plus légère que l'air // lighter than air

Seeing as it's getting to be exam time for everyone and their mother (except, of course, me), I thought I'd provide you with a little insight to my academic process. Thus, I present you with:

How to Not Fail French University: A Plan

1. For the two classes that I have at la fac, it is necessary to milk my "Je suis une Américaine stupide" status for all that it's worth. In theory, this will get the professors to take pity on me and give me a decent grade. The majority of French kids don't get 15 out of 20, so I don't really understand how my university thinks that making a 15/20 an A constitutes as a proper scale.*
2. For my French class, suck up to Madame K. and do extra exercises to make up for my disastrous attempts at la grammaire française and the fact that I have never seen half of this grammar before.**
3. Give up my France & Europe class as a lost cause and rely on my Cultures, Institutions, & Mentalités Politiques grades to cancel it out. This might actually be possible thanks to Monsieur R.'s generosity. As for Madame G., I have no hope of her ever getting over her narrowminded viewpoint that understanding the big ideas are not as good as regurgitating shit verbatim.

*Writing my papers might also be a good idea.
**By sucking up, I really mean, "Maybe talk in class once in a while."

There is much less required work involved in the French university system. At the same time, it is just as hard, if not harder (and not just due to the whole language barrier). It's incredibly different from the expectations that we have as American students. For example, French kids aren't expected to create a thesis in their papers and defend it--they're actually not supposed to. More often than not, they end their papers having talked about three different possibilities, without knowing what the "right" answer is.

What I mean to say is that I still have no significant free time. Just lots of dead periods. And I've been incredibly bad about filling up said dead periods with French instead of English.

Basically, I'm just a failure. At French, I mean. Sob.

mourir loin de moi // to die far from me

Sometimes I get stuck in this mindset that because they are both "Western" developed countries, the United States and France are pretty much the same, escept that France just has more dog poop and cheese. Fortunately, something usually comes along before I get too comfortable and gives me a good whack on the head. Sometimes, France and the United States couldn't be more fundamentally different.

Last Thursday, it was a simple comment about how criminal justice lawyers are on the bottom of the totem pole as far as prestige and pay goes (more on this later) that gave me a sharp reminder of how different the French are.

We were sitting in my Cultures, Institutions, & Mentalités Politiques class. Contrary to popular opinion, I am capable of paying attention in a 2.5 hour lecture. We were discussing the evolution of the French judicial system. After the French Revolution, the much-maligned system where judges could be bought and nobles had separate rules was changed into an institution guided by the principles of égalité, gratuité, and centralisation. The French then had a system where judges were elected and where there was presumably less corruption. A big difference, however, if I understood correctly, is that French judges do not interpret the law in the manner that American judges do. This was revolutionary: a system where people were treated the same and money (or lack thereof) did not dictate the severity of your punishment.

As infamous as it is, the guillotine was also revolutionary because for the first time, those condemned to death was also executed the same way: quickly and elegantly. Before, nobles had the right to take poison or something quick and dignified. Poorer folks were not as lucky.

All this eventually led to talk about the death penalty. France abolished it in 1981, the last--along with Ireland--of the European Union countries to do so (although back then, it was the CEE and not the EU). During his exposé, R. put up a map showing how the world is divided roughly in half regarding the allowance of the death penalty.

Of course, this led to a talk about the state of the death penalty in the U.S. Monsieur R., poor Frenchman that he was, had a bit of a hard time wrapping his head around the Americans' decentralized way of going about it. He just didn't quite understand why we left the decision to the states. Actually, I'm pretty sure he didn't quite understand why individual states had so much power in general. I admit, though, that after someone brought up the fact that death by firing squad was still legal in Utah (I think it was Utah?), I didn't quite get it either.

The notion that we tried the recently-executed Washington D.C. sniper in Virginia (where the death penalty is legal) instead of D.C. or Maryland was also completely astounding to Monsieur R. Not because of the deliberate decision to do so, but because he couldn't believe that there was no national law governing this.

On a lighter note, back to the deal with lawyers. France is not a good place to make money if you want to be a lawyer. As stated before, the French just don't give a damn about criminal justice lawyers (so different from the U.S.!) The profession as a whole, actually, is just not that prestigious. Monsieur R. explained that magistrats were actually better received than lawyers. Something about them being closer to the law and therefore closer to reason. Since I'm not French, his reasoning went a bit over my head.

Just interesting food for thought.

arrêtez, vous êtes fous // stop, you're crazy

Looking through my entries, I've noticed that everything is either a "France is great!" post or a "France is ridiculous...but in a funny way!" post. It was definitely a conscious decision on my part to keep it that way. Sure, I blog for you guys, but I am also writing for me. I want to reread this when I am old, want to be able to say, "Ah...those were the days!" When my memory is gone, I want to read about happy things, not moments of frustration that are no longer important.

So yeah, I want to romanticize Paris. I want to keep your visions of it--those of who have not visited--pure and untainted. To those who have been here and who have truly found it to be the City of Lights and Love, I want to bring back your sense of nostalgia. Besides, no one likes a complainer (I admit to bristling a bit when my parents were here and complained of the differences). Sure, there's dog shit everywhere and everything is three times smaller, but the good far outweighs the bad, and what you view as "inferior" is often just a different way of thinking.

All that said, I thought I'd give you a bit of insight to the French university system. After much thought, it saddens me to say that the only positive thing that I can take from it is that it really teaches you to be self-driven and independent--you have no other choice. You either do what you think you need to, or you fail. Since the university system is such an essential component of study abroad (at least for my program), I thought I'd say something about it. Just some thoughts to keep in mind for those who might be planning to come here to study in the future.

(Why yes, this is related to an important decision that I have recently made. But my reasons for that are my own--even though I guess I'm effectively explaining them here--and I could care less what anyone thinks or what judgments they might pass on me.)

1. On my first day of class à la fac, I spent close to an hour of a three-hour lecture/discussion walking around with my class because our room was double-booked. And the second place we went to was double-booked. So was the third room, actually, but we got to stay there. But the place we ended up at didn't have enough chairs for one-third of the students.
2. Every time I go to this class now, students still have to go searching for chairs when they arrive.
3. Lecture/discussion is misleading. Professors (often two different ones for each component) lecture at both (and often repeat the material). Students give an exposé once a semester, but otherwise are not expected to talk.
4. Class is often one big three-hour block, once a week. Forget the research that shows how one's attention span only lasts an hour and a half at most. They don't really give a shit whether you absorb the information or not.
5. Actually, they (the teachers, the administration, etc.) don't give a shit, period.
6. The system is designed to let the smart ones pass and the dumb ones fall by the wayside. The teachers themselves aren't going to put in any effort. (On a side note, they are fonctionnaires, so they are guaranteed their jobs for pretty much the rest of their lives. And teacher evaluations don't exist here). They told me that on the first day of orientation.
7. Continuing along the "they don't give a shit" line, I'm pretty sure that only two out of my six teachers know my name. Or even recognize my face. Update: Actually, I take that back. Maybe one teacher knows my name.
   
8. Here, they grade you on the form/method--and how much you can repeat back at them--rather than the ideas. You can't say, "There were debates and the French ended up choosing A, B, and C..." You have to say, "The French first had to decide between A1 & A2. After that, they then moved to decide between B1 and B2..." This is the difference between a 1.5/4 and a 3.5/4. You don't get a 4/4 here in France.
9. There is often a big disconnect between what you are supposed to be able to do and what you can actually do. This is probably due to the bureaucracy, but also especially prevalent in what the program tells you while you are in the States and the reality of the program in France. "Take any classes you want? No, we meant, 'take whatever you want given these conditions...'" And while they are at it, they will also act surprised when you confront them about grades for things you were never told was going to be graded.
10. "Oh! By the way, there are also random expenses that we didn't tell you about." But that's okay, it's not like they knew we were international students. Or that they knew these things were required or anything.
11. Libraries here open for a very small set of hours. The circulation system is a nightmare. And you are way out of luck if you need to pee. For some reason, I can't seem to let this go.

Yeah, yeah, I could suck it up. But those who know me know that I chose to go to a liberal arts college. I did that for a reason: namely, to avoid everything that I just listed above. I don't think that this makes me a spoiled bitch.

I also know that all education does not happen in the classroom. But I'm often too busy doing schoolwork to go out and about. And Parisians are a notoriously reserved lot--you can't get to know them unless you put in a significant amount of effort and time.

And finally, the thing that galls most of all?

12. Parisians pay 300 Euro a year for this university system of theirs. My price tag is $43,000.

Actually, it's more than that now that the dollar is so weak. I'm not paying full price (fortunately), but still. Remember how I paid 90 Euro for that stamp a while back? That is almost 1/3 of the annual tuition fee for the French. For what I'm paying, I'd like to get a little bit more, please.

pas si simple // not so simple

I know that I have been neglecting this blog a little bit as of late, but I have been sick and busy...and sick...and busy. Please expect a deluge of posts to come (and check to see the ones that have been posted!)--I am probably typing up even more entries as you are reading this one.

We began our classes at the Sorbonne two weeks ago.

I can honestly say that it's the one thing that I've found to hate about Paris/France.

More to come later about the education system (or lack thereof) and my thoughts about it and potential impending actions. For now, the important things to know are:

I am taking the following classes at the Sorbonne:

• La Justice & La Criminalité du XIXe Siècle
• Histoire Economique Contemporaine

And the following at Le Centre Madeleine (my university's campus in Paris):

• French
• La France & L'Europe après 1945 au présent
• Cultures, Institutions, & Mentalités Politiques
  

de ces soirs de lumières // of these lit-up nights

The above image, my friends, is what I would term a "foodgasm." Sure, it doesn't look like much. Actually, to be honest, it might even look...unsavory. I mean, a sort-of shapeless blob of a pastry? I know what you think it looks like. Let's not go there.

But no.

It is so much more.

This is an éclair café that I bought at my local bakery. I am not quite sure why it is an éclair café and not an éclair au café, but grammatical questions are of no import here. The important thing is that you spend a couple of seconds looking at this...and then you start envying me enviously for the rest of your envy-filled life.

Just kidding. I don't know what it was about this eclair that made me like it so much. Maybe it is because I am a sucker for all things coffee-flavored. Maybe it is because I am so happy to discover that French pastries, while often rich, are nowhere near as sickeningly sweet as the majority of American pastries. Upon eating this eclair, I first encountered a subtle hint of coffee. A bit skeptical at the beginning, I became more and more impressed as I chewed and the flavors started to merge into the perfect balance of coffee, sweetness, and richness.

Why oh why are French desserts so much better across the board? The other day, I found myself at a KFC. Yes, KFC. My friends and I were simply looking for a place to work, and KFC had wi-fi, unlike the café that we had originally settled on. Of course, you can't just sit down without ordering something. So I...went for the tiramisu. Of course. It set me back only 1,90 Euro. And that tiramisu, which I found at a KFC, was better than the majority of those that I've tried in the States.

This, dear friends, is why I can't bring myself to bake while in Paris, no matter how dearly I miss it. I am simply not brave enough to confront my inferiority.


...But let us turn our attention to something other than my inferiority food.

This picture was taken from my window, and is representative of one of the things that I love about Paris. Lest you call me a stalker, I will endeavor to explain myself:

I was minding my own business, en faisant les devoirs, je pense, when I suddenly heard music drifting through the house. My host family was (and is still) away on vacation, so it could not have been them turning on the CD player or something. And I...I was too rational to believe in ghosts, so that was out of the question.

...it took me a while to realize that it came from outside. I never said that I was smart, okay?!

For some reason, several gentlemen had randomly decided to pull out their instruments and play music on our street. They were situated all over the place; there was a man standing across the street from the one that you see in the picture, as well as two others stationed in different places. It was like...an impromptu marching band. They were playing an old love song to which I know the tune but not the title. When I asked my host-sister later that night, she could not recall the title either, but thought that it was possibly Russian.

One day I will hum you that song, and perhaps you will know. Or maybe not. I'm amused that I recognize all these French (and apparently Russian) songs, but cannot do the same with American music.

I like that there are impromptu concerts in the middle of the streets in Paris.


For those who are interested, I am still going through orientation. Orientation currently consists of two classes: French and méthodologie. In French, we haven't been doing much but for some grammar review and random discussions about cultural differences. In méthodologie, we are (re)learning the structure of the French dissertation. One of my teachers looks like a younger version of Alan Rickman.

Classes at Paris I start in early October. I am in the process of choosing my classes for that. We will see.

elle attend le jour // she waits for the day

I got my visa, sans problèmes. I'm not quite sure how that happened, since so much random shit has been happening to me. But there is a beautiful color picture of me stuck to one of the pages on my passport. And unlike my driver's license, the image of me does not:

1. show me with three chins
2. make me look stoned
3. emphasize my resemblance, such as it is, to the chimps from which I descended

How could a girl be any happier? Unlike the people who look at my license, the airport people won't have to do a double take. This means that with any luck, I won't be mistaken for a terrorist and denied entry to France.

I have approximately three weeks until I depart for the City of Lights. I am not even close to having started packing. I haven't contacted my host mother since June. I don't know what the hell I'm going to do once I do get to Paris. I have not shown my mother show Skype works. I haven't called the credit card people to let them know that heyI'llbeabroadandit'snotbecauseI'mavictimofidentitytheft.Ihope. I have not finished work. I haven't gotten all my loose ends tied up. I haven't said goodbye to people.

Yeah, I basically haven't done anything.

As always, I subscribe to the "desperation is the best motivation" method of living one's life, at least in regards to getting things done on time. I have also never missed a deadline. Ergo, I must be doing something right. Is "ergo" even used right in this context?

The point of this entry was to announce my success in the quest for my visa. But because I am so nice, I will leave you with a picture. Or nine.

Voilà! Some of the different faces of Paris I, courtesy of the Université de Paris Panthéon-Sorbonne website.

Centre Bourg-la-Reine



Centre Michelet



Centre Panthéon



Centre Pierre Mendès-France



Centre Rue d'Ulm



Centre Sorbonne



Institut de Géographie



Maison des Sciences Economiques



Maison Internationale / Arago

With the exception of a few (obvious) ones, I have no clue what actually takes place at these buildings. That's for later, I guess. But for right now, I'm fascinated by the vast differences between the buildings.

It's also interesting how there are pretty much no people in the pictures. When does that ever happen in Paris?