Using the metaphoric vehicle of American pie, let's take a voyage down memories lane.
There goes my semester. I must say, second half of my semester went tremendously better and more rapidly than the first half. With the absence of the drama llama, traversing the francophone desert of abroad studies seems much more pleasant on foot. After this crazy 6 finals week, another adventure begins for me. Yes, leaving metaphor meadow because JacquEurotrip (pronounced Jock-oh-ro treep) is kicking in full swing.
Normandie-Genève-Zurich-Bern-Venezia-Firenze-Roma-Wien-Munchen-Amsterdam-Brugge-Brussels-Luxembourg-Paris/Rennes-Lisbon.
While cramming as much Italian and German as possible sounds astoundingly amusing, proactive interferences from their bitchy French cousin basically rendered me as linguistically coherent as a badly shaved, one-footed and down-syndromed siamese cat. Let's hope the natives speak fluently the feline (alliteration point!) language. However, considering the restricted allocation of time for those languages, I'm actually pretty content with my languid progress, but progress nevertheless. Ass-saving phrases are, of course, top priorities. I.e. "Where is the train station," "Please help me--I'm lost," "Can I touch/lick/mount your national monument?", "If I put it there, does it hurt?" and my favorite, "No thanks. Your mom just asked me the same thing."
TMI WARNING:
So remember how puberty is a bitch? So let's imagine an adventure-land type roller coaster ride (yes we're getting back on the symbolic bus). Everybody has to go through it, and the age limit is around 11-16 years old. It's a sucky-ass ride because your whole world is upside down and everything is perplexing and bewildering to you through this new experience. And say due to gravitational and physiological forces at play, things get modified amidst your ride. However, when you finished that ride, you reorientate yourself and your life, albeit changed forever, moves on. Now imagine my 20 years old fat ass standing in line again. End results?
My pants don't fit any more. My mom hung up on me because she doesn't recognize my voice. Hirsute would not justly describe certain areas where barrenness lied before.
(Yes, you should have heeded the TMI warning)
This is the message I'm leaving on France's voicemail:
"Anyway, we had some great runs, but it's time for me to go. It's not you; it's me. Okay, maybe it's you a little bit. I mean, you're kind of a bitch sometimes. All right, that was a bit harsh; I didn't mean that. I was drunk. From 1 glass of champagne. It's not my fault that your 5 years-old baby can outdrink me. Sorry, I'm rambling again. Just want to say that I'll miss you a lot, but I think I prefer your younger-but-hotter sister, America. I mean, the thing you did with your toes was amazing, but America, oh mah- gawd, you should see the size of her... Nevermind, I'm talking too much again. I hope one day when we see each other again, we can still be friends."
Goodbye this blog forever,
Jacques
dimanche 14 décembre 2008
jeudi 20 novembre 2008
These...are the days of our lives
And also apparently, spirit fingers.
5 kg lighter, 4 weeks left, 3 draggeurs overcame, 2 sleepless night survived and 1 kick-ass/stressful voyage ahead. Talk about muscle dystrophy, upon returning to my lovely anglophone institution, I will be hitting the gym like a 70's drunken husband and his wife (yes, we will walk down this metaphoric road and we are going to LIKE it). For Thanksgiving, I am giving my gratitude for my stomach being less metabolically fussy (yay for no more crack-infused painkillers) and of course, for the tacit love that seems inconspicuous at times, but is, in fact, profuse and affluent in all aspects. It just hit me yesterday that my abroad experience will self-terminate (the reflexive verb so abundantly employed in French--yes, most verbs in France are hermaphroditic and usually prefer do themselves, forget about that annoying direct objects bullcrap) in approximately 4 weeks. I plan to fully self-amuse (francophoners will get this one) in this remaining temporal allocation.
Oh yes, 3rd time is the charm, as Cannes marks my third random and unwarranted "encounter" with French natives, which essentially means I was frequented/hit-on/checked out shamelessly by undesired companies. Given that I was at the beach where there was an overflow of nudity (the entirety of which deprived from a population born before the Great War, yea the First one). Given that I was whoring the newly founded warmth in coastal southern France, and attempted to absorb as much radiation as my corporal surface area allow. Given that I was shirtless, and out-beefed the majority of the audience there (it's actually sad that even in my dilapidated physical condition, I'm still palpably superior to many fellow French males in muscle mass-- I mean, come on socialist state, stop cutting the cheese and pick up some meat. Yes those images were intentional). Those explicit reasons are not sufficient to be skanking on this dude without prior consents.
Continuing on with our numbers, as for the semester, I have had only 2 sleepless nights, and both of them weren't even closely related to academic works. Man, G-town is going to kick my ass pretty badly after this major mental spoilage. And the lonely number 1 stands for my overly ambitious, mother of all ass-hauling, destitute-rendering EUROTRIP. I vaguely remembered watching "Eurotrip" back in high school and thinking that it would be pretty bombass to visit one of those countries. And now, I'm pondering about which country to cross off the list. Unfortunately, being the anally retentive (I can't believe I already had 4 derrières references in this paragraph alone), organized freak that I am, the Eurotrip is still a work in progress despite the fact that I started planning since June. Well, to be fair, I am breaking the trip down by the hour (I'm not even freaking kidding), and the occurrences of certain unforeseen events have dampened certain aspects of its magnificence. Cramming Italian and German while trying to do French homework is actually rather amusing. I can say "I have genital warts" in 5 different languages (if a 4th unwanted "encounter" necessitates its usage).
All in all, I think France has definitely put the "itch" in bitch and the "whore" in whorrible, but also, the "ice" in niiiiceee (Borat), and the "ass" in sensational.
Here's to my genetic proliferation across Europe (not really),
Jacques
5 kg lighter, 4 weeks left, 3 draggeurs overcame, 2 sleepless night survived and 1 kick-ass/stressful voyage ahead. Talk about muscle dystrophy, upon returning to my lovely anglophone institution, I will be hitting the gym like a 70's drunken husband and his wife (yes, we will walk down this metaphoric road and we are going to LIKE it). For Thanksgiving, I am giving my gratitude for my stomach being less metabolically fussy (yay for no more crack-infused painkillers) and of course, for the tacit love that seems inconspicuous at times, but is, in fact, profuse and affluent in all aspects. It just hit me yesterday that my abroad experience will self-terminate (the reflexive verb so abundantly employed in French--yes, most verbs in France are hermaphroditic and usually prefer do themselves, forget about that annoying direct objects bullcrap) in approximately 4 weeks. I plan to fully self-amuse (francophoners will get this one) in this remaining temporal allocation.
Oh yes, 3rd time is the charm, as Cannes marks my third random and unwarranted "encounter" with French natives, which essentially means I was frequented/hit-on/checked out shamelessly by undesired companies. Given that I was at the beach where there was an overflow of nudity (the entirety of which deprived from a population born before the Great War, yea the First one). Given that I was whoring the newly founded warmth in coastal southern France, and attempted to absorb as much radiation as my corporal surface area allow. Given that I was shirtless, and out-beefed the majority of the audience there (it's actually sad that even in my dilapidated physical condition, I'm still palpably superior to many fellow French males in muscle mass-- I mean, come on socialist state, stop cutting the cheese and pick up some meat. Yes those images were intentional). Those explicit reasons are not sufficient to be skanking on this dude without prior consents.
Continuing on with our numbers, as for the semester, I have had only 2 sleepless nights, and both of them weren't even closely related to academic works. Man, G-town is going to kick my ass pretty badly after this major mental spoilage. And the lonely number 1 stands for my overly ambitious, mother of all ass-hauling, destitute-rendering EUROTRIP. I vaguely remembered watching "Eurotrip" back in high school and thinking that it would be pretty bombass to visit one of those countries. And now, I'm pondering about which country to cross off the list. Unfortunately, being the anally retentive (I can't believe I already had 4 derrières references in this paragraph alone), organized freak that I am, the Eurotrip is still a work in progress despite the fact that I started planning since June. Well, to be fair, I am breaking the trip down by the hour (I'm not even freaking kidding), and the occurrences of certain unforeseen events have dampened certain aspects of its magnificence. Cramming Italian and German while trying to do French homework is actually rather amusing. I can say "I have genital warts" in 5 different languages (if a 4th unwanted "encounter" necessitates its usage).
All in all, I think France has definitely put the "itch" in bitch and the "whore" in whorrible, but also, the "ice" in niiiiceee (Borat), and the "ass" in sensational.
Here's to my genetic proliferation across Europe (not really),
Jacques
mercredi 5 novembre 2008
Maturity Here I Come
On your face.
Well, yes. I couldn't believe it as well, until maturity bitch slapped me across the face with its metaphysically endowed arm. Considering the psychological, emotional, and physical circumstances, I can safely check off that quarter-life crisis (yes, I'm planning to kick the bucket at 80; dude, if it hurts to pee, it's time to leave). Rest assured, that little screaming and kicking four-going-on-five years old boy will rear its gel-spiky head upon reckoning, and of course, by requests. My situation is utterly ambiguous, but not intentionally portrayed I promise (details are privy to whom interested). On the bright side, my return to the U.S. has been confirmed at 6:00 AM French time November 5, 2008. I like president like I like my chocolate: tasteful, dark and hard. (that's right I went there)
To keep things extremely short: Paris, London, Dublin, Bath and Stonehenge should all be smoking a long and conspicuously phallic cigarette right now (this is a sex reference for those sheltered peeps). I basically forced myself on the unexpected but willingly consented cities. And once you go rice, you don't think twice. Since I'm heading north this weekend for the city of love, Paris will be getting lung cancer soon. I have been quite neglectful lately in terms of visual stimulations, but French internet has decidedly opted for an extended hiatus in uploading photos. However, that will be rectified soon (damn I love the phonetic harmony that is that word).
Meandering the shit-littered sidewalk of life (*cough* emo *cough*),
Jacques
Well, yes. I couldn't believe it as well, until maturity bitch slapped me across the face with its metaphysically endowed arm. Considering the psychological, emotional, and physical circumstances, I can safely check off that quarter-life crisis (yes, I'm planning to kick the bucket at 80; dude, if it hurts to pee, it's time to leave). Rest assured, that little screaming and kicking four-going-on-five years old boy will rear its gel-spiky head upon reckoning, and of course, by requests. My situation is utterly ambiguous, but not intentionally portrayed I promise (details are privy to whom interested). On the bright side, my return to the U.S. has been confirmed at 6:00 AM French time November 5, 2008. I like president like I like my chocolate: tasteful, dark and hard. (that's right I went there)
To keep things extremely short: Paris, London, Dublin, Bath and Stonehenge should all be smoking a long and conspicuously phallic cigarette right now (this is a sex reference for those sheltered peeps). I basically forced myself on the unexpected but willingly consented cities. And once you go rice, you don't think twice. Since I'm heading north this weekend for the city of love, Paris will be getting lung cancer soon. I have been quite neglectful lately in terms of visual stimulations, but French internet has decidedly opted for an extended hiatus in uploading photos. However, that will be rectified soon (damn I love the phonetic harmony that is that word).
Meandering the shit-littered sidewalk of life (*cough* emo *cough*),
Jacques
mardi 21 octobre 2008
London Paris, but not Tokyo
Yes Hillary Duff. I went there.
This past weekend was the celebration of my birthplace, aka PARIS. The city definitely affirms my joy in being popped out there. I am quite astonished at the sheer volume of monuments and museums that I was able to cram within such a small opening...of time. There's nothing like being a belligerently drunk hobo in front of the Notre Dame at 1:00 AM. You guys should certainly attempt it sometimes.
As you Grinnellians are probably basking in the warmth some where, the midsem bitch is striking severely at Aix en Provence. Although I have 2 midsems each day for 3 days in a row, the magnitude of stress is uncomparable to the absence of hope felt during midsem week at Grinnell. I am enjoying this rather welcoming change of pace and being able to sleep at night. On the other hand, my stomach decides to revolt this week and render my life at a perpetual state of pain. It is rather morbid that my first thought was "damn, I can't believe I have cancer already"; in any case, the French socialist doctor will hopefully cure what ails me. On the bright side, after this ordeal, I am self-entitling myself to equate such experience to pregnancy and menstruation cramps. It has already been decided, and I'll be sure to add that my arsenal of chauvinism.
Yes, London beckons in 4 days. I am looking forward to forcing my heavily endowed agenda into the tiny orifice of time that les vacances des tous saints has allowed. On one last note, today is the day that my French fluency has finally been realized. Stick that up your Arc de Triomphe and smoke it France.
Okay I lie, one more thing. As an update from the "estranged Asian kid," my hotness was also cultivated today by two French high school girls saying, "you know, if you want to ask for my number, I won't object."
Not robbing the cradle anytime soon,
Jacques
This past weekend was the celebration of my birthplace, aka PARIS. The city definitely affirms my joy in being popped out there. I am quite astonished at the sheer volume of monuments and museums that I was able to cram within such a small opening...of time. There's nothing like being a belligerently drunk hobo in front of the Notre Dame at 1:00 AM. You guys should certainly attempt it sometimes.
As you Grinnellians are probably basking in the warmth some where, the midsem bitch is striking severely at Aix en Provence. Although I have 2 midsems each day for 3 days in a row, the magnitude of stress is uncomparable to the absence of hope felt during midsem week at Grinnell. I am enjoying this rather welcoming change of pace and being able to sleep at night. On the other hand, my stomach decides to revolt this week and render my life at a perpetual state of pain. It is rather morbid that my first thought was "damn, I can't believe I have cancer already"; in any case, the French socialist doctor will hopefully cure what ails me. On the bright side, after this ordeal, I am self-entitling myself to equate such experience to pregnancy and menstruation cramps. It has already been decided, and I'll be sure to add that my arsenal of chauvinism.
Yes, London beckons in 4 days. I am looking forward to forcing my heavily endowed agenda into the tiny orifice of time that les vacances des tous saints has allowed. On one last note, today is the day that my French fluency has finally been realized. Stick that up your Arc de Triomphe and smoke it France.
Okay I lie, one more thing. As an update from the "estranged Asian kid," my hotness was also cultivated today by two French high school girls saying, "you know, if you want to ask for my number, I won't object."
Not robbing the cradle anytime soon,
Jacques
dimanche 5 octobre 2008
Another month and another euro
First of all, I'd like to point out that the font I'm forced to use is called "Police." Irony, Big Brother? I think not. I am now officially in France for ONE month! I think I have habituated enough to the Frenchness, that sometimes, I forgot I'm in France. I would pass by some people, and think, "wow, there're a lot of people speaking French." For those who are quite acquainted with my light-weightedness, you'll be pleased to know that my tolerance has definitely increased (sadly...). My face, however, refused to divert from its usual crimson hue, which usually likened me to severe sunburn, asyphixiation or food poisoning. I still do not fully comprehend the Darwinistic idea behind this (Asian) ability of mine.
Speaking of the Asianness, I am referred to as the "tall Asian kid" by my French partenaires de langue. Ironically, I'm considered as tall here, simply because Southern France folks are a little bit shorter (chouette!); I forgot what that feels like (especially in comparison to the giantesque Mid-westerners). Also, there are NO Asian people, so I (as a tall, American accent, colors-wearing Asian) obviously blends in with French natives.
I recently went on the sorties (excursions) to the Luberons mountain range and the beautiful Roman city of Arles where Emperor Constantine once resided. Pictures will be evident on the web medium shortly. To continue the theme of rapid burts of topics, my host mom has decided to "gently" insist that I sit down to urinate, clean up the water on the ground after my shower (Which wouldn't too unreasonable, except for the fact that curtains do NOT exist here, and one requires water to constitute a shower), and dry my clothes on the ground on the porch (a fact that basically insinuates "don't expect to do laundry from November on because your clothes will crystallize in the tundra temperature").
Love and hugs,
Jacques
Speaking of the Asianness, I am referred to as the "tall Asian kid" by my French partenaires de langue. Ironically, I'm considered as tall here, simply because Southern France folks are a little bit shorter (chouette!); I forgot what that feels like (especially in comparison to the giantesque Mid-westerners). Also, there are NO Asian people, so I (as a tall, American accent, colors-wearing Asian) obviously blends in with French natives.
I recently went on the sorties (excursions) to the Luberons mountain range and the beautiful Roman city of Arles where Emperor Constantine once resided. Pictures will be evident on the web medium shortly. To continue the theme of rapid burts of topics, my host mom has decided to "gently" insist that I sit down to urinate, clean up the water on the ground after my shower (Which wouldn't too unreasonable, except for the fact that curtains do NOT exist here, and one requires water to constitute a shower), and dry my clothes on the ground on the porch (a fact that basically insinuates "don't expect to do laundry from November on because your clothes will crystallize in the tundra temperature").
Love and hugs,
Jacques
jeudi 25 septembre 2008
French people hates happiness
It's true. If you smile at a stranger here, that automatically a whore. I've been repeatedly slapped because the person I smiled at was like old people, or little kids. It's a sickening state of living.
On another note, last night, I ate one of the specialty plates of Provence called, Quenolt (yea, it does look like Quizno). It's basically a giant sausage stuffed with grind pork meat, but here's the kick: it's completely black and ironically & phalically shaped. So basically last night, my host mom fed me a black dildo. It was delicious.
The city plan of Aix is extremely confusing (or as Historical Urbanism in my Architecture class), as evident by the increasing frequency of my complete lost-ness. I started my volunteer work yesteday as well. I tutored immigrant French kids in English; Irony seems to follow me everywhere (context: I was in ESL 8 years ago and now I'm teaching English). It's actually very pedagogic for me because I learned about the proposition infinitives (I had no idea that even existed) along with the kids.
Furthermore, I am joining an Aikido club here in France; it's really funny hearing Japanese spoken with a French accent. Apparently, French people are innately repressing their anger because Aikido here is definitely NOT non-conflictual. It's actually more violent than a lot of other martial arts that I practiced. The super old ladies have no problem kicking you when you just fall down btw. On a side note of kicking old ladies, aged citizens of France (literally in their 60's, 70's and even 80's) will wear high heels and will strut that shit like no tomorrow.
Hope you all are doing well as I am attempting to penetrate the core of French society.
On another note, last night, I ate one of the specialty plates of Provence called, Quenolt (yea, it does look like Quizno). It's basically a giant sausage stuffed with grind pork meat, but here's the kick: it's completely black and ironically & phalically shaped. So basically last night, my host mom fed me a black dildo. It was delicious.
The city plan of Aix is extremely confusing (or as Historical Urbanism in my Architecture class), as evident by the increasing frequency of my complete lost-ness. I started my volunteer work yesteday as well. I tutored immigrant French kids in English; Irony seems to follow me everywhere (context: I was in ESL 8 years ago and now I'm teaching English). It's actually very pedagogic for me because I learned about the proposition infinitives (I had no idea that even existed) along with the kids.
Furthermore, I am joining an Aikido club here in France; it's really funny hearing Japanese spoken with a French accent. Apparently, French people are innately repressing their anger because Aikido here is definitely NOT non-conflictual. It's actually more violent than a lot of other martial arts that I practiced. The super old ladies have no problem kicking you when you just fall down btw. On a side note of kicking old ladies, aged citizens of France (literally in their 60's, 70's and even 80's) will wear high heels and will strut that shit like no tomorrow.
Hope you all are doing well as I am attempting to penetrate the core of French society.
dimanche 14 septembre 2008
Partir là-bas
Yes. That is the tittle of the song in the Little Mermaid.
As strange as this may seem, it is getting harder and harder to think in English than in French. When I am typing this message, I am making so many mistakes because of a) the stupid French keyboard, b) I cannot even think of the spelling in English. My family is nice, but they seem alienable to me. We do not do the bises, or cheek-suck (as it will now be called forever by me), in the family. They think they are a little bit taken back by the sheer mass that I consume everyday because we actually finish everything that the host-mom cooked. If that's even possible, I am more hungry here because of the "walking every freaking where"; I think I average about 15 km daily. I had a little taste of the French clubbing experience this weekend. I went to a total of 7 bars, 4 night clubs and 200 thousand cafés. Apparentlly, all the young people in this town are emo and sexually active bandpeople that can dance and dress really well because
they begin to GO to the club at 1:00 AM and return around 4:00 AM and have breakfast with the parents.
It is quite funny because I feel like I am just making out with everyone I see. I think this one time will top it all. A guy tried to do the cheek-suck with me (yes guys on guys= normal in France), and it was fine except for one tiny fact: his mouth/lips/teeth were more moist than I was expecting, so it felt like he licked my face. I have to be careful because a lot of times, I just kinda slam my face against other people's face to avoid actually touching their face with my flagrantly squalid mouth (a French girl told me that "you do it too hard," and I had to hold back the "that's what she said" thing).
To say the least, I miss you guys a lot (this evanescent feeling will pass very soon, so no sappy crap). French people are just plain better looking than their American counterpart; it's a fact that I have come to accept and embrace. However, they are actually shorter than the giant Iowans I'm used to seeing, so I feel a bit more justified. Btw, I lost 12 pounds already, so France is just slapping across the face with its overabundance consumption of dairy and carbs. I have never ingested so much calcium in my life, so I think my bones will be in great shape upon returning.
My Address:
Adrian Jacques Nguyen
American University Center of Provence
Head Admissions Office
19, cours des Arts-et-Métiers
13100 Aix-en-Provence (France)
ps. my host brother is actually 27 years-old, and apparently is a man-slut. But of course, in France, it is expected that the youngs "explore" their sexuality as much as possible. Aka French girls are really skanky. French men are even skankier if that's even feasible. That's France for you, Skank Central (btw, it's also the most fertile country in Europe).
LOVE,
Jacques
As strange as this may seem, it is getting harder and harder to think in English than in French. When I am typing this message, I am making so many mistakes because of a) the stupid French keyboard, b) I cannot even think of the spelling in English. My family is nice, but they seem alienable to me. We do not do the bises, or cheek-suck (as it will now be called forever by me), in the family. They think they are a little bit taken back by the sheer mass that I consume everyday because we actually finish everything that the host-mom cooked. If that's even possible, I am more hungry here because of the "walking every freaking where"; I think I average about 15 km daily. I had a little taste of the French clubbing experience this weekend. I went to a total of 7 bars, 4 night clubs and 200 thousand cafés. Apparentlly, all the young people in this town are emo and sexually active bandpeople that can dance and dress really well because
they begin to GO to the club at 1:00 AM and return around 4:00 AM and have breakfast with the parents.
It is quite funny because I feel like I am just making out with everyone I see. I think this one time will top it all. A guy tried to do the cheek-suck with me (yes guys on guys= normal in France), and it was fine except for one tiny fact: his mouth/lips/teeth were more moist than I was expecting, so it felt like he licked my face. I have to be careful because a lot of times, I just kinda slam my face against other people's face to avoid actually touching their face with my flagrantly squalid mouth (a French girl told me that "you do it too hard," and I had to hold back the "that's what she said" thing).
To say the least, I miss you guys a lot (this evanescent feeling will pass very soon, so no sappy crap). French people are just plain better looking than their American counterpart; it's a fact that I have come to accept and embrace. However, they are actually shorter than the giant Iowans I'm used to seeing, so I feel a bit more justified. Btw, I lost 12 pounds already, so France is just slapping across the face with its overabundance consumption of dairy and carbs. I have never ingested so much calcium in my life, so I think my bones will be in great shape upon returning.
My Address:
Adrian Jacques Nguyen
American University Center of Provence
Head Admissions Office
19, cours des Arts-et-Métiers
13100 Aix-en-Provence (France)
ps. my host brother is actually 27 years-old, and apparently is a man-slut. But of course, in France, it is expected that the youngs "explore" their sexuality as much as possible. Aka French girls are really skanky. French men are even skankier if that's even feasible. That's France for you, Skank Central (btw, it's also the most fertile country in Europe).
LOVE,
Jacques
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