Suzanne à Grenoble

BTW, I've moved

2006-10-08T23:13:00.000-05:00

Sorry this comes so late, but I've moved here.

Up North

2006-08-27T22:49:00.000-05:00

Unlocking my inner superhero

2006-07-13T18:49:00.000-05:00

This is who I really am on the inside:

You are Spider-Man

Spider-Man		85%
Hulk		65%
Supergirl		65%
Wonder Woman		60%
The Flash		45%
Catwoman		45%
Superman		40%
Robin		40%
Iron Man		35%
Green Lantern		30%
Batman		15%

You are intelligent, witty,
a bit geeky and have great
power and responsibility.

Click here to take the "Which Superhero are you?" quiz...

Great Mass Getaduck

2006-06-26T18:46:00.000-05:00

Just got back from a great Ride for MS in Massachusetts. This was one of the highlights of the trip (taken on the party boat on the way back to Quincy from Provincetown. More to follow.

Great Mass Getaway

2006-06-19T12:53:00.000-05:00

Dear Friends and Family,

I'm doing something next weekend that is very important to me, and I am hoping it will interest you, too. Every hour someone is diagnosed with multiple sclerosis (MS), a chronic disease of the central nervous system affecting the brain and spinal cord.

What if every day you woke up not knowing if you'd be able to get out of bed or hold your child? For many people with multiple sclerosis, this is their reality.

MS usually strikes adults in the prime of life - between the ages of 20 and 50. It comes and goes unpredictably, leaving people to wonder, "Will I become paralyzed, blind or have trouble walking? Will I be able to raise my family and continue my career?"

Please join me in supporting the National MS Society's mission to end the devastating effects of MS.

On June 24, I'll be participating in a ride from Boston to Provincetown, Mass. to raise money to battle this frightening disease. The ride is 2 days, 150 miles. My original fundraising goal was $400, but I'm going to challenge myself and double that goal. I have about a week to raise $800, and with your help, I know I can do it. You can support me by clicking the link below and making a secure online epledge.

Please pass this on to anyone you think may be interested in supporting this important cause.

Thank you - together we can make a difference!

Yours,

Suzanne

To sponsor me:
Click here

To visit My Personal Page :
Click here

To visit My Team Page :
Click here

For more information about this event:
Click here

For more information about the National MS Society:
Click here

Past 2 Weekends

2006-06-06T12:20:00.000-05:00

A kiss before sailing

Spent a wonderful weekend up at Ryan's family's cabin at Milacs Lake in Minnesota. Once we duct taped me to the mast with my bright orange lifejacket, I screamed out "I'm Sailing! I'm Sailing!" Oh no, wait. That was the 1991 film,What About Bob? Silly me. We also canoed, kayaked, floated on inner tubes, and barbequed in the most beautiful weather imaginable.

Ryan, Flint and Me 2 weekends ago
Originally uploaded by sbp1980.

One of us was recently dipped in holy water... Can you guess which one?

(Flint is Ryan's nephew, whose baptism we attended in Milwaukee). Click on the photos to see more pictures from both weekends.

aidan

2006-05-15T10:16:00.001-05:00

Saw John Corbett Friday night at Joe's on Weed St. Check out that hair. The ladies (including this one) were swooning over his red ruffly shirt and leather vest.

26 has a new name

2006-05-12T00:15:00.000-05:00

Ang Suz shots,
originally uploaded by sbp1980.

There was much mirth and revelry on my birthday last Tuesday. The guy behind me is about to reveal a birthday flan, but I don't know it at this point. Imagine me, that happy, BEFORE a birthday flan. Now imagine me once the birthday flan was put before me. Need I say more?

Click on the image to see more photos from my birthday and other recent events on my flickr page.

Another gem from St. Louis...

2006-05-09T19:11:00.000-05:00

Ry Dairy Queen 2,
originally uploaded by sbp1980.

This is what he looked like BEFORE 2 cheeseburgers (2 for $2 at Dairy Queen). My heart goes pitter patter.

Meet me in St. Louie

2006-05-08T22:54:00.000-05:00

Went down to St. Louis to meet up with Ryan on his way across America on bike. He had a day off so we got to do some pret-ty exciting things like visit the Anheuse Busch Brewery and the St. Louis Arch. Fun was had by all.

Save the Date

2006-05-03T23:59:00.000-05:00

Apparently, this is going on during the month of May. Sounds like a great way to bring family and friends togther. Or at least friends. I can't really see family participating in something like this. It would put an awkward spin on Thanksgiving dinner conversation.

May Day

2006-05-01T11:19:00.000-05:00

Fun facts about May Day(loosely stolen from Wikipedia):

1. It's also called International Worker's Day
2. The day originated as a commemoration of the 1886 Haymarket Riot in Chicago
3. Many countries of the world get this day off
4. We do not
5. We used to, before the Red Scare
6. I wish America wasn't afraid of communists so I could get this day off work
7. If I did get this day off, it would come out of the 30 combined sick and vacation days I get a year, and so I would have to choose to take the day off and it wouldn't matter if it were a national holiday or not

Here in Chicago, today kind of sucks though because it's going to rain on all the protesters. Not just the immigration protesters, but the Save Darfur protesters, who, for some reason, decided to protest on the exact same day as another organized national protest, instead of over the weekend, as did other cities such as New York and D.C. I wanted to go to the Darfur rally today in Chicago, but a) I have to work and b) it seems silly to compete with the immigration demonstration. I know, excuses, excuses. I'll be there in spirit.

Speaking of Darfur, it is awesome that people are finally raising awareness of the horrors that are occuring daily, but the situation has been dire for a couple years. Why did it take so long for major public figures to speak out?

Is cruelty to animals the new black?

2006-04-30T11:04:00.000-05:00

There have been two news headlines in the past week involving teenagers doing horrible things to animals for apparent fun. The more recent incident involved two Missouri boys (one teenager and a 21-year-old) feeding vodka to a puppy at a party and nearly killing it. Poor little Daisy!

The other animal cruelty story, from April 28: two girls videotaped themselves kicking a cat wrapped in plastic around a room while yelling at it! What? When did it become acceptable--fashionable, even--to abuse animals?

These kids are giving the Midwest a bad name.

To further upset you, a friend told me a story last week from the road (I think this happened somewhere in Colorado or Utah): he witnessed a man in a motel parking lot beating up a puppy in the back of a pickup truck. At one point, my source said, the man threw the puppy onto the ground. When he and another bystander confronted the man, he said something like, "oh, this puppy deserves what she's getting. She just needs to learn." Then they called the animal police, who were unable to locate any signs of abuse, so the man got to keep his puppy--or should I say, punching bag?

What's going on here? Does it seem like people are getting a lot angrier and finding the most horrible ways to express that anger?

need to learn to wake up

2006-04-28T13:33:00.000-05:00

The only bad thing about trying to establish an exercise routine is that when I break it, I feel terrible. Today I tried so hard to get up at 6 a.m. with the idea that I'd be on the path at 6:30, then back by 7:30 in time to shower before leaving at 8 for an appointment at 8:30.

It didn't work that way.

First of all, I set 3 alarms. But I think setting 3 alarms made me even more anxious, because around 6:00, I had a dream that it was night time and I was just starting to fall asleep when: bi-bi-bi-beep! bi-bi-bi-beep! The first one--my cell phone alarm--forced the realization that I had already been asleep for seven hours. I hit snooze. It kept bugging me every five minutes until I finally turned it off around 6:30 and stayed in bed.

I thought about running, I really did. A vague, foggy voice kept softly telling me, "you want to be out there. This is why you set the alarms. Just get up and you'll see." But I said "screw you" to that little voice and kept sleeping. The second alarm was set for 7 a.m. I don't know why I set the alarms like this. It was like a ticket to stay in bed. The second alarm was really more of a nuisance. It was the radio, which always seems so bizarre coming out of sleep. Like, "who are these people in my room at 7 a.m. and why are they talking about Christina Aguilera?" I hit snooze several times because I couldn't figure out how to turn the damn thing off (it's a borrowed clock radio from someone who has to get up really early all the time. I used to always wake up on time when he had to get up. Don't know why it doesn't work when I'm alone...). I finally turned the volume off on the radio and went back to sleep, realizing that it was too late to run and be back in time to shower.

The third and final alarm was the buzzer at 7:30 a.m. Curse the people who make clock radios with more than one alarm. It really is just a way to delay the inevitable. With one alarm, you realize that you don't have a choice, and you get up. With two, you pretend you're getting up early, but really you're just allowing yourself to sleep in until the last minute anyways. I hit snooze several more times and then finally was somewhat awake, but just lay in bed and stared at walls for a couple more minutes, then pulled my laptop on my stomach, checked my email, spaced out a little bit longer, and then FINALLY, after it was either get up or call in sick, I dragged myself into the shower and got ready to go.

Haven't exercised since Wednesday night (unless you count Irish Step dancing, which wasn't much of a workout because Lisa and I ate Mexican food, including blood orange margaritas, right before we danced, so we were sluggish and ill throughout the class). This can't go on. Tomorrow I will get up at a reasonable hour and take a run and go to my favorite Pilates class.

Don't worry, I'm not turning into one of those obsessive worker outers. I just like how I feel when I'm active. And I look pretty good, too.

Just Braise, y'all

2006-04-27T11:17:00.000-05:00

I just want to give a shout out to my friend, Stacey. I've known her since kindergarten, when (as she often likes to recall), I sported a beehive-like mop of red curls atop my little head. Stacey has a simply wonderful foodie Web site called Just Braise. I was reminded of just how good her site is when I came across this other food blog: http://blog.myyee.com. There's just no comparison. I'm sure this other blogger puts a lot of work into her recipes and photos, but Stacey's work is just, well, better. And Stacey writes fantastic stories to accompany each dish. And her photography might as well be cut from a gastronomy magazine because it's so professional-looking. Take a look, and tell me what you think.

Razoring into the 21st Century

2006-04-26T15:42:00.000-05:00

Last night, my dad (and mom) bought me a new cell phone (early birthday present). This is my first "new" phone in about 3 years, and the only one I've owned that's got really extraneous novelty features, like a mini camcorder and camera, and ability to play mp3s. Unfortunately, it's so fancy and slick that I can't figure out how to use any of these features, and the battery is so thin that it probably won't last a day if I talk more than a couple of times. I have 14 days to return it, and may end up doing so, because what good is a fancy phone if you can't figure out how to use it?
(Yes, that is me at work. Yes, I am posting this from work. Yes, I did take those pictures of myself. Yes, my job is very exciting)

LIVE

2006-04-26T15:03:00.000-05:00

Last Thursday (almost a week ago--sorry, I've been behind in postings) was my Irish Step class's 2nd "graduation" show at the Old Town School of Folk Music. As you can see, I'm an Irish step dancing superstar.

Later that night, I brought my guitar out of its dusty cavern and played open mic night at the Tin Lizzy, 'round the corner from where I live. I was cajoled into going on stage, and probably could have used about a month's worth more practice, but it was a good way to get back into performing. I've been listening to a lot of bluegrass-esque music lately, and decided that this term, in addition to Irish Step, I'll be taking a bluegrass ensemble class. Pretty soon, I'll be speaking with an Irish brogue and a southern twang at the same time. It will be HOT.

Revelation

2006-04-19T15:46:00.000-05:00

I discovered recently that running doesn't have to suck. All my life, I've wanted to be a runner, but couldn't get past the first mile. It made me feel like I wanted to die. But the other day, my cousin Howard (a veteran recreational runner) told me I was probably trying to run too fast and tiring out too soon. With legs like these, boys, my instinct is to use them to their fullest potential and run like a gazelle (I guess that would be more like leaping, but you know what I mean). It always seemed old-mannish to run slowly and not be keeping up with the other svelte yuppies sprinting on the path along the lake. Yet going fast, feeling like you want to hurl, then stopping after a short distance probably aren't as healthy as keeping up a good cardio-building jog consistently for longer distances and building up more speed each time.

This isn't rocket science, but somehow the concept never fully hit me until now.

Now I'm up to almost 4 miles of smooth jogging and it feels grrrrreat. I'm not going to tell you how much time it takes me, but I'll let you know when I get to marathon speed ;)

I guess like the song goes, "nice and easy does it every time."

40's Movie Star

2006-04-15T02:44:00.000-05:00

(Just kidding, it's just me)

Once again, New York City

2006-04-14T00:34:00.000-05:00

It looks like I'll be venturing back to the island of Manhattan in the fall, for better or for worse. Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled to be heading back to school--it's exciting as hell--but I'm not as awed by the Big Apple as I once was. My recent visit reminded me that NYC is a myriad of Stuff to buy, to eat, to do, etc. and it feels like everyone is "on" all the time. The nagging question: how will I constrain the consumeristic self that lurks inside when I'm surrounded by all this Stuff all the time? I guess having little money and being extremely busy will curb the desire to buy, have, and be cooler than everyone else.

Even though you did not ask

2006-04-06T00:10:00.000-05:00

Yes, it is hard to be stuck inside a question mark—
harder still to not know who asked the question
or what they were trying to find out in the first place.
It is, in fact, in case you were wondering, very difficult
to try to make stuff happen during the day,
for money,
when all you can think about is,
What’s coming next?
Not the Next of tomorrow or this afternoon,
but the Next Phase of your life,
when it’s all going to happen.
When what you’ve been wading through the river of Uncertainty for
and taking your daily dose of SuckItUP
will finally reciprocate and give you something More.

And it is about the Journey--you know that.
You know you’ve got to count your blessings and enjoy the path,
not focus on the Destination.
But sometimes you just ache with Anticipation
when they won’t give you what you want (when you want it).
Sometimes you just want to beat down their door
and ask them to make up their fucking minds already.

Fate is cruel to little girls with big dreams
who know they’ve got It but don’t know what It is just yet.

Phew!

2006-03-20T20:27:00.000-06:00

Got into NYU! (the School where I messed up my GRE scores). Very excited. Nice to know that some schools are forgiving of slight application errors.

The program is an M.A. in French Studies and Journalism, which sounds cool. Maybe the universe wants me to go back to France or have some connection to French language and culture--I don't know. One more school to hear from, and then I'll make my decision.

boo who?

2006-03-16T00:04:00.000-06:00

Did not get into a certain local school that has a very good reputation for journalism. I want to call up the woman who was supposedly "helping" me and yell at her perky blond ass. I wish I could go back in time and fix my stupid bureaucratic mistake. Fucking assholes. I'll just take my $30,000 and spend it elsewhere, thank you very much. And when I become the youngest international journalist to win the Pulitzer, I will call up Ms. Perky Admissions Associate and tell her where to shove it.

When you assume, you make an ass out of u and the woman sitting next to you...

2006-03-14T22:43:00.000-06:00

At the Atwood Café, in Chicago's Burnham Hotel, looks can be deceiving.

To the average customer (average being over 55, eating alone or with a partner, drinking fine wine and relaxing after a long day of work), two tall, twentysomething ladies who sit giggling loudly at the table by the window as they share appetizers, might not have anything "important" to say.

So muttered the woman at the table next to us as she stood up to leave after her meal. She had been dining alone--reading the paper as she sipped on white wine--but was not for lack of conversation. Throughout our meal, we could hear this woman breathing comments impossible to decipher, but harder still to ignore. I thought she was a little light in the loafers, having some kind of discourse with herself. But after she paid and brushed past us, we finally caught wind of the subjects of her commentary: us.

My partner was rattling off an anecdote in her casual, youthful manner, and the woman in question mumbled something that we understood a couple seconds after she was out of sight:
"Stop saying 'like!'"

We were in shock. This lady had not only been listening to our private conversation, but had a beef with the way we were speaking, and couldn't keep it to herself. Now I don't care if you have a problem with the way I speak. I use "like" as a filler word, and so does most of my generation. It's fairly accepted, if used informally. But the fact that the woman was listening in on our conversation about fairly serious issues--love, relationships, and the pursuit of happiness--and could only comment on the most mundane of linguistic habits really irked me. It was as if she assumed that we were unintelligent because we have a tendency to speak in something less correct than the Queen's English.

But wait: the story is not over yet.

After Wig Lady left (I call her that because she was, in fact, wearing a badly highlighted brown spiky wig--not to be made fun of under normal circumstances, but she had already broken the rules of common courtesy), we kept saying that if we'd caught her in time, we'd have given her a piece of our minds. Boy, if I ever saw her again, I told my friend, I'd ask her to repeat her passive-agressive commentaire. So we finished our way-overpriced glasses of fancy red wine, stuffed our bellies with warm goat cheese & sweet confit on crackers, paid, and got up to leave.

It was then that we noticed that the Atwood had been sponsoring a charity donation program with Community Shares Illinois for the evening, where 30% of every patron's bill went to the organization, or any of its partner groups. There were two women chatting in the lobby of the hotel outside the restaurant, wearing Community Shares buttons, and one of them was Wig Lady! We passed by and I pointed behind her back and silently indicated to my friend that this was the one!

We walked by, glaring at Wig Lady, and then, just as we got to the exit doors, I stopped in my tracks and declared, "we're going back."

I didn't know what I was going to say, but I wanted to find out what this woman was all about, because it was clear she was more sane than we thought.

So, we walked back to where the two woman were planted, and my friend started asking about their organization. It turned out that the organization is a really good thing, and we felt bad that we had assumed the worst of Wig Lady. BUT, she must have felt pretty bad too, because in the course of our introductions, both my friend and I got a chance to present ourselves and the work we do in our most refined, elegant, eloquent language. She saw what we were made of, alright. And then some.

P.S. The reason we were at such a fancy place was in celebration of the fact that I found out I got into one of my grad schools (the Newhouse School of Public Communications at Syracuse University)! It's a huge relief, and I feel really good that somebody somewhere thinks I write real good.

what the deuce?

2006-03-07T20:45:00.000-06:00

Still no word on the grad school front. Last time I checked, universities do not send their notification letters via pony express, so what the deuce?

somebody's got a case of the mondays...

2006-03-06T07:48:00.000-06:00

It's 7:48 a.m. and I really should be getting ready for work, but instead I'm lying in my darkened room, mulling over melancholic dreams and trying to figure out how my pajamas managed to find themselves on the floor instead of staying my body.

Today could be the day I find out about the grad school that never got my test scores. I'm trying to be upbeat about it, but it's hard to be upbeat at 7:56 on a gloomy Monday morning when your cold won't leave your body and you have to go to work. Gosh, I sound like a real party, don't I?

One more depressing thing (and then I promise the next post will be optimistic): I got my laptop back from the Apple store last night, and they couldn't save any of my old files before giving me a new hard drive. Luckily, my bosses helped me save a good deal of it before I handed it over to those butchers. At least they did it for free.

yikes

2006-03-03T16:50:00.000-06:00

So yet another grad school mishap has befallen me--this time because I stupidly confused two very-similar sounding schools at a large university, and did not find out until last week that my test scores were sent to the wrong school. I am so smart.

Fortunately, they were able to make the decision without my scores...??? This can't be good. See below (identifying names have been omitted. The original letter is below the response).

From : Kristi < >
Sent : Friday, March 3, 2006 4:39 PM
To : Suzanne < >
Subject : Re: application materials missing?

Dear Suzanne,

A decision has been made on your application, and a letter was mailed out yesterday. You do not need to worry about the scores.

Thank you.

Kristi S______

At 11:27 AM 3/3/2006, you wrote:
Dear G_____ Asmissions,

I am an applicant to the Joint M.A. in F_________ & J_________ for Fall 2006. I recently found out that my GRE scores were sent to the wrong school at N__ (G_______ instead of G____). I have resolved this problem by rushing the scores to G_____, but I fear that they won't get there in time for my application to be reviewed.

I humbly ask you to pardon ETS's error and consider my application with the current round of decisions.

Please let me know what else I can do to make sure that my application is reviewed as soon as possible.

Thank you for your time,

Suzanne ___________
UID: ____________

i get by with a little help from...

2006-03-01T23:02:00.000-06:00

I am forever indebted to my close girlfriends. When I told some of them about a recent mishap in my grad school application process, they got very concerned, and immediately started calling around to whomever they knew who is remotely associated with the school to which I am applying. It's such a nice feeling to have friends who go to bat for you.

Ride, Cap'n, Ride

2006-02-26T21:05:00.000-06:00

My friend Ryan is doing a really cool thing called the Ride for World Health. A group of mostly med students will bike across the country giving lectures on public health issues in several cities along the route, and raising money for Partners in Health. He leaves in about a month and must raise a certain amount of money before he goes. Check out his progress here. Kind of makes you want to get off your ass and do something good.

V is for Victory

2006-02-14T01:06:00.000-06:00

Some people get all excited and/or worked up about St. Valentine's day. They stress about finding the perfect gift, going on the perfect date, wearing the perfect pink panties. Others of us just laugh at those people. Valentine's day is fine, if you're into that kind of thing. If you don't express your love on a daily basis, then go ahead, use this day to make up for all the other days you didn't do something to let somebody know you care. But the rest of us will show love every day of the year and not give greeting card companies our hard-earned cash just because someone tells us that Feb. 14th is the day to give someone something that shows them you like them. Or "like them" like them. Or love them. Or Luuuurve them.

On the other hand, you could use this day to speak out against violence against women. Check out this site to discover an alternative to chocolates and flowers this V-day: http://www.vday.org

And no, I'm not bitter. But I could use some bittersweet chocolate. Damn! I just told you not to spend money on chocolate this year. Better work on that.

it's all part of my rock & roll fantasy

2006-02-13T00:43:00.000-06:00

While folks in New York are buried in the biggest blizzard on record, I've spent the past three days waking up to the sound of the waves as they slam into the pacific shore not 2,000 feet from my window. I can't believe people live like this. Warm climates never cease to amaze me.

View from my aunt & uncle's beach house living room

L.A. never ceases to amaze me, either. While pretend-shopping at Fred Segal in Santa Monica today, we saw a Che Guevara cashmere sweater. Do you think that irony is intentional?

A Brunette, a Blonde, and a Redhead Walk Into a Bar...

2005-12-18T13:26:00.000-06:00

Friday night kicked off Lisa and my Irish Bar Adventure at fado, which I guess is a national chain, but we didn't know it at the time. Our guest adventurer this week was Slone, making us a deadly trio of hotness (hence the title of this post). Lisa and I cut quite a rug with the band on the third floor while the rest of our group of lovely ladies held court on the seating area in the area between the first and third floors (decorated Pirates of the Carribean-style, complete with half a wooden ship's prow and maritime murals of mermaids and monks). The highlight of the evening involved the brunette and the redhead singing "Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer" onstage with the Celtic Band.

The Cookbook*

2005-11-27T13:18:00.001-06:00

Dear Readers,
I know, I have been missing from Blogland lately. This is due to my attempts at writing stuff that I feel good about and not producing anything AT ALL. I need help. Here's a piece I'm working on. Note: IT IS NOT FINISHED. I'm open to suggestions for where it should go. I have so many ideas but can't settle on just one.
I appreciate your patience and please, do not even think about stealing this because it's copywrighted.
Yours,
Suzanne

*names have been changed

The best cookbook in the world is sitting in the kitchen drawer of Madame Hélène A_____, of Grenoble, France. It measures approximately five by five inches, and its yellowed pages contain recipes written in several colors of ink, by several different hands over the past forty years. Its covers are adorned with faded black gift-wrap paper, added at some point to protect against the elements. The book was created by an older female neighbor who became a mentor to Hélène during the early days of her marriage. It began as just a simple notebook whose first couple of recipe entries were intended to guide the young matriarch, yet its significance was immeasurable. Hélène was unlike most newlyweds in 1960’s France. In addition to fulfilling the role of devoted housewife, she had the added task of raising two school-aged children, Francine and Mattieu, who had recently emigrated with their widowed father from war-torn Algeria. The cookbook served as a foundation of recipes as Hélène struggled to build the foundation of her new family.

I sit in Hélène’s kitchen, as I have most afternoons for the past couple of months. I have a standing invitation to come over for the midday meal, prepared lovingly by the 83-year old grandmother of my petit ami, Gérald. While we wait for Francine to return home from work for her two-hour lunch break, Hélène asks me, “do you want to see the Bible?” with a jocular twinkle in her eye. I assume that my less-than-complete grasp of the language is leading me to confusion, because she would never try to push her Catholicism on me. I look to Gérard for help. He smiles, knowingly, as Hélène instructs me to open up the drawer behind me. Inside, among several coupons and receipts, I find the small notebook lined with wrapping paper. I open it, thinking, this is a funny-looking Bible, when I realize the joke: the cookbook is their recipe Bible. Many of the recipes are written in handwritings I find challenging to decipher, but I recognize telltale French dishes such as tarte tatin and ratatouille, both of which I have tasted in this kitchen.

A couple of months ago, I finished my program as an English teaching assistant in three local elementary schools. Since my lease was up, and I wished to stay and explore the region, Gérard offered to share his room with me, rent-free for the spring and early summer. The only catch is, the apartment belongs to his mother, Christine, who sleeps on a pull-out couch in the living room while another American, Hank, rents what used to be her room. Needless to say, it’s a tight squeeze. When Hank first moved in, at the rentré (beginning of the academic year), Christine slept in an apartment upstairs that she rented to her boyfriend at the time. But theirs was a volatile affair, as French romances are rumored to be, and after several years of splitting up and making up, Christine finally limited relations with her upstairs tenant to strictly professional matters. Since the break up, whenever she is not at work or at the market, Christine can be found watching TV or reading on the convertible leather sofa in the living room. Were I not out of a job and slightly in love with her son, I would never have imposed myself on the three of them.

Luckily, since I moved in, Hélène and Francine, who live just down the street, have been inviting me to dine with them at midi almost every day. At first, I would just come with Gérard when he didn’t have a class to go to, but then I started showing up daily, as I had no job and enjoyed the company of the two women. Francine and I have bonded in a way that I cannot seem to share with her younger half-sister, Christine, who is generous and kind, but has difficulty reaching out to others (even her own family). Francine, the worldlier and more intellectual, yet humbler of the two, shares with me her knowledge of books and music, and is an easy conversation partner, despite the slight language barrier. Often after a meal, we sit in the kitchen with our cafés—mine with several sugar cubes to compensate for the intense bitterness, hers accompanied by a hand-rolled cigarette—discussing world religions, or French poetry, or her travels before marriage. Never the erudite, when Hélène cannot contribute to a conversation, she either looks on tacitly, changes the subject, or finds something that needs doing. After meals, that something is taking her coffee to the salon to watch the news on TV. When Gérard is there, he joins her, less interested in his aunt’s opinion than what’s going on in world politics.

On this particular day, the day of the cookbook-bible, Francine and Hélène both remain in the kitchen after lunch, as I am fascinated by the little family heirloom and the treasures promised by its pages. They appreciate my interest in their traditions, yet are a bit surprised at my fervent round of questioning. “So who added this recipe?” “How often do you make this one?” “Where do you find that ingredient?” “What’s a quenelle?” The women suggest I return one afternoon for a cooking lesson. I agree, excitedly, adding that I would pay for any ingredients needed, which they both pooh-pooh with a wave of their hands, as if that were the most absurd idea they’d ever heard. Still, I feel that I should do something for them.

One or both of them prepare a hearty lunch for us daily, without asking or expecting anything in return.
In France, lunch is the main meal of the day. Employees and students are often given a two-hour break in the middle of the day to come home and ideally spend time with family. This, of course, is not always possible, and lunch breaks are getting increasingly shorter and less relaxing as people work longer hours and live farther away from their places of work. However, Hélène is a woman who respects tradition, and as such, she puts a substantial meal on the table every day, regardless of how many guests are there. Putting a meal on the table requires going to the farmer’s market every day to find fresh ingredients. While French cities and towns are espousing more and more American-style supermarkets, you can still find local greenmarkets almost everywhere. Regional farmers, butchers, florists and cheese mongers bring their goods to Grenoble’s marché de l’Estacade six mornings a week, and locals arrive early to get the “cream of the crop,” as it were. Hélène frequents the same vendors each time she goes to l’Estancade; she knows what she wants and she knows who best to buy from.

Deep Thoughts

2005-10-05T23:35:00.000-05:00

Sometimes when I put on a business suit and walk around downtown Chicago, I feel like I actually have a job.

Rosh Hashanah Haiku

2005-10-04T15:59:00.000-05:00

It seems hard to pray
For the whole world on one day
Where is God all year?

Restaurant Sundays

2005-10-02T18:19:00.000-05:00

The guys cleaning up the restaurant work quietly, occasionally whistling melodies that trail off before they become melodies. Once in awhile, I’ll hear a tenor voice wailing a high note from the kitchen, where one of the local Latino music stations blares at maximum volume from a small transistor radio. Other than that, the only sounds in the vacant restaurant are the sounds of cleaning—the bristly broom against the pebble-encrusted floor, the rag squeakily wiping window cleaner across various glass surfaces, the mop wringing bleach-scented water into the bucket as it gets prepared to erase the traces of last night’s sticky drips and spills.

I sit at the host stand, trying to get over a hangover while waiting for someone to call. It’s Sunday, so most normal people are either trying to sleep off Saturday’s excesses and indiscretions, gathering together with family and friends for brunch, or trying to ignore or prepare for the week ahead.

Around 10:30 a.m., a Latino man bearing a food package rings the buzzer and I let him in. He says something to me in Spanish, and I point him to the main dining room, where one of the clean up crew is working on the windows. They exchange packages and money. The food man leaves and I muster up my best “gracias” that I hope signifies a lack of knowledge of the language, but an earnest desire to communicate. He smiles and ducks out.

About ten minutes later, the smaller of the two clean-up crewmen appears before me and presents a plate of fried rice, breaded, deep-fried shrimp, and shredded lettuce, beautifully arranged for my eating pleasure. “For me?” I ask, pointing to myself. “Yes, yes!” he says, unsmiling but not unkind. It’s a bit hard to tell if he’s looking at me because he is very cross-eyed, but I think I am making eye contact with him as I exclaim, “thank you so much! That’s so nice!” He nods and walks away. Mind you, it’s 10:45 a.m., and I have already eaten scrambled eggs with cheese and bacon at home, but I am not one to refuse a gift so graciously given.

The guys who work during the day and I have limited communication, largely because of their beginning English skills and my (lack of) Spanish skills. They do not try to make small talk with me, nor do they flirt with me, like the bussers, food runners and kitchen workers do during the night shift. I know that they are probably doing this job because they are not qualified to work the floor during business hours (read: customer interaction hours), which means that they are probably being paid rather poorly for the work that they do. So when they offer me part of their “comida” without my asking and without ever having had a real conversation with either of them, I am touched. And I eat it, whatever it may be that day. I want to say, “please do not give me your food, I do not deserve it. I’m doing this job so that I don’t go insane living with my parents while I figure out what I want to do with my life. I am not working to survive.” But explaining that wouldn’t change anything. They would still have food to give and I would still be sitting here twiddling my thumbs while they cleaned the grit off the windows and the grill in the kitchen. I do not even know their names.

where have you BEEN?

2005-09-04T14:21:00.000-05:00

After much nagging from my (two) loyal fans, I am posting to let you know that I have not quit blogging. My life has been a bit unstable these days, and eloquent writing has not been exactly flowing from my fingertips.

So I'm in New York, once again. Showing G. around the city. Looking for jobs, looking for sanity. Went to the penguin movie last night. Cute, but might as well have watched it at home on the National Geographic Channel. That way I could have avoided sitting in front of a couple, once again, who did not know how to WHISPER! I know I've wrote about this phenomenon before, but it never ceases to amaze me. There is a difference between speaking in full voice and whispering. You can tell if you're using your vocal chords, or not. If you are, OTHER PEOPLE CAN HEAR YOU, TOO. You are not in your own little private movie theatre, where you can give your mate a running commentary without bothering the people sitting directly in front of you. God! [to be said in the style of Napolean Dynamite]

Wishbones (Part One)

2005-08-01T18:09:00.000-05:00

I recently stumbled upon my mother’s wishbone collection. I was lazily doing dishes in my parents’ condo, and my eyes traveled to the many little trinkets on the windowsill that characterize Mom’s kitchen: the yellow-glazed double-bowled garlic holder I brought back from Provence, a couple small potted herbs badly needing water, the hanging Hungarian “kitchen witch” doll… and a cup full of old, dry chicken bones. It didn’t strike me as unusual that my mother would have the odd wishbone sitting on the sill from a recent dinner. But the cup contained at least ten bones, and unless my parents had had dined on poultry every night for the past two weeks, those bones had been there for a while. Was she secretly hording the bones for a bizarre chicken ritual that she’d adopted while I’d been away? I doubted it. She had probably absent-mindedly, and out of habit, saved the bones without realizing that there was a whole stock of wishes waiting to be cracked open. Yet I couldn’t help wondering why she continues this ritual, long after her last little chicken has left the coop. Do she and my dad really sit around cracking bones and making wishes? Is this something they look forward to with delight? Perhaps they’re saving up for one blowout night of bone-crackin’, wish-makin’ fun. Maybe they’re going to sell the bones to neighborhood children for cash. Who knows what kids will grind up and snort these days.

I’m going to investigate. I’ll get back to you with my findings in Part Two.

moderately famous people

2005-07-31T13:11:00.000-05:00

Last night was a night of stars for me. For starters, I sat Bob Greene when he came into the restaurant with his two kids. That was a pretty low-key "celebrity" encounter, because I don't even think the restaurant owners even knew who he was. But I did.

Then, after work, L. and I went next door to the super-hot, so-hot-it's-untouchable alinea, just to check it out. I had no idea there was anything next door, because the restaurant is so super-slick that they don't have a sign outside, and their windows are translucent. The building ressembles an ordinary apartment block, except that there are valets outside. However, L. informed me that this is the new "it" restaurant in town--in the country, even. When you walk in, alinea feels more like an ultra-modern, minimalist hotel than an eating establishment. The only indication that fine dining takes place there is that the foyer affords a briliant view of the kitchen, which is wide open and filled with cute young kitchen staff, cooly in white, knowing they're being watched and loving every minute of it.

When we explained that we worked next door, the power-suited hostess offered to give us a tour, as the last customers of the evening had just parted. As we mounted the sturdy glass-and-steel stairs, I had the impression that I was getting the tour of a chic apartment that I'd never be able to buy. Each dining area felt like a fashion-forward living room. The waiters wore business suits and ressembled deparment store cologne sprayers. I glanced around the at the empty chaise lounges and decided that it would be a long time before I felt the desire to dine at a place like this. After all, you don't really go to alinea to eat. You go there to be impressed by the food, the design, and the other customers. I believe the average meal lasts about four to seven hours, due to the extraordinary number of courses (28, but someone told me that you have the choice of 12 or 32 courses as well. However, this is all heresay, so take it with a grain of salt).

When we were ushered back down to the foyer, we met one of the managers, Chris, who appeared happy to meet us (but then again, it's his job to appear happy to meet everybody). He asked us if we'd like to see the kitchen (how could we not want to?) and then escorted us inside stainless steel mecca, where he put us in a corner that was safe to observe the chefs as they cleaned up the aftermath of an evening's culinary delights. A chipper young chef came up to us, introduced himself as Grant, and asked how we enjoyed the evening. When we explained that we didn't eat, we were just visiting from next door, he invited us to come back next time for a meal. Yeah, if you foot the bill, Mister, I thought as I wondered what kind of salary he thought we got as hostesses working less than part-time at a slightly pricey (but not nearly as pricey as this) restaurant. We bid everyone goodbye and headed out the door, me slightly dazed by the fact that this kind of foodiness existed right next door and I never knew it. As soon as we were out the door, L. informed me that Grant was Grant Achatz of culinary world fame. She was reeling at the experience, and I could have kicked myself for having no idea who he was. I just wish I had worked my mojo a little bit more. Curses! Foiled again!

But wait! It's not over yet. My brush with the stars would not have been complete without a sighting of everyone's favorite athlete-cum-aquitted-murderer, O.J. Simpson. Oh yeah, baby! L. and I were walking down Rush Street, past throngs of tipsy bachelorette partiers and overly-scented, generic fratboys, when we spotted an amateur cameraman, filming something in an open terrace window. We walked past, and there was an aged and heavily bling-blinged O.J., talking casually to his onlookers and appearing delighted at all the attention. He was wearing the biggest and shiniest crucifix medallion I'd ever seen. Yeah, you wear that thing, O.J. You're gonna need to prove your faith someday. Too bad your jewelry won't get you into heaven. It was pure bizarity. I kept walking back and forth past the window to make sure it was really him. L. thought I was crazy and I shouldn't give so much attention to a guy who clearly doesn't deserve it. But I was fascinated. The Juice was not ten feet away from me inside Jilly's, a place I pass all the time on Rush Street. And he was so blatantly enjoying all the attention and freakshow-ness of it all.

Now, I could offer some biting analysis of the night and what it means that I feel compelled to publish my brief brushes with fame. But I won't. I've given you a tawpic. Now tawk amongst yahselves.

The Good Life

2005-07-15T02:27:00.000-05:00

It’s been so long since I’ve posted that I doubt I have any readers left (except for my parents—they’d read my blog even if I didn’t exist anymore).

Well, I’m in Chicago with Mom and Dad. Catching up on TV reruns and enjoying the fancy life. Having a washing machine AND drier, air conditioning, and my own bathroom are just a couple of the, shall we say accoutrements that I’ve been privy to this week. And I hate to sound uncultured, but I absolutely LOVE American coffee. Bizarre, huh? Everyone seems to believe that European coffee is the “real” deal, but I found it too bitter and strong (not to mention that all coffee beans probably come from the same places, none of which include Europe or the US). The kind my mom buys—admittedly fancier than run-of-the-mill American coffee brands—just tastes so rich and palatable. All of this stuff is stuff I could live without, to be sure. But that doesn’t stop me from taking advantage of it all. At least for a little while.

P.S. I took the Ice Cream quiz on Lauren's blog and look what I found out (Lauren, we're compatible with each other!):

You Are Strawberry Ice Cream

A bit shy and sensitive, you are sweet to the core.
You often find yourself on the outside looking in.
Insightful and pensive, you really understand how the world works.
You are most compatible with chocolate chip ice cream.

What Flavor Ice Cream Are You?

How to whisper, how to avoid bombs

2005-07-07T22:49:00.000-05:00

So, I’m in New York, on my way to Chicago. Not experiencing too much culture shock as far as America is concerned, but Manhattan culture is another story. Everyone seems to be the center of their own little one-man shows; everyone is so focused on “Me.” I used to find this attitude abrasive and selfish, until I talked to my friend, L., who is an artist. Naturally, as a creative person, L. is very sensitive to the multiple stimuli that attack from all directions in this city. She used to be crushed by every little thing—every person on the street who looked at her funny; every hipster who dressed in super-expensive 80’s rock star second-hand clothes; every unexpected loud noise. So she learned to “block it all out—" essentially, to put herself in a little moveable pod (ipod, perhaps?) while walking down the street. This defense mechanism, she explained, is not egocentric, but necessary. If we were constantly absorbing the intense lights, sounds, smells, emotions of this city and its inhabitants, how could we ever survive? It seems that everyone needs to become a pod person, to think first and foremost about oneself in order to preserve one’s sanity. I’m not sure if I’m totally convinced of this philosophy, but it makes sense. However, I prefer to think that we care about each other a bit more in this world, this city of the world.

With all the tumult regarding the London attacks today, I was a bit hesitant to take the subway. This wasn’t helped by the fact that S. has access to all the latest news info and had heard a rumor that there was a bomb threat to the New York transport system. My paranoia (and my promise to S.) ensured that I would stay a pedestrian today. Thus, I walked from S.’s apartment on CPW down to first the East Village, where I ate lunch, then to the Lower East Side, where I went to the Sunshine Cinema. There, I saw Yes. The style of the film was a bit hard to get used to, as the script is set entirely in rhyming prose, but I enjoyed it in the end. The actors play spectacularly, especially Joan Allen, who is stunning—she braves many scenes without makeup and with bodily fluids dripping from facial orifices and she still manages to be elegant.

Can we just talk about movie etiquette, for a minute? When are people going to learn how to whisper? When you lower your voice so your vocal chords rub together to make tonal sound, that’s not whispering! Whispering involves speaking softly without the vibration of the vocal chords, people. So when you think you’re speaking low and subtly, but you’re still making a tiny bit of “talk” noise, odds are that you’re NOT whispering, and that you’re bugging the hell out of your fellow movie-goers. Tonight there were some talkers-who-thought-they-were-whisperers in the theatre, which made the otherwise poignant film feel a bit like the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

When I got out of the film, I walked over to Chelsea to meet J., G.’s cousin, where we drank a bit and practiced our French/English skills (I need practice in both!). Afterwards, we met up with some of his French friends and drank pitchers of frozen fruity stuff. A little too much frozen fruity stuff. So good that I felt compelled to leave early to put some food in my belly. J. convinced my to take the subway, laughing at my paranoia. I did, and you know what? It was fine. Moral of the story: don’t worry, be happy.

Now what do I call the blog?

2005-07-01T10:44:00.000-05:00

I’m sitting at gate 20 in Heathrow airport with an enormous paper cup full of a peppermint mocha espresso-type drink, staring out the dirty glass at bizarre concrete windowless buildings that resemble cardboard packaging material. In my left ear, a monotone muffled CNN reporter is reporting about something not interesting enough to be able to make sense of, and in my right ear, Ella Fitzgerald is sweetly telling me not to do anything until I hear from her. It’s true what they say about London—it’s drab, and cold and grey. Even the air in the airport is grey. Maybe that’s unfair, judging a city by the view from its airport windows. But I don’t really care. It’s grey here because I say it is. Because my heart is grey and heavy and any afternoon is grey when in the morning you’ve left a love behind in a country of vibrant blues and reds.

I don’t know what I’ll miss the most about France. Perhaps I’ll miss the novelty of speaking a language that is all but dead where I’m from. It started to become a part of me, in the end. Whereas when I first arrived in the country I had to force myself to think and react in French, these past few months the “oh la la”s and pouty lips and shoulder shrugs just seemed to flow from me. It doesn’t feel like a new, French Suzanne was created this year, but rather, that she was already there inside of me, a bit timid at first, but ready to become one with the land of cheese and wine and love.

Ah, love… I really don’t know what to say about leaving behind mon chéri in Grenoble. I could have stayed, I really could have. But then there wouldn’t be anything to write about. And that wouldn’t be in keeping with my tradition of impossible relationships that put a strain on my heart and my phone bills.

Taking opinions--now that I'm not in Grenoble anymore, what should I call the blog? Should I leave it as is as an hommage?

Flunch** (French Lunch)

2005-06-26T08:40:00.000-05:00

As promised, a glimpse into the French Sunday lunch. First off, despite the fact that they don’t use the Internet and therefore will never read this blog, I have to give a shout out to G’s grandmother and aunt, who have had us over for lunch nearly every day since I moved in with G at the end of April. It was not until today that I truly understood the work that goes into making a hearty lunch for (at least) four people.

The French déjeuner is the main meal of the day. Whereas we Americans tend to have a substantial breakfast, light lunch, and substantial dinner, their typical daily eating schedule goes like this:
• 8:00am (huit heures): Small breakfast (bread/pastry with butter and jam, coffee/tea/hot chocolate)
• 12:00pm (midi): Large lunch (l’entrée (usually a simple salad with a light vinaigrette or raw radishes served with bread, butter and salt), le plat (a meat of some sort served in its own juices and cooked vegetables on the side), du fromage (an assortment of cheeses of which you choose a few knifefuls and eat with bread), le dessert (usually during the week we just have some yogurt or fresh strawberries)
• 20:00pm (vingt heures): Light dinner (take out the entrée and the cheese plate from above).

Today’s lunch was pretty standard, save for a few family dramas that forced us to wait until after 1 pm to eat, and led to the clearing of one place from the dining room table (don’t ask, it’s better that way). In fact, it went amazingly well, considering the stress level during the meal preparation. We were supposed to wake up early to prepare the lunch with enough time to not get stressed out about it, but I had slept with my earplugs in and eye mask on, so I was dead to the world until about 10:15 am. We started preparing the tarte aux legumes (vegetable tart/quiche) first. We had decided on a pre-packaged crust, to “make things easier,” but when we put the crust in the pan and precooked it, it turned out that the crust was not big enough for the amount of filling that the recipe called for. Luckily, G’s mom came to the rescue by whipping up some dough at the last minute and we had a tart large enough to serve everyone multiple portions. I have to give a huge shout out to her, because she really saved the day. It’s too bad she didn’t stick around long enough to enjoy it (hence the aforementioned reference to “family dramas”). The rest of the meal basically prepared itself (that’s what happens when you have family who arrive early “without realizing it.” You have extra eyes scrutinizing your preparation techniques, but you have extra hands to help out, as well).

G’s grandmother, aunt, and uncle appeared to be impressed and sated, and that’s all I could have asked for. After plowing through the salad, tarte, bread (made by G’s mom), cheese, chocolate mousse (made by G’s mom) and tiramisu (made by G’s grandma & aunt), I realized that even the best of meals are difficult to prepare all alone. Even though we wanted to prepare the entire meal, from cutting the vegetables to doing the dishes, without the aid of anyone, and even though they rarely let us lift a finger when we eat chez them, we ended up accepting their help gladly, because we had bitten off more than we could have chewed. But in the end, what we chewed tasted pretty damn good.

**Flunch is the name of a chain of cafeteria-style restaurants in France. I love saying the word Flunch. Try it! Flunch Flunch Flunch!

Snore

2005-06-25T18:40:00.000-05:00

Okay, I've been pretty lame as a blogger lately and totally disrespectful to my loyal fans (all five of them). I can't say I'm going to redeem myself today, but tomorrow, I promise, a lengthy recount of my experiences with French lunches. Tomorrow, G. and I are endeavoring to prepare a lunch for the whole family. What's on the menu? So far: a mache salad with kiwi and clemintine tangerines; a vegetable tarte (kind of like a quiche but lighter); assorted cheeses and bread; chocolate mousse (made by G's maman); rosé from some region not too far from here but the name escapes me and I'm far too tired to go all the way to the kitchen to look at the label.
To tide you over, have a look at this. An intriguing/mildly humorous article on people who snore by a man who wrote a book about his life as a snorer.

I'm Meeeeelting!

2005-06-21T07:21:00.000-05:00

""It's hot. Damn hot! Real hot! Hottest things is my shorts. I could cook things in it. A little crotch pot cooking.' Well, can you tell me what it feels like? 'Fool, it's hot! I told you again! Were you born on the sun? It's damn hot! I saw... It's so damn hot, I saw little guys, their orange robes burst into flames. It's that hot! Do you know what I'm talking about?' What do you think it's going to be like tonight? 'It's gonna be hot and wet! That's nice if you're with a lady, but it ain't no good if you're in the jungle.' Thank you, Roosevelt."
Robin Williams as Adrian Cronauer and Roosevelt E. Roosevelt in Good Morning, Vietnam

We sleep with the windows open, no covers, no fans. I have a theory that the French don’t believe in the use of electric ventilation apparatus. I can deal with no air conditioning, no problem. But a fan is a must in the summer months, n’est-ce pas? Especially on those dead nights where it’s still 27 degrees Celsius (about 80 degrees F.) at 11 p.m. and you lie in your sweat-soaked bed, praying for even the smallest of breezes… Okay I’m exaggerating a tiny bit. It’s not been that hard to sleep, and I’m by no means wilting away. But most nights, I lay there, cursing la chaleur and wondering how it is that G. (along with most males I know) have the amazing ability to fall into a dead sleep in the most un-sleep-inducing situations.*

In other news, a few nights ago we saw Les Poupées Russes (the Russian Dolls). It’s the sequel to 2002’s L’Auberge Espagnole, both written and directed by Cédric Klapisch. The sequel rejoins four of the principal characters from the first film, now living in Paris and London, newly 30 years old and still figuring out how to be truly happy, fulfilled and loved in a world of convention and mediocrity. An enjoyable film, mainly because its principal actor, Romain Duris, is so interesting to watch. He’s not classically handsome, but there’s something about him that makes you want to know him. We also have the pleasure of watching Audrey Tautou, of Amélie fame, who’s given a meatier role this time around (as a young single mom, no less). I have to say, it’s not as unexpectedly delightful as the first one, but for a sequel, it’s no small feat. The film could easily stand on its own, as the story is virtually independent of the original, yet Klapsich reveals a complexity in his characters that he couldn’t quite reach the first time around. Don’t know when this one will be out in the States, but go see it if you like love stories that are both strikingly realistic and yet completely unimaginable at the same time.

*This does not include falling asleep in front of the TV, which I do pretty much every time I watch a DVD in the dark.

Nostalgia

2005-06-17T06:57:00.000-05:00

Don't want to give free advertising to a certain multi-billion (trillion?) dollar fast food chain, but I was hit with a wave of nostalgia today and did a google search for a Micky D's advertising campaign from the 80's. Who remembers this? An advertising supplement put in newspapers in the form of a real record (LP). The point was to memorize the Schmickdonald's menu in the form of a catchy song (clever, huh?). I'm sure it drove parents crazy across the country.

Saliva

2005-06-16T06:47:00.000-05:00

One of my favorite (albeit dorky) new things to do on the Internet is to hit the “Next Blog” button up on the top of blogger.com blogs and see what happens. It can be pretty entertaining, because essentially you’re saying to the Internet, “show me what you got. Send me to the ramblings of someone I’ve never met, will never meet, and whose personal thoughts I should not be privy to.” But lately I’ve been getting a whole lot of advertising sites that people use the blogger templates to create. At first I was annoyed by these uninvited ads, but I came upon one last night that made me laugh until I cried (http://wigs761resorces.blogspot.com/). Let me explain why, because, at first glance, a Web site about “saliva resources” would not seem too hilarious.

Someone, somewhere (someone named Webcorp, apparently), has created a template to be used with blogger sites which help people find out about a subject, product, or news story. But usually, because of the nature of templates, the phrasing of the ads makes little or no sense, as the person who created the site simply entered the name of a specific product or research topic or news story into the blank field of the template, and then let it be published without editing it. So what ensues, a lot of the time, is a blog like “saliva resources,” (actually entitled “WIGS786”) where you have entries like this:

Detailed information concerning thyroid saliva test wichita. saliva resources, full of thyroid saliva test wichita newsletters, articles, links and other thyroid saliva test wichita information - ALL FREE - in one easy to navigate site to save time and money.

and this one, which frankly still makes me tear up each time I think about it:

Detailed information concerning dog throwing up saliva. saliva resources, full of dog throwing up saliva newsletters, articles, links and other dog throwing up saliva information - ALL FREE - in one easy to navigate site to save time and money.

Dog throwing up saliva newsletters? Sign me up! Is the Internet really so diverse and detailed, and are peoples’ needs so evolved and specific that it’s possible to subscribe to a newsletter for my dog’s salivary gland disorder? I can’t believe that there is a community of people out there who have banded together in support of their pets’ dysfunctional vomit.

No. It’s got to be a front for something else. When you click on any of the links on the saliva resources page, they bring you to another chock-full-of-advertising site, with a mention of saliva in combination with another (possibly illegal?) subject, like downloading mp3’s. Perhaps this is a way of avoiding being punished for illegal downloads or something. I haven’t investigated enough to be sure. If you wish to enlighten me, please do. Or, if you are a subscriber to the Dog Throwing Up Saliva Newsletter, PLEASE contact me. I would really like to talk to you.

Sox Woes

2005-06-15T12:34:00.000-05:00

At the heart of the Sox's troubled wooing of Chicago lies a conundrum worthy of Yogi Berra: They haven't been good enough to win, and they haven't been bad enough to tap into baseball's romance with hapless losers. Erik Ahlberg, Wall St. Journal

Apparently the Chicago White Sox just can't “get it up” (excuse the expression) like their cross town rivals, the Cubs. I have to admit, I'd choose Wrigley over the U.S. Cellular Field any day. I mean, c'mon, The U.S. Cellular Field? It sounds like a biological weapons testing ground. I understand that both Wrigley and the USCF, if I may call it that, are named after the corporations that own them. However, the U.S. Cellular Field just doesn't have a catchy “ring” to it (haha get it? “Ring???”) like Wrigley Field does. And while we're comparing teams, let's not ignore the mascots. Oh wait, there is no comparison. Who wouldn't choose a cuddly little cubby bear over a smelly old sports sock? Come to think of it, neither one seems to evoke images of strong grown men swinging bats and sliding into the dirt, but I digress...I'm trying to say that when rooting for a Chicago baseball team, the Cubs win my favor, hands down.
My team comparisons may seem a little bit less-than-credible, seeing as I don't actually know much of the teams' overall stats or individual player skills, but as my family will attest to, I don't go to Wrigley for the game. I go for the food--the overpriced steamed hot dogs and unshelled salty peanuts; the chocolate malt cups with wooden stick-spoons; the Old Style Beer. I go for Wrigley, for the same cliché reasons that everyone likes Wrigley-the ivy colored walls; the history; yada yada yada. It's not that I don't care about the game, or that I don't understand the game-I do. But if I were going to choose a baseball team based on the sheer abilities of the players, I'd probably be a fair weather-fan and wouldn't give a damn about the ivy.

man baby

2005-06-14T17:46:00.000-05:00

"'Unlike William Windsor, the vast majority of 'adult babies' keep their fetish under wraps -- going only so far as to wear a diaper under their jeans or three-piece suits -- so they can function in the straight world. Windsor believes he's the only adult baby in the U.S. who sleeps, eats, pays bills, runs daily errands, shops at the grocery store, and occasionally drinks beer at a local tavern -- i.e., who lives this way -- 24/7, 365 days a year." (Phoenix New Times) Originally taken from The Obscure Store

Let your inner baby shine. That's what I say. Kudos, William Windsor, for having the balls to wear your diaper on your sleeve. Do man-babies actually use their diapers, or do they serve merely as accessories? Please say it's the latter. Please. In fact, now I take back what I said about Windsor. Keep your inner baby on the inside, man. Babies are cute when they're...babies. When they're little and cute and you can forgive the nasty diaper smell because the cuteness prevails. But Windsor, I am sorry to say, you have none of the redeeming qualities of a baby, if that wasn't clear.

P.S. I just actually read the article that I reference, and there is an entire section devoted to his diaper-training. EW.

La Ciotat

2005-06-14T06:35:00.000-05:00

La Ciotat, Mediterranean. Sun, sea, sea "fruits." "Calanques." Mistral winds. Lavander. Soap. Petanque. Pastis. Jellyfish, sea urchins. Clams for 1 euro the kilo. Sand in the bed. Lunch in the garden. Climbing on the rocks. Snorkling in the sea. Topless (!) on the beach. Finishing a book (You Shall Know Our Velocity! by Dave Eggers) at long last. Sleeping in. Cooking live sea food.

Botched Self Portrait.

Les Calanques de Cassis.

Tadpoles

2005-06-02T11:45:00.000-05:00

Observations from my journal today:

I'm at the lake with Gil--Lake Laffrey, about 25 km outside of Grenoble. The only clouds in the sky are in one wide and feathery strip, like a daytime Milky Way. The beach is made of pebbles and the water is shallow and full of inky black blind tadpoles. I've never seen so many tadpoles outside of a middle school science classroom. Swimming frantically, but aimlessly, they truly resemble sperm.

A few minutes ago, two svelte French girls arrived and set up their towels near us. One of them--the poutier and more svelte, and thus instantly hateable--started squealing in disgust and horror when she saw the tadpoles in the water. Wimp. Even more reason to hate her. Not that I'd actually hate someone for being pretty and tan and having perfect skin...

All around us, there are young men and women of Arab origins wearing flashy swimsuits--the women's are one size too small, the men's, one size too large--and talking on their cellphones.

There's approximately 1.5 people brave enough to be in the water (meaning: three people with half their bodies submerged) and everyone else is watching them. This is no Lake Michigan, where you get in the water as long as it's hot outside and there's no ice or dead fish floating in it.

Roland Garros (The French Open)

2005-05-31T07:26:00.001-05:00

Spent the weekend in Paris. I love being able to say that--"Oh yes, just dashed off to gay Paree for a quick romp through the Tuilleries"--so nonchalantly. This time I get to add "and I spent a couple of hours at the French Open--you know, just to catch a couple of matches while the weather was pleasant."

In truth, it was a treat to get to attend a world-reknown tennis tournament for the first time in my life. We got the cheap seats, which meant we had access to every court there but the three main ones (the matches with players that you actually recognize), but we ended up finding front-row seats in a smaller court and had a ball (no pun intended). It was a mixed doubles match with three Czech players and a Spaniard (Kveta Peschke & Martin Damm vs. Frantisek Cermak and Conchita Martinez--guess which one is the Spaniard? Even harder, guess which ones are the females?).

Martinez was the only well-known player, or so I was told, as my knowledge of famous tennis players is limited to Agassi, Navratilova (who was playing there in the fancy courts), and a few other late 80's/early 90's superstars. I loved sitting so close and hearing the ever-so-charming grunts that tennis players are famous for belting out with each tough shot. The Czech woman, Kveta Peschke, made noises that sounded like little baby seals mixed with screams of death. Fabulous. Even better when she lost a shot. She would screech and stamp her feet like a toddler throwing a tantrum. I didn't notice the males making such expressive sounds, but those girls don't hold anything back.

Martinez, ready for action.

Cermak, serving up a fast one.

Italy recovery

2005-05-22T06:34:00.000-05:00

Well I just had a beautiful little entry laid out but I closed the window as a reflex and lost it all. FUCK!

Anyways, haven't written since I got back from Italy--been recovering, I guess. I caught a bit of a cold the last day on Lake Como, and am still coughing up a lung every time I lie down...

Sara suggested I keep a journal in Italy to force myself to practice writing in a journalistic style. I did nothing of the sort, although I had every intention to. That means I talk about wanting to be some kind of journalist but I have absolutely no body of work to draw from and no experience to boot. But maybe if I close my eyes and click my heels...

Here's a couple of pics from Cinque Terre. You can see more by exploring the flickr page when you get there:

Vineyards on the mountainside. Incredible texture for a landscape. Seems a bit difficult to harvest, though.
Originally uploaded by Suzy.

Clear clear water as seen from the trail.
Originally uploaded by Suzy.

Me on the rocks
Originally uploaded by Suzy.

aie, shin splints

2005-05-16T03:55:00.000-05:00

Did a 3-hour hike yesterday with Dom. Beautiful but painful. Highly recommend Cinque Terre as a travel destination if you enjoy hiking up steep hills while enjoying sea views and diverse flora and fauna, vineyards and German hikers. Don't come here just for the 5 towns because, while cute, they are all more or less the same as far as tourist shops and trattorias. Heading to Como next (as in the lake, not the 50's crooner, but you already knew that).

5 Terre

2005-05-14T09:01:00.000-05:00

Here I am in gorgeous Cinque Terre, Italy. Sitting in the tourist office because it's been a bit rainy today, but there's a guy coveting my computer, so I'll have to write fast or maybe I'll just take my time and make him wait. In any case...
It's quite gorgeous here-- five towns on the northwest coast, protected by a national park. Beautiful landscaping, cacti everywhere, wildflowers, smell of jasmine. Met up with my friend Dominique who was a housemate in Grenoble. Yesterday hiked from our little town, Manarola, to Riomaggiore, back to Manarola, then to Corniglia, then back again. Today we hung out a bit in Monterosso, the most touristy of the five towns, but it started to rain so we came back to do a bit of internet-ing until our hostel reopens at 5 pm. However, it looks like this guy hanging out next to me is getting impatient, and I can't really stand to have people lurking over my shoulder, so I may have to take off pretty soon. It's a shame, because there's not much else to do here but eat, hike and sit in the sun, and since there is no sun and we've already eaten, it looks like we'll be stuck for a bit. Oh well.

When it's time to change, it's time to change, sha na na na na na na na na, sha na na na na

2005-05-01T12:24:00.000-05:00

There's nothing I hate more in this world than moving. Okay that was a lie. I'm sure there are many things in this world I hate more, but last week, at the time of my moving out of our cute little house on Cours Berriat, there was nothing I hated more.

148 Cours Berriat, Grenoble
Originally uploaded by Suzy.

And yet, i feel like I am in a constant state of changing homes. Every seven months or so. I just watched the film, Garden State . The main character, Andrew, says something about a milestone in every twenty-something's life where you realize that the place you grew up doesn't feel like home anymore, but neither do the places you inhabit as a young adult. Therefore, you're left with a feeling of nostalgia or homesickness for a place that doesn't exist. I guess I've felt like that since my parents moved a couple of years ago from the burbs to the city and they TORE DOWN my childhood home (insert wailing violins here). Don't get me wrong, I adore my parents' place (I may even end up living there as I am once again jobless)--it's cozy and beautiful--but it's not "home." And I suppose I could stop this running around and settle down somewhere and eventually get married and have babies and then I'd start to feel "at home." But for godsake, people, I'm only 24 and 11/12 years old here! The pains of moving are just growing pains. I'm going to keep on moving down the road until I find what I'm looking for. And one of these days I'm going to make good money at the same time.

My word, I'm done.

2005-04-18T13:16:00.000-05:00

Last week was my final week of teaching. It was bittersweet--more sweet than bitter--and I think most of my kids were actually sad to see me go. I got tons of last-minute-made cards, drawings, used pens, teeny bopper magazine cutouts, used stuffed animals, the works. I really didn't want to accept the used stuffed animals, but, you gotta do what you gotta do. These are photos from two of my schools. The ghetto school didn't deserve to be published.

Kids at Recess at Ecole Paul Mistral in Grenoble
Originally uploaded by Suzy.

We tried to do an organized photo, but it didn't work out so well...

Same Kids at Recess at Ecole Paul Mistral
Originally uploaded by Suzy.

Some of these kids were definitely imposters who snuck into the photo without even knowing what it was for.

My last class of the day at Ecole Anatole France.
Originally uploaded by Suzy.

That big guy is the teacher, Yves. He's pretty cool but don't cross him or he'll make you go stand in the corner until you behave.

Hoo, Nelly! It's been awhile!

2005-04-04T09:30:00.000-05:00

Image of the day: a bevy of seven-year old girls came up to me in the school courtyard after class today asking "je peux te donner un bisou?" (can I give you a kiss?). Well, it started with one little girl and I felt kind of weird because of all the rules regarding physical boundaries between teachers and students in the US, but we were in the middle of a school yard, so I figured it was normal behaviour. Then, after i bent down to let her kiss my cheek, I found myself surrounded by a little French schoolgirl chorus of "je peux te donner un bisou?" "et moi?" "et moi?" I was overtaken by their power and found myself smothered by bisous in a matter of seconds. It was all I could do to keep myself from laughing hysterically.

cotton candy

2005-03-19T17:06:00.000-06:00

cotton candy
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

County Fair

2005-03-19T16:40:00.000-06:00

Today I ate passion fruit-flavored cotton candy. Sounds too good to be true? Yes, in fact it didn't taste like passion fruit at all. I chose my flavor carefully. I could have had vanilla, banana, mint, of all things--no,I wanted passion. However, the first eagerly-anticipated billowy bite of "dad's beard" (the fluffy pink stuff in French: barbe a papa) tasted disappointingly like regular old cotton candy. Oh French county fairs, why do you tempt me like that?

Suzanne at Alligator Alley

2005-02-27T08:00:00.000-06:00

Suzanne at Alligator Alley
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

Dad and Suzanne

2005-02-27T07:59:00.001-06:00

Dad and Suzanne
Originally uploaded by Suzanne Pekow.

Beach in Naples, FL

2005-02-27T07:59:00.000-06:00

Beach in Naples, FL
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

Mom and Uncle David

2005-02-27T07:56:00.000-06:00

Mom and Uncle David
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

Stone Crabs in Naples

2005-02-27T07:55:00.000-06:00

Stone Crabs in Naples
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

palmalamadingdong

2005-02-18T03:16:00.000-06:00

In Naples, Florida, of all places, for my 2-week vacation. Enjoying sun and warmth and, of course, parental love, but missing a sense of the 3 c's: culture, community, and cheese. Everything here seems to be built in the last 10 years, exept for the clientele, who are either mommies and daddies or grammies and papas. I appreciate the climate, but feel strangely transplanted (much like the tupées that grace the some of the foreheads around here).
I have gotten a few more freckles and have had a chance to work on my backhand. I've even completed a book (something of an accomplishment if you know my attention span and motivation level). And the week is still young. Tomorrow Mom's waking me up early to "hit the fleamarket" on its opening day. Should be interesting. Maybe we'll find something worth writing about...

skiing fiasco

2005-02-08T03:25:00.000-06:00

we went skiing on saturday and i thought i was going to die--not from falling down an ice-slicked mountain, but from a blow by the boyfriend who couldn't believe how much of a baby I am when it comes to life-threatening situations. When we got our skis on and started to get in line for the lift, I started freaking out because I hadn't skiied in at least 10 years and I thought it would all come back to me, but it didn't. And to go skiing in the Alps when all you've really tackled is Wisconsin, well... it's a bit intimidating. So we went up the mountain, and my newfound fear of skiing grew mightier and mightier with each tug of the lift line above us. I knew there was only one way to get down and it wasn't going to be pretty. I will leave out the pathetic details of how I slowly made my way down each slope for dignity's sake. But I will say that I felt pretty silly each time a four-year old breezed past me while I inched my way down like a little old lady...
Gil was not playing the part of the sensitive nurturing teacher type. He was all about tough-love, which I wasn't having. Somehow, telling someone just to "go for it" when they're facing a 70 degree drop isn't that effective.

Chamrousse, about 30 minutes outside of Grenoble.
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

Waiting for the bus...
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

Sushi night!

2005-01-27T11:35:00.000-06:00

Suzanne and Gil make sushi
Originally uploaded by Suzy.

Mardi on a bien fêté l'anniversaire de Gil avec un dîner des sushis! Cétait très bon, et j'attends la prochaine fois avec impatience.

My weekend in Annecy

2005-01-23T15:53:00.000-06:00

Last weekend (Jan 15-16) I went to visit my friend Megan in Annecy for a night. It's about a 2 hour train ride. The town is adorable, with a gigantic lakefront and an old city centre that features canals and crooked little passageways and mysteriously winding stone steps. It was fucking freezing that weekend, so we tried to get as much sightseeing in as possible while the sun was (luckily) shining. That night we ate with the family that Megan lives with. They prepared a regional specialty called "racquelette" (sp?) which is basically cheese that you melt in a special aparatus and put over potatoes and ham. Very hearty.

A cute little street in the old part of town.
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

The famous Lac d'Annecy, which is the same as Lac de Genève
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

A sundial by the lake. Also a compass and I believe some kind of astronomical thingy.
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

Megan and I on a bridge over the canal. Behind us is a sculpture that juts out of the water. I tried to upload the image of just the sculpture but my flickr account is full for this month. Maybe I'll find another way...
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

Me behind the chateau d'Annecy, which has been restored to house a museum of both contemporary art and regional history. The best part was getting to walk around in an old chateau.
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

Most exciting day ever!!!!

2005-01-19T15:00:00.000-06:00

We got internet at our house!!!! Woohoo! The best thing to happen to us since 24! And we have a land line, so if you want to call me, it's cheaper than calling my cell phone. Email me if you want it.

I know anyone could be reading this, but whatever.

2005-01-15T16:09:00.000-06:00

Whatever you thought you read yesterday was a momentary burst of emotions. I've erased it to protect the innocent.

Oh, and this is the view from my street....

2005-01-14T18:28:00.000-06:00

Not bad, eh?
Originally uploaded by Suzanne .

2005-01-14T17:49:00.000-06:00

I HATE BOYS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Herzliche Wilkommen

2005-01-01T21:23:00.000-06:00

Happy New Year! Fröliche Neujahrzeit! We made it to Berlin on Wednesday, and set to sightseeing right away. The first thing we did was take a horribly planned tourbus around the city to "get our bearings" (my idea). But the bus was ghetto. The roof was a tarp that smacked against its frame loudly whenever we hit the slightest bump in the road. What's more, most of the headphones were broken so I listened with one ear to the English commentary and the other to the smacking of the plastic roof-tarp. Our first impression of Berlin was from a broken-down double-decker bus on a dreary drizzly day. But it got better from there...

Sara at breakfast at the Reichstag
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

The "fam" (minus Joel) atop the Reichstag
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

Babylonian (?) Gate at the Pergamon Museum, Berlin
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

Suzanne atop the Berliner Dom
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

Last 2 days in Paris

2004-12-25T10:35:00.000-06:00

Suz & Sara on the escalator at the Pompidou
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

Suz & Sara at Sacré Coeur
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

Paris from a trippy exhibit at the Pompidou
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

THICK hot chocolate at Angeline's
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

Hot chocolate from Angeline's by the Tuilleries... Incroyable.

Notre Dame, Xmas Eve

2004-12-24T17:19:00.000-06:00

Notre Dame, Xmas Eve
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

Mom in line to get into Notre Dame

2004-12-24T17:18:00.001-06:00

Mom in line to get into Notre Dame
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

Artsy, I know...

Dad on the way to Notre Dame

2004-12-24T17:18:00.000-06:00

Dad on the way to Notre Dame
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

Trippy Suzanne in Paris hotel room

2004-12-24T16:39:00.000-06:00

P1010003
Originally uploaded by Suzanne .

This is a more psychedelic (sp?) version of the first one.

Suzanne in Paris hotel room

2004-12-24T16:37:00.000-06:00

P1010004
Originally uploaded by Suzanne .

This is me trying out my new digital camera!!!! Mom and Dad just got in to Paris and they brought me presents! It's just like the Christmas we never had... Or the Chanukah we always had... Anyways, this is me, in my hotel room, taking the first of what is bound to be a litany of self-portraits with my new digi cam...

Suzanne & Annah jouent de la musique

2004-12-16T12:50:00.000-06:00

Suzanne & Annah jouent de la musique
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

les deux artistes !

des filles partout
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

ces 3 filles sont vraiment incroyables ! Surtout celle du milieu

Suzanne & Gil
Originally uploaded by Suzanne .

Voilà, finalement une photo de moi avec Suzanne la plus belle américaine de tout Grenoble !! comme je suis chanceux :D

Day before the turkey

2004-11-24T17:15:00.000-06:00

So I decided that we are going to have everyone we know over to our house for a big Thanksgiving celebration. Everyone kept talking about doing something, but I knew no one would get organized in time, so I told all my roommates that we're going to have a huge feast on Thursday. It's going to be a potluck, so I hope people actually bring stuff and we don't all sit around picking at a tiny bird. Once my roommates found out the price of the turkey, they decided that they couldn't afford to make their own dishes, so we're just going to have turkey as a main course. A 3 kilo bird for about 20 people...Yes, I've temporarily renounced my vegetarianism (no smirks, family!) for a little while. And yes, I was planning on buying, roasting, and carving the turkey myself, until I found a charcuterie that would roast it for me. All I have to do is pick it up and carve it. I've never carved anything in my life, so this should be interesting... I think the evening itself will be interesting, as we'll have a wide range of nationalities in attendance.

mountain

2004-11-15T20:15:00.000-06:00

Went up to the mountains Saturday night with Annah and her friend Avril, who lives in Villard. Avril lives up there and works as a ski instructor. We got there at night so couldn't see the view as we ascended, but it was a pretty marvelous sight the next morning. We didn't ski as the season hasn't started and there's not too much snow, but we did go swimming at a nearby sports complex (not your typical winter weather activity but it was refreshing). That night and much of the next day we basically just hung around with some friends of Avril who live downstairs in the tiny lodge/apartment complex. They had a little soirée Saturday and we ate enormous plates of nachos and drank a fine assortment of beverages, so much that I spent the last couple hours of the evening back at Avril's place taking care of my stomach and didn't feel too well on the long, windy car ride back down the mountain the next day.

rock thevotemyass

2004-11-03T17:39:00.000-06:00

Deeply disappointed. Depressed. Insulted. Results of pres. election not looking good this morning. Went out last night to a bar to watch some CNN but couldn't determine much. How could my fellow Americans have made such a collectively backwards decision once again? I had a glimmer of hope last night when talking to my dad on the phone and hearing optimism coming from someone whose motto is to expect the worst so you won't end up disappointed. Boo. Hiss. I'm staying in France.

chez moi encore

2004-11-02T17:45:00.000-06:00

So I am back in Grenoble after a whirlwind couple of days in Paris. I didn't go to Barcelona with Annie, but I did send her there on her own. Not a very good friend, but I was having serious issues with going so far away after being in Chicago. There were also other reasons having to do with the amount of paperwork I still have to work out in Grenoble in order to secure my residential status, but we won't go into that because it's boring...

So in Paris we were blessed to be hosted by my friend Lauren, who has lived there for about 2 years and always shows us a good time. Oh yeah, my friend Annah (not Annie) came up from Grenoble to take the GREs in Paris and stayed with my the whole weekend. Anyways, we didn't do too much sightseeing, but we did take in a great art show along the Seine and we walked around a lot. We went to the Fifth Bar (Lauren's ex-pat stomping grounds) every night, which I didn't mind because the atmosphere is great. We played a lot of pool with Lauren's boyfriend Stephane and some of his friends, celebrated Halloween (I was a Russian spy, Lauren was a punk rocker, and Annah was Annah).

It was mad fun.

Ah, Pareee

2004-10-27T17:26:00.000-05:00

Sitting in a touristy area of Paris, just met my friend Annie who is traveling for a couple weeks. I was so psyched because I found a café with free WiFi access when you buy something, but just found out that you only get a half hour each time you order something. So I just purchased the most expesive coca cola of my life, all to get another measly half hour of internet access. I should have just waited for a real internet cafe...

It's quite cold in Paris, colder than I expected. I was spoiled by the balmy Chicago weather. We may be on to Barcelona tomorrow night and hopefully I'll be able to squeeze in a couple more days of warmth before I settle into the cold winter in Grenoble.

Gotta go figure out where we're sleeping tonight.

P.S. Wedding Week was fun. Wish I had pictures to put up but wasn't swift enough to upload them from other people's cameras while in the states... Maybe someone will send me some soon.

rolling with the homies

2004-10-20T19:00:00.000-05:00

Home again, home agin, jiggedy jig. Sitting in the den with Sara and Joel, enjoyijng some sibling bonding time. It's been a long time since we've all been together. Big plans tonight: ordering in noodles and watching the baseball playoffs. Some big Red Sox fans in the house.

on the road again

2004-10-19T15:24:00.000-05:00

Sitting in Charles De Gaulle airport waiting for my flight to Chicago. Felt a bit melancholy about leaving Grenoble, sort of strange to take a vacation after about a week of working... But it's going to be a great week in Chicago and when I get back I'll have a lot more time to explore my new home. I think I'm going to travel a bit with my friend Annie who I worked with in New York when I get back from the states. It's strange though. I feel like I don't deserve a vacation right now!
Last night was the first night in the new house. It's a bit empty without very much furniture or carpeting or food. But I feel happy to have a home. I don't have to carry my home on my back like a turtle anymore. Well, I won't after the vacation.

moving day

2004-10-16T16:45:00.001-05:00

We're moving today! Finally I can stop living out of my suitcase. Don't have any furniture least of all a bed, but I will sleep on the floor with pleasure if it's in my own room.

Haven't written about my teaching experiences yet. This was my first week and it's been sort of exhausting. I think they gave me the spazziest kids in Grenoble. I found myself yelling at the top of my lungs more than a few times this week--my education profs in the U.S. would not have been proud... I gave all the kids "American" names, something I thought they'd enjoy, but most of them just think I'm a little bit crazy. I have a lot of Mohammeds and Walids that became Matts and Wallys. I feel like I'm forcing them to assimilate to a culture they know nothing about. Hmm, sounds a bit concurrent with what's already going on in French classrooms across the land.

bicycle built for...

2004-10-11T22:35:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I went to a flea market and bought a bike. It's a real clunker of a thing, totally old school and needs a whole lot of work, but it looks like it's seen a lot of love in it's day. It's a "Revival" brand (and that's exactly what it needs), black, with mother of pearl handles and brake valves... The brakes only work if you squeeze them with all your might and there are pedal-activated lights that look like they haven't worked since 1982. But I love it, and it's going to be so fun to ride around town with my little baguettes.

time passes slowly

2004-10-10T16:34:00.000-05:00

Today is rainy and grey, and I had major diarrhea last night. But for some reason I am not unhappy. Just waiting for time to pass before I can move into my new house (!) next week. We signed on a random little house near the train station. I'm totally psyched because it's in a funky little offbeat area, but we can't move until next week. Yesterday I moved from the hostel to a hotel in the middle of town because "j'en ai eu mar" with the hostel life. Two weeks in a youth hostel can get pretty draining. The location is awful and only accessible by a bus that stops at 8:30 pm every night or a tram that you have to hike 500 meters to get to. So I'm going to split a hotel room with one of my future roomies, mawuena, until I can move next weekend.

The new hotel has a tv and I watched the French version of "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" last night. It was very entertaining. That show has become quite an enterprise.

I start teaching tomorrow. Oh la la. That's going to be a trip.

rien...

2004-10-07T18:44:00.000-05:00

I'm still without housing; the gorgeous apartment fell through. So I think my the group of people I was going to live with will probably have to split up because half of us want to live in this house in a funky neighborhood and the other half are holding out for the posh centre-ville...

The other day I felt like a real french young person when one of the guys I befriended at my favorite internet cafe gave me the double-cheek kiss when I walked into the café. I also have a bit of a crush on him so it was doubly exciting. I'm in this internet café (neptune) every single day ; it feels like my home away from home, especially since I don't have a home...

Last night we had a sing-along at the youth hostel with my guitar; it was fun but i didn't get to bed till about 2 and had to wake up at 8 so am not feeling very good right now. Even though the hostel kids are fun, I think I may move to a friend's apartment for the weekend so I don't have to pay anymore and so I can be closer to the city.

creusez les doigts...

2004-10-02T14:09:00.001-05:00

Salut!
First of all, please excuse the typos, i've still not gotten the hang of the french keyboards... they're all a little screwy...
So I'm in Grenoble, been here almost a week. It's an adorable city, and I can tell I'm going to love it--as soon as I find a place to live! There's very little housing right now because all the university students took the good places a couple of months ago... But after a couple of days of looking apartments in absolutely crap locations, we looked at this incredible huge place right in the center of town, and the proprieter was super cool and open to having young people live there; we told him we'd sign right away, but he's making us wait until tomorrow night because the place is also up for sale, and he has to wait and see if anyone at this housing fair takes it this weekend; but we're saying our prayers because it's an incredible place... more about it later because I don't want to jinx it....

Alors, je suis vraiment ici!

2004-09-29T21:55:00.000-05:00

J'ai l'envie d'écrire en français, mais...
Got into Grenoble Monday afternoon after a painful journey with my insanely overpacked bags from Paris and before that, London. Spent the night with Lauren in Paris and we hung out with some ultra-cool Anglophone ex-pats in a bar called "the Beaver" (believe me, the jokes have already been made), on the Ile de France, or Ile de St-Louis, or one of those îles...

Just got back from my "stage" (orientation) at a little boy's camp in Autrans (the little boys weren't there, don't worry), up in the mountains above Grenoble. All of the assistants in the Grenoble region met each other and went to boring information sessions for 2 days. It was fun to meet everybody, though, and I'm very glad I went. There are assistants from the U.S., U.K., Australia, Italy, Spain, and Germany. It felt like a college orientation, going around and introducing yourself to everybody and remembering nobody's name. But fun. And it made me excited for the coming year. All of the assistants teaching primaire in the mini-region of Isère (Grenoble city and surrounding area) are having a special week of teacher training starting monday, which is kind of cool. I was not really ready to start in my school(s) so soon anyways. I'm going to visit my schools tomorrow and introduce myself. I hope they are expecting me. I have a feeling they're not.

Housing in Grenoble is very competetive, and a bit daunting. I'm going to look starting tomorrow with 2 other assistants and hope for the best...

P.S. Sitting in a cybercafé, listening to french students talking smack about americans, even after I switched places with them to accomodate their group... Oh la la...

last day at work, couldn't seem to leave...

2004-09-23T04:24:00.000-05:00

Today was my last day at T.A. I have to admit, it was pretty hard to leave. Especially when I left my wallet, then my keys in the office in separate instances, causing me to go back, not once, but twice, and then ended up staying until about 11 pm helping Annie out with a volunteer mailing party. Man, there were some weird volunteers in our office tonight. I could have sworn there was a full moon. But, they were there to help do menial tasks, so I can't really complain.

I cannot figure out how to put Photos up on this site and it's driving me maaaad. The "hello" software doesn't seem to work with macs, and there isn't another feasible way to do it. I think it's a conspiracy. It's fun to blame all my problems on conspiracies. Makes the world seem a lot more managable.

Okay never mind I just figured it out!

Century Girls at GMA

2004-09-23T01:32:00.000-05:00

wholegroupgma
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

Here's the whole gang a couple of days before the NYC Century Bike Tour outside the "Good Morning America" studio. We had about 5 seconds of airtime, but it was quality time. Go Team Century!

This is me

2004-09-23T01:27:00.000-05:00

suzanne at summershack.JPG
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

In case you wanted to see who I am. Can't really figure out how to put this on my main page.

Lunch at le Gamin

2004-09-23T01:24:00.000-05:00

Lunch at le Gamin
Originally uploaded by Suzanne.

This is from the surprise goodbye lunch. That's me on the far left.

5 days till who knows what

2004-09-21T02:44:00.000-05:00

I am leaving for Europe on Saturday and my room looks like Hurricaine Ivan made his way up north. It's going to be a crazy couple of days--what, with finishing my job, packing my shit, finding a place to store the leftover stuff because god knows when I'm coming back, getting all the proper pills and paperwork, applying for an absentee ballot... It's a wonder I'm not running around like a headless chicken. Or a headless Pekow, as someone told me tonight that my last name sounded like some kind of foreign chicken. But I'm strangely calm. I guess it's because I have been abroad many times before, and I've moved many times before, and I've sold my soul to the devil many times before... wait, what? It's late and the prose just flows.
Tonight I talked to an old friend who just started an internship at NPR. Sounds like they're already treating her like an old pro. Good for her. I love that my friends are constantly surprising and inspiring me.

What's up with photo sharing?

2004-09-15T01:58:00.001-05:00

So I can't figure out how to put photos up on this blog. I tried to go to the links provided by Blogger, but they make you download some file sharing program that's incompatible with macs. What do I do? Not that ANYONE is readint this right now, but perhaps someone just stumbles upon this page unintentionally, notices how forlorn and cute I sound, and wants to help me out...? In the meantime, I'll just be anonymous Suzy, sitting out here in cyber space with no picture to put a face to my name.