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more at my "channel" (who knew I'd ever have a "channel!")

A wild hair

There are some blog readers who are friends that know of my previous blog. There are some parts to me that I'm sure my parents, sister, cousins, aunts, uncles, school chums, previous colleagues had no idea existed. Or, possibly, they know these sides to me exist and, instead, I think they're well hidden / under control.

Sometimes we all have to let shake out the wild inside. Sometimes we have to cut the rug -- and really cut it. Some days I feel like I keep it all together so well and have moments where I've got to just break the glass and let it all hang out.

Well, I'm having said moment.

It's a rollercoaster ride this move. I often wonder if my parents went through these emotions when I was a kid living it up in Argentina or Germany, oblivious to adult preoccupations. I wonder if the adults actually became anxious with the thought of being in a foreign country, if they were exhausted at 3pm from just thinking about living, if they relied on the idea of us kids to force themselves to keep it together. I can't even imagine how my parents learned to drive in Buenos Aires. Watching the traffic in Paris has given me enormous pause when thinking about trying the Velib. (Interestingly, France's Dept of Road Safety has been thinking about this, too.)

On Thursday, walking, getting lost in Paris to my destination of the march/manifestation, I was so happy. Finding the manifestation still going, I was so happy. The sun setting and having to walk 2 hours home (after walking 2 hours there), I was so happy.

Friday, I got up and thought I just couldn't face the world. Studied all day inside until my haircut appointment at 5pm. Yes, the hazardous, perilous, dangerous, risky event of getting a haircut in a new city. I'd seen a few places around Paris. Walking home Thursday night through the Marais (gay, stylish, fabulous part of town), I saw a few glaringly fashionable places. But I'd already made an appointment with a small hole-in-the-wall place near my apartment with hip looking stylists and a kind of garage decor on the inside.

Well... well... well... Upon closer inspection: There was no 'product,' as we call it in the States, anywhere. No shampoo to sell, no conditioner, no spray. Okay, no big deal. Maybe they specialize in only cutting and don't sell the styling part. I watched the guy stylist cut a guy patron and he looked good. I watched the lady stylist cut a woman and she got barely-there-bangs. I think she was complaining a bit because the woman stylist looked a bit worried and perturbed. So she fluffed with a small, cheap hairdryer and seemingly dull scissors. I notcied that they both cut dry and then washed and tweaked. I was wearing pigtails (my hair was that long) and thought maybe that'd mess things up as far as judging how my hair actually was at that time.

Needless to say. Yes, needless. to. say. It was my turn and I was excited - fun new adventure! I'm letting someone have artistic license with my hair because we agreed I would trust her artistry since I can't speak enough French to ask for anything specific and she can't speak enough English to check in with the progress of the cut.

Despite this fact, I really wasn't sure that this place was even a legit salon. I wasn't sure this woman knew how to do a shampoo and there was a weird fact that when sitting in the shampoo chair, I was offered another chair to prop my legs up on. Also, I wasn't sure she could really cut hair. It was the wildest pick-up-hair-between-fingers-snip-snip thing I'd ever seen. A few times I thought I'd lose an eye or a cheek. It was very random and she was very distracted by what the guy stylist was doing, or what was going on outside in the street. And she asked me if I'd dyed my hair myself as she found it very odd that there were patches that were colored and not a uniform blonde or red. I grabbed my small dictionary and told her, blushing and kind of half-heartedly laughing, that she knew how to tell the truth in a strong way! Huge red lights were going off in my head and in front of my eyes, but I knew going in that I might get a Fred Flinstone - it was all for the experience. It's only hair. Breathe. No big deal.

Looking back, I'm not sure I understand this whole situation. Was the salon really just a front for something else? Was it a cultural thing, like a drive-thru salon or something? She'd said they'd just moved to this spot in Septemeber and they came from a city not called Paris just before. Were they from teh suburbs and didn't have a handle on cool? Do stylists even have to be licensed or trained? Were they undercover cops set up in a make-shift salon? It's not like the place was a wreck. I mean, it looked legit and cool. They seemed like very nice people.

Yeah, yeah, I know. My friend Julien said don't go in this neighborhood. It's the red-light district after all. Well... I wanted to try my own 'hood.

Yeah. Not so much here.

It's not like I was hideous when I left. I mean, I was still a girl, but I just didn't feel the upliftingness of haircuts.

But a few hours later... I had dinner down the block during the beginning of the rugby game (Argentina v. France - who do I root for?!). A very odd man sat next to me, just on the other side of a small wall/post. Throughout his dinner, he hummed under his breath in a weird, obsessive way - almost like a lonely accountant on his last straw.

Back home, I got a wild hair (pun intended) and I decided, well screw it. I'm not happy with the haircut and frankly, I think I could do better on my own with a pair of scissors. (Gasps from my friends in the fashion world, I know.) But frankly, from the crap haircut I got there wasn't anywhere to go but up.

Well, there's a pile of hair in the bathroom to attest to the right or wrongness of my wildness. Either way, hair grows back and I'm not off on any interviews this month or trying to impress any business conservatives. And, frankly, I'm a little surprised by the laxness in Paris. I mean, there's definitely a more strict adherence to proper attire for each job, and a certain conservative tradition for the workforce. But there's also a higher tolerance for difference, generally speaking. Like NYC, there are fashion freaks, like the nouveau punks with the fashionable Sex Pistols mohawks and skinny jeans with Louis Vuitton hats and Dolce & Gabana belts. As the books have said, Paris loves flair.

So, I decided to see if I could do better.

I'm not so sure I can or can't. The jury's out. I'm not hideous and I'm definitely not the stuffy old girl who came out from the paid haircut. But I'm not sure I captured what I was going for. Hence, my thanks to Sarah for recommending her stylist. We'll see what he's got open tomorrow -- and if he can work miracles.

An odd thought though, this hair obsession. Firstly, it was such a moment of great apprehension today before the appointment. The nervousness had been building over a week of talking to my lady colleagues of what they would do for cuts. And one got a drastic, new fashion, super fun and sexy cut and kind of set the tone of aspiration, as it were.

It's only hair, but yet it's so defining a trait. Some say it makes up 50% of the look of your face.

I had decided today to take what I got, but at the same time I had these grand visions and imposed them on this local coiffeur while patrons coming in and out had very simple demands it seemed. And is my hair so much more complicated?

I have friends who have dealt with cancer and lost hair in the process. What does hair mean to them? To some it is a very important part of their features. Some opt for wigs, some - like our previous Attorney General of Wisconsin - go bald. The latter is not yet the socially acceptable, womanly, attractive option yet. We are still a world ruled by distorted ideas of beauty and hair is a major part of that.

What does it really mean though? Short hair or long? Framing certain features or telling certain stories.

I guess that's a piece of why I decided to chop away at mine with regular old scissors. I'm a bit worn by the intense idea of beauty here. I'm also attracted to and repulsed by the choppy reinvention of '80s. I kept thinking of this butch in Madison who once spilled a drink on Josh at a punk show. She had this fabulous head of hair trimmed into a nerdy, mathematic, smooth mohawk. She had some kind of awe for me. She possessed some kind of riskiness and suaveness but also naturalness. Her hair seemed to exude itself and her own power.

The power of hair. So odd.

UPDATE: Sunday, 21 October

I'm sure by now that you're wondering what I've done and how it all turned out. Well, I highly recommend Stephane at Cizor's Hair Shop, 9 rue Jean-Pierre Timbaud 75011 (Metro: Oberkampf); 01.47.00.62.41; cizors@free.fr; Tues-Fri 10h30-20h and Sat 10h-19h. Sarah recommended him and he was a blessing. I love the seahorse theme - a big, beautiful, white seahorse in the main window. The receptionist/assistant took my coat and hung it up and offered coffee or tea. Stephane, without having to say much except smile, took a look at my head, listened to my choppy "histoire de mes cheveux," and sent me off to get a shampoo. The young assistant woman gave me about a 10 minute head massage which promptly made me want to cry tears of relief (I did let one little one fall down my cheek). If I understood correctly one of the regular customers was offered a glass of champagne. We laughed at how the Mini outside covered in cute Hello Kitty couldn't park, while a favorite remix of Radiohead played quietly in the background. I bought some lovely product for the new 'do and feel so very much better. It is odd indeed how a bad haircut can really affect a person and how a good haircut can almost save them.

Well, you'll have to check out the whole transition to see for yourself.

It's no wonder

the French aren't overweight.

It took 2.5 hours to get to the protest/march. It took 2.5 hours to get back home - with a hill at the end. I no longer feel under-exercised or fat.

Up with people! Up with retirement at 55!

La grève

It's kind of like a snow day here today. Not that there's any snow but school was canceled due to "la greve." It sounds like a deadly disease or a very serious, grave decision. Instead, it's power of the people!

I have to reiterate how incredibly helpful it was to read "Sixty Million Frenchmen Can't Be Wrong" before coming over here. So, when people started whispering about "la greve" I knew what they were talking about.

It's French culture. It's amazing. It's community. It's using your voice. It's solidarity. It's a huge "stand up and be counted" and a massive "take notice" to the government. Essentially, it's a strike and a protest and a march.

So, my understanding is that Sarkozy is attempting to raise the age of retirement from 55 to 60 or somesuch of all the employees of the major mass transit systems: the train (RER), the metro, and the buses. Apparently they're wondering if this will be like the strke in 1995 which lasted for 3 weeks. Since that time, when then-President Jacques Chirac attempted to reform retirement pensions and ages, no one has attempted to confront the transit workers. See, I don't think we really get it in the States because we all have cars. But maybe some of my pals in NYC could relate (although even there there's like a buhzillion taxis which is not the case here). Imagine if there were 3/4 less taxis in NYC, 1/2 the amount of personal cars, and then put a halt to all subway, buses, and trains coming in and out of the city to places like DC, Boston, Cleveland, etc. It would paralyze the city. Industry, economy, everything is affected. So, the longer this goes the harder it hits the country, the Euro Union, the world (think: wine, cheese, fashion, machinery, platics -- Fra is the 2nd largest exporter of services and farm products), and Sarkozy.

I guess we'll see what happens. I was able to have a nice night out and make it back on the metro by 11:45pm. As I was heading up the stairs out of M: Blanche some metro security workers were heading down, presumably to clear it out and lock it up. I wouldn't have been trapped across town or anything (while I can't get a Velib yet, I can hail a taxi -- if they weren't all taken like the other night when I tried to get home during Fashion Week and every taxi was taken at 2am so I had to walk to Place Opera where this guy told me about taxi lines. After walking 2.5km/1.5mi I was pooped and tired and cold and kind of lonely so I just didn't want to hoof it all the way home). But it's nice to hop on the fast and cheap metro to get home.

Well, since they canceled my one class I figure I'll walk on over to the manifestation and check it out. My friend Sarah told me last night ithttp://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gif's better to check out the beginning than the ending because of rioting, but .. well... isn't that the fun part? Of course, I'll be careful. And, as I'm sure you can imagine, I'll report back with photos.

Speaking of photos, here are a few I've uploaded of late (400 more to upload -- man, digicams make life so much easier and more proliferative).

Valle de la Loire

Valle de la Loire

Before "La Nuit Blanche" [Rue de Douai / 9eme folder]

Car washing in Paris [Rue de Douai / 9eme folder]

Mushrooms on Rue Lepic [Montmartre / 18eme folder]

Boob tube

I don't have a TV in my apartment although today I wish to hell I had one. EXhausted! Not that it's impossible, but you know it's sometimes hard to remind myself that I'm completely exhausted in Paris. Everything becomes relative and home is where you lay your head (even if the futon is a bit hard). So, after a point of tiredness, even cobblestones and amazing cityscapes and French language and grey skies and dog crap on the sidewalk and the 7:30am "bonjour" greeting to the bus driver can all become a wash. It's Mondays that are going to kick my butt. Not that it sounds that bad, in fact, it sounds like a day at the office.

Get up at 6:00am
Thank god that something automatically wakes me up - again, I accidentally set it to 6:00pm
Roll around for 10 minutes wondering how I can get myself up before sunrise and wondering when sunrise will meet me in the morning again.
Smart school girl has already checked the weather the night before and picked out her outfit.
Turn The Current on (Radio K is too sporadic sometimes, and I hate Pledge Drive weeks -- yes, yes, I've given before) - very low volume. The walls aren't all that thick.
Shower - which is fabulous.
Lotion - it's drier here than I thought it would be. My hair requires more conditioner than ever before and I'm constantly thirsty and need lotion a lot earlier in the year than usual.
Start up the Italian press - how bad is aluminum for my brain and Alzheimer's anyway? Is it even confirmed?
Dress.
Catch up on emails (timezone weirdness) and Facebook and news. I finally got my Euro Newsweek and October's Wired. Also, we get a subscription to Economist online. Niiiice.
My new French shoulder bag has these awesome side pockets that are deeper than my thermos so I pack a coffee thermos some days or just pack it with apple and tasty energy bars (at least I think they're energy bars, or maybe they're weight-watchers type bars).
Down the 100+ stairs, down the hallway, hit the "Porte" button to unlock the door, out. I can see planets and stars but people are awake. People are always awake in my neighborhood. Head west to the end of the block, cross over, north 1/2 a block and there's the bus stop for #68. Except, it hasn't been on time yet. And, no, it's not me, thank you.
I whisper "bonjour" with my headphones on. No one talks on mass transit and it's almost frowned upon to converse or - god forbid - laugh loudly. Plus, I've got some reading to do. The two women who get on after me both say "bonjour" loudly enough to the bus driver that I can hear them. Hmm it's really a very polite country. It's super duper impolite to enter a shop and not say "bonjour" or "bonsoir." And it's super impolite to not wish the other person a good day or good evening with "bon journee" or "bonne soirée." For some reason I just didn't think this extended to the bus driver so much - how terrible of me! ... so I whispered it today, tomorrow I'll shout it to the rooftops!
Roughly 22min down Rue Blanche, past l'Opera, through the Louvre plaza (Erin, I keep passing the metro stop just down from our hotel and think of you!), along the Seine, and then hook into Saint Germain, turn left onto rue du Bac and I get off.
Run up the stairs to the 3rd floor, buzz in.

French class. Means you have to actually think. And think in a different part of your brain. And remember things from 17 years ago. And distinguish between Spanish and French. At least I'm not the only brain-dead in the course. 8am-10am

Today I wanted to sit in on "Regulation, Adjudication and Dispute Settlement Beyond the State" with Professor (or his Eccellenza) Sabino Cassese. Not that I don't want to be in Daniel Vaughan-Whitehead's course, because of course I want to take them all! But maybe I feel like I know a bit more about "Policy-making in Transition: Tools and Strategies" than International Law.

So, I dropped Transitions for Law (Chris T and Andrea G would be so proud!).

Regulation 10am-1pm. Only, Mr. Cassese goes on and on until 1:15pm, leaving me barely enough time to gulp down my sandwich crudite-thon (salad and tuna sandwich) from the basement of the main Sciences Po building (2,40E and full of fattening things like mayo and eggs).

We all bust over across the street from our department to another building for the last class "State Restructuring and Policy Change: Government and Governance" with Patrick Le Galès. So far this class (required for all 1st year students) has been pretty good in explaining where we're at in the spectrum of public policy but today - as he warned - would be directed at those with little to no policy experience (yawn - been there, done that). 2pm-5pm.

Okay, so it's literally a full work day with a nice away-from-desk lunch break (during which I got to read this article on abortion rates in the Int'l Herald Tribune - actually from the NYT). Except that, well, I just haven't worked my brain this hard in a while. It was on a nice vacation in La Crosse and then an overwhelmed vacation in Paris. Essentially, right after class let out, I got back to Rue du Bac, got in line and caught the first #68 back up the hill to my apartment. And all I wanted was a TV with the Simpsons and maybe a bit of like Heros or Desperate Housewives or Grey's Anatomy. Instead, I reminded myself I needed to hit the Supermarche. This is still a bit overwhelming. Less so when I'm starved though.

Anyway. Yes, bitch moan. And, yes, I realize I'm exhausted and complaining IN Paris. An oh-so-sad place to be. But really, it does become relative and daily and needs are the same. Today I could use a big ol' upper back crack from Josh. Or maybe a stroll around the capitol with Nicole and Sara. A funny ha ha joke with Tanya. A high-five dance with Shelle. A big ol' hug from my parents... it was so nice of them, by the way, to wait over by the edge of the entrance as I made my way through the security line at O'Hare. It was a good 20 minutes I'm sure and at every bend in the line I could look over someone's head and see them peeking around the corner. Thank god for G-chat and Skype. Thank god for innovation!

Well, that's enough procrastination on reading this whole case by 12 hours from now. Whoops. Well... I do have to allow myself time to ease in to the whole study lifestyle. And, yes, even though I'm very tired, I'm totally thrilled and amazed. It's been a month and 4 days now and I feel like it's just going too darn fast already!!

Much love

oh and new photos added daily!

Meanwhile back at the office...

I'm working on editing and uploading and naming over 400 photos. Yes, you see I'm not fond of tossing any of them out. Each one, in its mundane blurriness is still something I saw and captured in time. And really the photos are for me - not you, my darling readers. So, feel free to sort through the Flickrs and skip what you will. I take no offense.

While I'm tweaking all the sights, I'd like to entertain you with this fabulous blog I found. Start here and then work your way around. It's a different take on living in Paris, which I'm finding is, to each person, their own horror or bliss or mediocrity. There's the quest for survival (I've dropped a few pounds which I was only housing for Wisconsin winters anyway) balanced with the need to communicate (I've got a few French friends) settling with the need to enjoy life (a nice pair of black jeans so I can blend in a bit, an 11E bottle of wine to get a small step out of the gutter of 4E) all topped off with the beginning of classes and the intricacies of helping to create a new program.

I'm in the upper, older age range and the honeymoon of hanging out with some of the younger, more self-focused colleagues has worn off. I'm finding myself cringing when accidentally herded together. (I'd like to ask Professor Erhard Friedberg, the director of our program and director of the C.S.O. Centre de Sociologie des Organisations, to explain this accidental grouping phenomenon. I meander out of a classroom or lecture hall to find myself ending up in certain cliques, or I meander out and find myself surrounded by certain people - often the same people. I'd like to re-route whatever forces are at work here because otherwise I might kill some of my colleagues before we even get to finals.)

So, orientation went off without a hitch but with hell of a burden. I am a legal student allowed to stay in this country for a year and can travel to other countries without being seized at the border and refused re-entry to France - although, as I pointed out to someone concerned about this - how bad would it be to stuck in Germany or Spain? I mean, c'mon, it's not the Midwest! I am also legally registered for classes and have allowed the school to automatically withdraw funds from my wonderful French bank account (which also took quite a toll to achieve).

Now, to figure out how to get the Navigo pass to get on and off metros and buses without paying an arm and a leg, also to get on and off Velib bikes. And to buy a cell phone plan instead of paying for minutes added on each month (expensive). To price out a gym (which looks like a no-go for me since almost ALL the discounts in this country go to students - UNDER 28 - ageists!!!).

Last weekend our class got on a bus and went to the Valley of the Loire (which I ended up just calling Valley of the Dolls in my head - doubting that any of my younger colleagues would get the joke). It wasn't the awe-inspiring, fireworks and angels singing, "Ahhhhhhleeeeeluuuujahhhhhh." But it definitely helped me place my thinking brain into a framework (a lovely biz word these days) for public affairs. I'll post a few of the activities and let you find out your own skills and ways of thinking.

It was absolutely beautiful to get out of the city and into the country. This wasn't mountains and rolling hills, but fresh grass and chilly, autumn air and colorful trees. We got to swing by a castle and rest in the park. I love the city, I love Paris, but I'm a nature girl at heart, too. (Despite the fact that every time I'm alone in nature I'm completely freaked out by the idea of wildebeasts or wild boars or rabies-ridden bear attacking me.)

And, of course, we also had wine. I have no idea what kind of wine as it came out of a handy spout in the dining area. Red or pink - choose your color.

So, now the first week of classes. It's interesting to mix the 1st year and 2nd year students in one building for courses (2nd years = students who attended Sciences Po last year or came from the dual-degree programs at Columbia SIPA, London's LSE, or Berlin's Hertie, or Singapore's Lee Kuan Yew School of Public Policy). This makes a total of 60+ of us bouncing around at various times and makes a total pain in the ass headache for the scheduler. Some 2nd year students take electives offered to 1st years as well, etc... I'll take a snapshot and post it up here sometime so you can see the maze we're all working through.

Essentially I only had 2 courses on Monday (others had 4 from 8am-8pm) and today I have 1 and tomorrow 1. This will pick up as I get to more classes though. This week was a Transitions course, today is Innovation, and tomorrow Economics 1 (see the schedule here for professor info and course info.) Next week I'll have the French, Stats, etc...

Also check the calendar as I'm headed off to conferences galore this month. Fri, 12th in Fountainebleu for a conference on Corporate Social Responsibility (my Berlin colleague says it's a trendy idea to alleviate regulations on private sector - I agree and disagree, Rome can't turn into a kibbutz in one day). Then, I made the cut to join 9 other students (of both 1st & 2nd years who applied) to go to Berlin for the Global Public Policy conference. I'm extending my stay there until Wed, 31st, to tour around with the other Sciences Po students. We'll be staying in a cheap hostel with the bathroom/showers down the hall kind of place. Fine for my budget!!

Speaking of, I have saved almost all my receipts for the past weeks and just have to plug them in. Finally a nice weekend to sit down and do this, as well as figure out where to buy a to-go-coffee mug. A slight horror to the French, and a slight insult, but I'm not quite a relax-with-your-coffee girl yet. Let's hope that after a few months Paris will wash me clean of the USA workaholic/to-go mentality.

Oui oui.
Feeling better about things. Thankful for a purpose for the days. Easing into the grey, overcast days. Smiling to myself on the metro (among all the seriously deflated faces of the Parisians). Successfully avoiding the doggie doo. Heading out this weekend to see some live punk experimental performance show, as well as "Nuit Blanche" (the one night Paris becomes New York and stays awake longer than 2am).

I hope you all are doing well, as well. And please don't take offense if I haven't written you back personally yet. I plan to - I promise.

xoxoxo