoy them!

Musings from the Depths: Week One

And thus begins my first week of graduate school--a clogged toilet and an exploded pen. Liquids and solids refuse to go into or come out of containers with any sort of regularity, including the food I'm not eating due to nervousness, the coffee and water I'm spilling on my shirt, and the general mayhem of packing my bag for class and teaching. I'm fumbling already.

All the nervousness is forgotten temporarily when I walk into my office. "Why is my desk breathing?" I ask my one of my many officemates. It's not some hallucination or a flashback stemming from some drug experimentation, my desk sounds like it's breathing, or there is a cd player behind the wall with cd endlessly cycling and reading error, or maybe the ghost of a graduate student trapped in the walls whose excessive smoking habit had them later placed on a respirator.

And there are many ghosts on campus with me. My friends, colleagues, and cohort who have all left to pursue whatever other goals they had planned, and oddly enough a ghost of myself. One more eager, energetic, open, and malleable than the woman here today. I find myself in class speaking with ghosts of Taiwan. I find myself unwilling to speak up and force my way into conversations with boisterous theater students debating the preoccupations of critics despite my ready and waiting contributions. Instead I sit and think about how my silence grows ever louder. Can I re-inhabit the ghost of myself, will I find that the new casing still holds many of the same skills? How do I incorporate these changes into my academic self? In the course of readings on the Apollonian (mind)/ Dionysian (body) split in the world of opera, I consider how the supposedly Apollonian experience of graduate school has felt more Dionysian. I feel hyper-aware of my body. It is is caffeine-fueled and exhausted, nervous, sweating, hot, cold. My stomach is, in turns, in knots, convulsing, releasing. I look forward to moving more towards the sun.

The first week is finished now and I turn to processing the distressing amounts of material laid before me. I feel rushed in conversations with friends and loved ones calling to check on me. How can twenty minutes seem at once so long and so short a time? I do feel hopeful that I will settle into the pace and begin to feel more at ease with my abilities. Until then...

And Just Like That

I'm gone. Poof. I've been disappeared from the realms of MySpace. I can only imagine that someone took offence to my demand for respect for the sexual prowess of one Ms. Xaviera Hollander. It's not like I'm 14 putting naked pictures of myself up so I can get a 30 yr old dude to come to my house. I put a lot of work into that damn page and now it's gone. I guess folks will just have to get ahold of me the old fashioned way.