Humor: just when I needed it

Last night, I came home from being out with friends, was sitting at my lovely antique table (my propriétaire has great taste), checking email when from behind the futon couch came a little scurrying black shadow - running into my open closet. "Oh no you didn't.. snap!" A lil meese? Noooo.. Ugh.

I sat quietly for a few seconds and out of the other side of the closet the little mousey ran to the apartment door, around the wall, and into the bathroom. Of course, my bathroom is totally boring so I climbed up onto a counter top to wait for its exit (a bit of the "Eek! Eek!" fear ala get as high off the ground as possible, plus a good place for observation - ok, more of the former than latter). And, it did exit, running directly into the crevice under/near the freezer. There's plenty of space back there to hide - if you don't get too close to the oven. I waited. No movement. For like half-hour. So, I went to the apartment door, opened it a bit, put a potato chip at the doorway, and climbed into bed.

Woke up this morning to my neighbor's voice, "Loreeen? Loreeen?"
"Huh? Yeah?" I called from my bed.
"Are you okay? Your door is open."
"I know. There's a mouse. I wanted it to leave."
"Okay," he left the door open and I heard him whisper under his breath, "Jesus."

Not sure if it was a "Jesus, now the thing's going to move to my apartment!" or a "Jesus, she's crazy."

Today, I had a list: mouse trap, air mattress. I went off to buy the inflatable mattress over at BHV, a 7-story hell of department store. Remember my story about lines before? And the non-order of walking on the sidewalk? Well, put them all together and you get Bangalore traffic hell, weaving around and between, and after a while just wanting to march through everyone and everything. But, I started my venture calmly with my mp3-player and feeling relaxed.

Sous-sol (basement) level, I asked a young woman where I could find things for "sourise" but of course, the "ou/o" of anything is hard for non-French speakers to pronounce. There's amour, sourise, mort, coeur, soeur, corps. They all sound differently and require different lip pursing and are sometimes ooo, uh, ohr, and darn if I can't get them right EVER. So, she had no idea what I was saying. I made hand gestures of something little and said "chat" and she got it. Then she asked if I wanted blah blah blah and I had no idea what she was saying. (When speaking a language to a foreigner, please please please remember not that you have to YELL your language, but slow it down and really pronunciate like we're morons. It helps.) So, I just made the gesture with finger across my neck of "dead." She pointed me to the jardin section of the store.

Weaved between the hot lights and thousands of shoppers and found the fertilizer section and then the shelves of death. God, I didn't want to do this. Poison, cages, the old school wooden and wire traps that could break a finger. I was looking for this thing, because I thought it was more of a Hungry Hungry Hippo idea, where the mouse would go for the bait and then be trapped in a cute little box.

Instead, I picked up the Powercat Mausefalle, like the former link. I opened it and it snapped shut and I screamed. The older guy next to me, very studious and straight-faced about browsing his death choices, smirked a bit. I shuddered and tossed two of them into my basket.

Yes, yes, yes, I'm all for animal rights and am a vegetarian and, as you recall from my entry about my former Geneva housecat, Lion, I'm really not okay with dead animal parts or wholes. My propriétaire replied to my emails with "Poor mouse. I wonder where she comes from. If there's no food for her, she should leave." First of all, identifying it with a gender makes it all the harder for me, but sourise is a female word so it gets a "la sourise" so it's not really that she's a cute little girl small rat or big mouse, but I think he was trying to get sympathy from me. But I have to house 3 people during the upcoming conference. And, I'm really not interested in going about my business in the apartment to all of a sudden find a mouse staring at me from the garbage cupboard. And all the normal apartment creaks and groans have now become a gigantic King Kong sized mouse that is trying to attack me. Yes, active imagination, but also .... I'm sure it's accurate.

I'm sorry but she's got to go. And I have no idea how I'll deposit her if she is found sleeping peacefully in a heaven of fromage, but I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. In all actuality, I am firmly believing that she found the open apartment door last night, turned to my sleeping body, and was like, "Ciao!" And, no she is not an extra from Ratatouille either.

With mouse traps in the basket I turned to go off and find an inflatable mattress for one of said 3 guests who will be staying with me. Up the crowded escalators to the 3rd floor. The guy I asked for a "matelas d'aire" didn't understand me at all. I made blowing motions and he said "matelas gonfliable" or something. He didn't know where they were so he pointed me to the bedding department. The woman there said sous-sol and I hollered that off to the guy as I headed off. He smiled and thanked me.

I went off down the escalators to the sous-sol -- again. Found two employees standing around. I do love the politeness of Paris. You don't just walk up to the store employees and ask, "Where are the air mattresses, please?" You walk up, say "Bonjour," they say "Bonjour," and then you move on to your question. So, I did the hellos and asked. He shook his head. Not here any longer, try the 6th floor. Very nice about it. I turned to head to the escalators but the prospect of facing the unorganized herd made me about want to throw-up. I turned back to him and asked where the elevators were. He answered something blah blah laugh laugh question. His colleague smiled and walked away in embarrassment. "Desole? Comment?" I asked back. "Don't tell me you don't have a place to sleep tonight. Because you should just tell me and I'll help you." He laughed, I laughed (that was all in French but I understood), and I laughed all the way to the elevators.

The elevator held 10 people and it beep beep beeped. One guy got off and it kept beeping. I got off. Ugh. Looked for another elevator location - nada. Escalators all the way to the 6th floor. Got the air mattress for 25% off, checked out with the nice girl behind the counter. Headed back to the elevators. I was first in line, but the elevator next to mine opened and those waiting behind me piled on -- of course. Leaving not very much room. While they tried to point to room and invite me in, I shook my head. Whatever. Got the next one down.

I needed that mid-shopping laugh so badly. Not only did it say, you're cute, but also let's joke around.

Well, mice traps out. (Picture me propping them open and delicately placing them on the floor and then jumping back a mile as if they are grenades.) Air mattress in the closet. We'll see what happens in the end.

Finally French, with a Few Flaws

Oh, my horoscope is right:
TAURUS (April 20-May 20): I usually don't have to tell you Bulls how important it is to finish what you've started. You are, after all, among the top three signs of the zodiac when it comes to following through. But just in case you've momentarily fallen under the sway of a delusion that would encourage you to escape before the resolution is fully in place, I'm here to remind you: It's time to make the art of completion your graceful obsession.

I had to fire a colleague from conference planning and now am on my own as the leader of the event, but have learned so many good lessons from this: delegate, communicate, and then, move on if all else has failed.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

So, the firing was Wednesday night. Thursday, I was tired and grumpy when I got up, and it trickled down all day until an outburst that wasn't so nice. Short on rest and finally fed up, I reached a point of no longer being patient with all things French (or Parisian).

The carte de sejour. It's a brutal process to re-apply for the residency permit, but it's made a bit easier at school because there's one poor, sweet woman who attends to all the students (between select hours) for our applications. I remember seeing her last year after waiting for 4 hours one day, and then on another day after a 2-hour wait. The first time I didn't even make it in to see her. After 4 hours waiting, she came out of her office and apologized, but it was the end of the day and she wouldn't be seeing any more students. The second time I made sure I had all the necessary paperwork to ensure I wouldn't have to return - and I didn't! Got the temporary letter of permission, followed it with the doctor visit, and then got the official card to say I could stay in this country.

So, now I'm renewing, which should be easy. But, no bureaucratic thing in France is. I went for my first visit two weeks ago. With about 12 people in line, she wasn't accepting any more applicants at the 3pm hour. Left defeated and irritate. It's about a fifteen-minute walk from class - not much, but it becomes a lot when you're squeezing it in between class, lunch, class.

Returned last week and got in line behind ten people. Waited patiently, got some good work done, and finally got my chance. Had everything needed but a 3-month set of bank statements - I imagine the French government wants to assure spending within its borders or enough money to weather the financial crisis.

While I waited there were like 10 legitimate people for their first visit and repeated line-cutters who only had a few papers to turn in after being turned away with instructions for return.

She's a sweet paper lady, the carte de sejour woman. Does she have a name plate? Nope. Do we know her name on her door? No. She's like anon carte de sejour lady. Smiling even while I could barely write my name for lack of food, which produced hand shaking. She is patient and even-spirited. I'm sure she drinks a whole bottle of Pinot Noir each night and must smoke a pack a day just to get through, although I'm not sure when she'd find time for a break.

Yup, everything in order but the bank statements - a new turn for this year.

So, I came back about a week later. Asked the waiting students how the day was going and realized we had a first-timer, and two who just needed to drop their additions off - bank statements or other papers. Gradually, over the hour I was there, more and more people came and thought they had the right to just go to the office and basically jump the line. I tried my horrible French to ask what they were there for and to indicate that, yes, we were all here for a carte de sejour, which humbled most into getting in line. After about a half-hour with the first-timer in the office, trying to navigate in broken French and English between carte de sejour lady and the applicant, people started to lose their patience. The Aussie gal was like, I'm gonna get sacked if I don't make it back to work. I was corralling people into line. The Canandian boy was too timid to coral and admitted it. The last woman was Chinese, who unfortunately supported my style of dictating to the others.

After explaining to two students, I told the Aussie and the Canadian waiting that it was their turn to keep watch and explain. Aussie had perfect French and convinced a Russsian girl to leave due to time constraints. The Canandian got nowhere and never spoke.

I let the Aussie jump me to get her paperwork in and get off to her job. Then, a woman showed up and I informed her we were all in line for the same thing. She acknowledged and yet still waited at the open door. After the first-timer left, the Aussie went in and was rounding up her paperwork, and then - after me waiting there an hour and half - the French woman took a step inside the office. I know where it came from, from the bottom of my belly, from desperation, from tiredness, from justice, from impatience, from what is right. I jumped up and cut her off and had a heated explain in Franglo (French-English combo) that, dude, she might just have to "posé une question" but we all to just pose a question so get in line, woman. It was quite a complex exchange of my fumbling words and her defensiveness.

But after me not jumping the line, after being patient, after letting Aussie-freak-out-get-sacked, after all of it, I wasn't patient anymore. There is a process in the world - maybe not in France, but in the world there is respect for others and a degree of understanding that you have to wait your turn. And, maybe I was trying to transpose an American value, but dammit, I was fed up with the weird system I was subjected to. So, I Franglo'd my way through and she stormed out - after commenting that I didn't need to be so stressed, that all she had was a question, that it's not a big deal.

I entered to the empty seat opposite carte de sejour lady and she smiled, "Well (in French), I see you've been very patient. Thank you. Let's get this going." I informed her, with smiles and relaxed, that it was no big deal and that I'd be quick and all I had were my bank statements. She basically ignored the rest of my dossier (which she already approved, but generally wanted to look over in 2nd detail review), looked at the dates of my statements, approved, and signed a quick form.

It wasn't that I felt power at that moment, but that I felt justice. I'm still not used to this system where anything goes. Where the line at the post office all of a sudden becomes 2 strange lines because someone inches up alongside instead of behind and then thinks they can challenge you to the open window (when only 2 of 4 are open -- is this not just like Buenos Aires in 1988?). The lines at any window - a train station, a boulangerie - there's no form to them. They are layered and who cares who was there first - it's survival of the fittest - if you can edge up, you get served. So, damn me if I'm going to fight for that window then.

It was quite unusual for me. Even before entering carte de sejour hell, I'd spent 45 minutes in line at the post office to mail my election ballot. I'm patient. I'm even. I'm forgiving and I'm flexible. But only to a point.

I have started to understand the pattern of walking and transportation. It's like India, it seems like mass chaos, but people have their own patterns and rules for merging, signaling, crossing. In Paris, in Europe, the scooters take the free space of the roads or sidewalks, the cars merge quickly, the buses have a greater right if you don't beat them first, everyone has great brakes. Passing on the sidewalk there's no walk on the right, pass on the left. There is no order. It's free for all and each for their own - don't run over the bicyclist, don't rear-end the scooter, don't get rear-ended (and they are MUCH better drivers than in the USA). But it's a pattern I don't get yet. I still think it's more efficient to find a general agreement to path and passing. A conformist understanding. But they seem to make this chaos work. Not for me, not yet. So, when someone cuts the line, I take issue. Or, I took issue.

It felt good to defend myself, but I also felt tremendously like an a-hole.

I'm still not sure how to balance this.

Following this encounter, I was on my home, waiting for the bus. Three young girls, maybe ten or eleven years old, were goofing off waiting for the bus, too. One of them pushed another and she dropped her empty pop can on the sidewalk. They were giggling and pushing each other - you pick it up, no you. A mom walked by with her two kids and pointed the empty can to the girls and scolded them to pick it up. They laughed as she walked off and finger-pointed at each other again - you pick it up, no you. After I noticed that they were almost content to let it sit, I decided to say something.

Frankly, I'd been practicing this in my head since I saw a few juvenile boys launch their burger wrappers into the street. So, I turned to two of them, and said, "Mademoiselle, ça c'est pour la poubelle, c'est ne pas pour la rue." I'm sure this is wholly incorrect, but they both lurched for the can and picked it up and then giggle-fought over who had to deposit it. The bus came so I missed the end of it all. They got on and I read my homework the way home while listening to their giggles on the bus.

This felt less like power or old-lady-correcting, and more like, damn it, I like Paris and she gets trashed too often. Granted, there are paid sidewalk washers and street cleaners and poubelle picker-uppers, but people shouldn't just get lazy about it all. They'll still need the sidewalk washers and poubelle-picker-uppers since dogs still can't seem to pick up their own poops, and pigeons aren't trained yet, and there's still garbage in the poubelle. But at least we could stop adding to the crap.

I still felt like an a-hole. Who am I to think I can take a stand like this? I'm just a visitor. This isn't my country, nor my town. But I do like to abide by the "home is where I lay my head." So, I guess I do feel like I belong and I'd like to respect it.

My French has definitely improved though. So has my courage.

Between 4 papers, a few notes

NUMERO UNO: HAPPY BIRTHDAY HERMANA MIA!!!! You look one day more beautiful! xoxo


1) Don't believe the hype. The world is not filled with terrorists out to get the USA. It *is* filled with people who dispise Bush and think Americans are stupid for re-electing him. But don't believe the Republican Presidential candidates when they say "be very afraid, cower, they're coming with the Atom bomb, you must hire me to protect you." And if the Dems start saying that, by god, call 'em on it.

2) I am growing a bit tired of defending or explaining my country of birth (notice: not country of growth or country of favorite countries or country where I chose to stay to do my grad work because damnit it's so great). I try in broken French to explain how I am fed up with Bush and how sorry I am for all the damage he's done to the world. I try to feel calm when a speaker/lecturer/person with whom I am speaking says several negative things in a row (almost all justified) about "America" when really they mean "Many of America's Administrations and A Lot of America's Bad Movies and Most of the Commercialism That You've Exported or Allowed Leave Your Country or Voted into Office." Also, we need to start remembering to dissociate America from The United States. My fellow Americans, from Canada to Mexico to Colombia to Chile to Argentina, don't like being associated with the America of Imposed Democracy of the US Flavor. And, *I* am not American or United Statesian in that fashion. I tell them (when it's appropriate - I'm not about to raise my hand during a workshop and say, "I'd like to clarify here that *I* in fact worked for 6 years to fight Bush's policies and didn't sleep for weeks in order to get my own state Wisconsin to vote blue." It would be tacky to turn the spotlight on me), yes, I do tell them that I did do those things and that I don't buy into buying big cars and big houses and more and more and more and more. I reduce, reuse, recycle - do you, Mr/Ms Frenchy? (Such a disapointment to see the paper mixed with the banana peels.) I tell them I don't think the Iraq or Afghan wars were justified and I supported legislators who said so, but it would be a fuckall if we ditched the countries without some kind of support structure (excuse the French). I try to tell them that I'd like to make the world a better place but usually I feel like that's a bit overstating my own powers - and seems very American - what's a better place? From whose perspective?

3) The restaurant on the corner is owned by an Indian. The shisha bars are owned by Moroccans. The new, single bed was delievered - and kindly put together - by Algerians. The boulangeries are run by French. A lot of the prostitutes and their pimps in the hotel next door are Russians. There are two massage parlors (with happy endings I think) across the street owned by Thais. My tailor and his assistant are Turk and Romanian respectively. Around the corner I've got super fried juicy Chinese food made by Chinese folks. Downstairs a few doors over, a Japanese restaurant. The woman who presses clothes in the laundromat is Colombian. Yes, I really am living and going to school in international, real world places. I don't know that I would have gotten quite this exposure in Chicago, Philly, or even London. Although, I might not get this kind of living community in other arrondissements either.

4) I am proscrastinating my papers.

5) Paris hit 32F today. It doesn't feel that cold to me though. Probably due to the lack of snow. I can see my breath outside and it's super grey cloudy. But NO SNOW! YAY!!!!

6) I got my packages in the mail today - 2 people in front of me in line only! Then again, I was at the poste at 1pm. Also, PP & Family - he said it'd take a week. Hm. Curious. I'd like to see how true this is.

7) I made a law! Or at least, that's what I want on my invisible gravestone. And a do-gooder law at that. Ok, ok, I didn't make it, and I certainly didn't make it alone and it isn't a law yet, but I did help make the "Compassionate Care for Rape Victims" bill and get it through the Wisconsin legislature in 6 years. I stayed up until 1am to catch the Assembly floor debate but they were in caucus that time. So, I asked my rockstar ex-colleagues to ping me on Skype when they went to the floor on our issue. Slept until about 5am when Andrea pinged me to wake up! wake up! wake up! Only they weren't on our issue yet. So I napped until 6am (I had already emailed my French prof that I wouldn't be in class). Woke up miraculously to the quiet call on Skype again. Got to hear the whole twisted, ugly, wonderful floor debate. Some legislators - even women - can be assholes toward rape survivors. It's shocking really. Thank goodness for the WI Eye though because now people can see them being so in real time - and later... for advertisements... or additional public viewing.... at crucial times... like maybe... election season. And again, I was in admiration of my ex-intern superstar, who during the 2nd month of her year+ long internship started speaking out about her own experience with sexual assault and the empowerment of being offered a decision about her own life through the question "Would you like to take a pregnancy preventative, Emergency Contraception?" More than I, SHE made the law.

8) We've had all the presentations on our dual-degree partners: London School of Economics, Colombia in NYC, Hertie in Berlin, Lee Kuan Yew in Singapore. While I feel like I should go to Hertie in Berlin for all the practical reasons (cost, cost, cost), I think I need to follow the goals and dreams and stay here. It's exciting when people ask me if I'm going home for the holidays and I say, "Nope, I'm here for two years!" I don't think people understand it really. Why don't I want to go home? Why don't my parents love me anymore? Why doesn't my sister miss me? How could I spend the holidays ALONE? How could I not want to go BACK to my country? - I see this flash quickly across their faces. And I follow my statement up, "I told them, if they want to see me, they have to come to Paris! .. So sad, isn't it? Forced to visit Paris." and then "It's really not unusual for my family. Being in the military, we travelled a lot and spent a lot of holidays outside of the States. Plus, I'll see them next spring. Yes, I've spent Christmas away from my family. Actually, that Christmas in Portugal was momentarily kind of hard. About 4 of us exchange students were travelling in Lisboa and it was pouring rain and we took turns huddling under the umbrella and making the long-distance call home. What really got me was hearing my whole, extended family at my grandparents' farm. That's what I missed. But it's a bit different now. I'll miss them, but I'm SO excited to be away from the US and be in a foreign language country. Also, I might go to Madrid for Xmas. And, I've got friends in Paris who have all graciously offered me to join them for any holidays I can. So, no, my family haven't stopped loving me. No, I don't really want to go home yet. Nope, I won't be alone - if anything I'm sure like any other country, the Chinese restaurants are open on the 25th... Although, this IS France where no one works on Sundays so who knows!"

9) Get food in french - check. Use public transport in french - check. Get different sizes of bras (insisting on using my foreign language) in french - check. Write an email in horrible french to my cool banker - check. Give a 5 min presentation on immigrants to France from 1800s-1914 in french - check. Go to the doctor in french and not die - check. Get appropriate medications and submit the receipts for reimbursement in french - check. Get wonderful wine weekly from the corner 'cave' in french - check. Order awesome cheese in french for faux thanksgiving dinner - check. Re-order minutes on my cellphone by listening to automated prompting operator chick in french - check. Explain my political "aslyum" in french - check. Know when to ignore 'em, when to hold 'em, when to walk away, when to run in french - check. Get a date in french - check. Turn someone down in french - check. Tried to slyly weasel the student rate at the Club Med gym to a guy who turned veiny and red-faced at the thought of *me* being 32 and trying to scam the *under 28* student rate, dude, I said, it's only a question, calme, I'm not trying to make you angry in french - check. Okay, I think I've officially passed culture shock and have moved into somewhat-self-sufficiency in a foreign language. Next step is, I'm sure, The Big Argument on the street or with some kind of administrative personnel. Or, maybe The Emergency - like a pipe bursts or something comes flying through the window. I know I can call my landlord, but sometime I'd like to see if I can hack it. This would be like, Level 9 of French As French Do.

10) There are some really cool things happening around the city right now and I hope I get to catch some of them sometime (aside from the cool thing like, getting my hair trimmed because it's growing so fast!). There's this new exhibit at the national library releasing France's huge collection of erotica. "France's official hoard of erotica and pornography, lovingly assembled by the Bibliothèque Nationale over a period of 170 years, will be thrown open to the startled eyes of the public for the first time this week." ... Then there's the Academie de Musique which I won't be able to catch for the holiday season but will try for spring 08.

But for now... I need to stop procrastinating.

Happy holidays, everyone!!

xoxo

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!

How to go to graduate school in Paris

Subtitle: Especially if you're attending a new program - or maybe that's irrelevant and we can just call it Over-Planning USA Girl versus French System and Culture.

Sub-subtitle: How to go to the Master of Public Affairs program at Sciences Po.
(*A new program, based in English, having just graduated its first class in June 2007. I like to think of it as a young, vital alumni network. No jokes though, the grads were pretty damn lucky: "The MPA was proud to host His Highness the Aga Khan, key note speaker for the Graduation Ceremony in honor of the Class of 2007..")

So...
Where to start? Which foot first? Forward? Backward? Side-step? Two-step?

Put your left foot in and shake it all around.



Over-Planner Girl decided to lay it all out on paper. I come from modest means, worked for a non-profit for 6 years, and have no trust fund. I do have my wits, my health, a great family, fabulous lovers, wonderful friends and colleagues (whom I consider friends), and a few plants that I know love me despite my sporadic watering.

My list became such (a living document that floats between me and my financial adviser, my father, about once a week - we title each revision with a new "v.6" or whatever):

Sciences Po, Paris, France – Master of Public Affairs (it's good to title things)
Curriculum
Student Guide 2007-2008

The Curriculum link is there to let it sink in exactly what the hell you'll be studying.
The Student Guide: it may very well take a lot of searching to find this link - remember to bookmark links like crazy. They call the web a rabbit hole and you fall down just like Alice. But some websites are like ant farms - weaving down around up and about. You might try to return to where you originally started, but damn it all if you lost that original home page and none of the others have the same layout so you forget what you were even looking for in the beginning. All I'm saying is use your "open window in new tab" function a lot or bookmark like crazy. Anyway, the student guide has good information - in French, yet very helpful.

(Yeah, that reminds me. I am not fluent in French. I will be. But I'm not now. I spent three of my formative years in Buenos Aires and learned Castellano pretty well. During that time, in about 9th grade, I took a year of French from Madame Bousquet - god bless her. The boys considered her a MILF. The girls could have cared less about French. But somehow she drilled it into us in a very friendly, fashionably black way. When I visited Paris, I used what little I could remember - ou est l'toilet? s'il vous plaît - est-ce que - il y a - etc... And I have to say that I did not sense any disrespect or shunning or snobbery from anyone that I ran in to during those three days. Yes, granted, three days. But I really do think they take into consideration your effort. I also thank Mme B for the amazing accent she gave us. I recall distinctly when she explained that her accent, and the French we would learn, would be from central Paris. I wondered how many other places there were in the world that spoke French. My French does not suck. It has a long way to go, but I can at least read the Student Guide. And, um, you might want to get a grasp, too.)

Euro deposit for placement in program √
7000+ students at Sciences Po, 2300 are international

(Checkmarks are helpful - as is the strikethrough script. It's also fine to reaffirm and comfort yourself as you go through the list of things you need to do or know.)

The application fee is a non-refundable processing fee for submission of your dossier.
The deposit is the first payment of your tuition and will be deducted from the first installment you must pay when you register in September.

The study trip (there is only one study trip in the first year): All the airfares, accommodation and transportation relating to the visits are covered by your tuition (as are breakfast and one or two dinners). Other meals will be at your expense. All students will go on the study trip, they are not application-based.

2007-2008 Cost estimates (insert your own denominations here - one column for Euros one for USD)
First year tuition
Application fee
Accommodation (700/month x 12)
Utilities (50/month x 12)
Food (500/month x 12)
Culture / Leisure
Transportation (50/month x 12)
Health services/insurance
Books
Storage (USA)
Travel
Personal expenses
International flights (1 round trip or 1 one-way?)
MacBook laptop and all the buttons and whistles

Total - in Euros and USD

How to afford this:
Stafford unsubsidized
Stafford subsidized
Personal loan


Repeat for 2008-2009


Calendar
June-September: apartment hunting and securing
June-July: secure Stafford subsidized loan
July: One-way plane ticket, Mac computer, secure personal loan, find original birth certificate, 14 passport-sized photos (2: visa, 4: Carte de séjour, 4: school, 4: anything else),
August: U-haul moving trailer (Sun 8/12 10am – Mon 8/13 10am), U-Haul storage 8/01/07-08/01/09, health insurance, phone?, workplace health insurance for 8/1 – 8/31, Visa in Chicago 8/6, check Stafford Loan paperwork with ASA, secure health insurance, phone?, workplace IRA rollover?, life insurance?

Payments to Sciences Po:
TUITION DATES. The dates for tuition payment for 2007-2008 are the following :
--One payment by international transfer before October 31st 2007
OR
--4 installments
1) 25% at the time of registration (along with social security and complementary health insurance payment as required). This can be made by cheque or credit card payment at the Student Administration office.
2) 25% December 3rd
3) 25% February 11th
4) 25% April 21st
June-Sept ‘08: Internship [return to USA? FR? Other?]; travel expenses; housing

Stay tuned to our next episodes as we discuss:

The major headers / issues for the calendar and plotting the rest of your life include:

Financial Aid - the Stafford Loan, financial entities that give loans and aren't corrupt, the Loan Police, and realizing that there is good debt and investment debt and stop sweating you're not having a heart attack it's okay to owe a bit here and there.

Housing - the ins and outs of Craigslist and other websites, to colocate (roommates) or not, where to look, what are the agency fees and what are the charges, an attic room made for a 16 century maid or a 2-bedroom, the CAF, a picture tells a thousand words or how to trust your intuition, wire transfers, and reminders that USA is big and Europe is more condense.

Visa - the elaborate system to get the sticker with my ugly photo on it (thanks, Walgreens), the paperwork, the registration, the paperwork, the copies, the originals, the notorizing, the drive, the wait, the approval by some totally cute boy behind glass wearing such a great tie and pants combo.

Medical insurance - Europe is ageist, get coverage, get covered.

Travel - a round-trip ticket requires that you return within 365 days, get a one-way and make people visit YOU for the holidays.

Moving/Storage - getting from here to there and still keeping those things you acquired while you were a grown-up.

Phone - we think we're so free in the USA - get a phone in Europe.

Computer - I switched to a MacBook and went all out on it.

Transport in Paris - following the links on the right I found out about Velib, add annual membership to Velib into budget but are there other costs? Metro, buy a bike, taxi, bus, mule, ride a Remy?

Banking in Paris - which bank, how bank, patience bank.

As you can see, some of these items I have yet to really find out about. So, stick around to see how it all pans out.





So, yeah, on a totally personal note, I haven't really cried too much yet. I've lived here for 6 years and have made some amazing friends and have loved my job - I'm quitting to further my career not because I want to escape it.

It hasn't felt too hard to leave, but leaving feels hard. I've been tempering my excitement and have rather blushed when telling folks around here that I was going to Paris for grad school. I say that it's a departure for me - knowing full well that I've traveled all my life except for spending the longest amount of consecutive time here. I say that, knowing full well that my supervisor always reminds me of the time when we were interviewing her - about 2 years into my job - and I informed her that I wouldn't be here much longer and that I was going to go to grad school. I guess there's something to be said for incubation.

It's kind of odd though. Once you tell people you're leaving there's a window of time for your welcome and spotlight. After about a month people tire of hearing about you leaving and after 2 good-bye parties they're ready to see you to the door. For the movers-on it's a bit harder. Although it's always been said that it's more difficult for the left-behind. While it seems that everyone around me has moved on and keeps trucking, I feel a little stagnant - packing, seeing the same walls day after day, wondering what they're doing, spying through the secret left-over passcode entry email. And I know what it's like to be left. You gotta pick up and move on, continue on, feel the sting of the pain of sadness and then keep going. If the sting keeps reappearing over and over it makes the separation harder. I got new glasses and showed my ex-boyfriend (now good friend). I went from thick rimmed glasses to no rims. "What's different about them? I can't remember what you wore before." The after-work drinks I was going to get a week after I quit suddenly disapated into one person going on early vacation, another having her parents in town, and suddenly you slip off the calendar because life continues.

I don't expect to be noticed or remembered. I just wasn't ready to be forgotten so soon.

I've been looking forward for a long time though. I think that's why I haven't cried much yet. I will feel that homesickness when I get there. I will want to look back and thank god for online photo albums so I can cry over this and that back then.

But there are these odd little things that make me tear up:
I didn't wash the towel my last lover used and when I packed it I felt sad. In cleaning and packing I found a few things my ex might want. It's almost like break-up all over: these should be your things. The last Friday in town when the sun is setting so perfectly rosy over the buildings and lakes. The sound of the buzzing cicadas on fire. The slow yellow glow added to the green leaves as a sign of autumn. The last dive weekend where each block hosts a pile of used couches, clothes, desks, cookery, tvs, more clothes, books. The last time I visit my local liquor store.

I did my tarot cards last night. No, I'm not a hippie but I got it as a gift and tried it once and it was dead on. So, every now and then, I tap in. It confirmed only good things in the future, only good lessons in the past.

We shall see. Nous verrons.