Friday, October 29, 2010

Train ride to Marseille

Station, Mémère and Pépère waving forever
Mother running alongside
Promenade of the Anglais
Brief splotch of ghetto
This train is an ocean liner on wheels
Filthy sea gulls
Rough turn, shifting in my seat
Tunnel, why I’m not sure
Madames et messieurs, en quelques instants nous allons vous offrir un repas
Tunnel is over; another station, Cannes already?
Jackass 3D, Mister Mystère, Carte SFR, Saw 3D
Train stations are almost as desolate as airports, which I hate.
How much hair gel would just the men represented in this car amount to? 
Scarfs. Furs. 
Very old lady in a wheelchair, pushed by pretty woman.
Did I end up in the wrong seat? 
Goodbye Cannes 
Graffiti lines my windows, where did my sea view go?
Swarms of little black birds that whirl, and dance, and remind me of my brother
There’s la mer (not the ocean, very important)
Three different types of clouds, though one set may be jet stream residue
Beaches are rocky, but the water is nice and dark today
Will I really make remarks like this for an hour? 
I think I mis heard the announcement earlier
Wheels need to be oiled, how much would that cost, how many lives could that money save?
Oh. Park full of trees like the ones you see in Tarzan
Attendant steps into my seat to let someone pass: Back to the trees
River, apartment, tall pines, with skinny trunks that touch the sky, topped with a tupé
Volleyball court in a man made beach (I know it’s man made because it’s sandy)
Something metal just feel and made a lot of noise behind me
Two idiots beside me guaffing over a video game
Mountains, with a village at the foot, painted pinky-orange-tan (pretty?)
Other side of tunnel: rock facades sprinkled with houses and trees
baby blue, roan, this road is too twisty to describe the graduation in color
The rocks are really red here, like Arizona
Nice light at a distance, premonition of actual Atlantis?
I haven’t seen an oliver in a few minutes. 
Tourist on a cliff and sailboat in the distance.
Erosion of the stone
French flag Red Rocks, White Waves, Blue doesn’t fit
Putting away the biscuits since I already ate two rows
October 27th: I’m a day early
Trees are vivacious green, they’ll always be
Sunset is painting everything gold, I can see that even though my back is to the sun
No I haven’t been smoking.
I was up early this morning to walk 2km for a haircut (he straightened it) 
Eyesore gas stations, revolting in disuse
Well maintained cyprès lining a road, lined with expensive cars 
With such a denser population, what’s the city’s carbon footprint?
Tiny red (gold) stone church (I like them from the outside) 
Whoosh whoosh, another tunnel
I’m not scared of the dark
Out of tunnel, a moment of silence- baby cries, squealing wheels, idiots game
Will I be used to the rush of palm trees when I see them aerially? 
I should be working on my prépas course about Allen Ginsberg
Another announcement:
En quelques instants, nous allons arriver à la Gare Saint Raphael
In that case, hello gaufres, goodbye guaffers! 
What a gloomy little station- man runs by with bichon frisé
Lady in front of me with IPad types like mom
Little Barbie girl walks by to go to the bathroom, her mother leans to stalk her clearly
Another mother arrives with daughter and a son. Snooty stock man is in the wrong seat (his book is an english money book, I’m unimpressed, he’s unimpressed by having to sit beside types-like-a-chicken-lady)
Yes Mr, I will smile at you while you wait for the roadblock to pass.
Old train cabs, rusting where the’ve stalled, arts in progress
This is going to be long. Maybe, I can cut it into segmets, and on nights I don’t have time to write a blog, I’ll post these instead. Am I lazy, or do I fear no one will read for disintrest?
Oui, doucement les enfants, il faut surtout rien dire qui pourra offendre (ou etre trop fort)
When did I get into the countryside? 
Depots-car lots-suburbs-fields and everything is fenced in (keeping in or out?)
There are three rows of men sleeping in the mirror on the ceiling
Holy Hills. Am I in Nevada or France? 
Cotton candy sky; Exhibition Park in Bridgewater every year; for birthday, failed plans
That’s unfortunate
I could have sworn that train of thought would end well
Barely out of infancy, children speak better than I do: unsettling (but well behaved)
Farmers fields
Maybe these windows are tinted red: the soil seems off tone too
Graffiti themed route? A little house, floorboards to tiles; recreated
Massive plant (do you import or export) 
Abandonned sink, chair, front half of old truck- we must be close to another stop
Something burning a village away, the wind is chewing the smoke
Recycled air makes my hair cranky (also unfortunate, I was hoping to make a presentable impression) 
One of the men in the mirror woke up
Night is falling, street lights defend their posts valiantly
One single, orange-yellow house perched on a large hill like a crown
I like cars
Montrez vos billets s’il vous plait!
Star punched in the paper by the uniformed attendant (Polar express! -don’t think about Christmas stories you dolt- I’m still definitely keeping that ticket)  
41- 23 equals 18 / 23 - 07 equals 16 / 18- 16 equals 2
I have to coincidentally check my phone at (18:41+ (:18+:2) equals 19:01) 19:01 to keep my rhythm (yes I distort numbers like that for fun, who knows why I dislike math class) 
Pictures-Application-Lesson-FrenchHomework-Pictures-Am I boring you?
Chicken lady’s book must have been boring her because she’s asleep now 
Leather Jacket Money man is writing in his book (how many times could he replace the crayon that crying little girl broke for that one pen? How many slates could he buy for a school in Africa? How many schools in Africa could he have built with the bulging wallet that just fell out of his pocket? Would he offer one bill? Doubt it)
Excusez- moi Messieur, je crois que vous aviez perdu quelque chose...
Ouf. British buisness men have bad french accents (attitudes)
No, you do not need another chocolate wafer.
Coutryside in greyscale: Brown-green (grey), Green (grey), dark Green (tree line is also grey), dark Charcoal (first row of mountains fading into the darkness are almost black (but definitely are grey)), Slate Blue (suggesting a certain greyishness) and a constant tone shift from light blue to midnight blue is a starless sky. 
How optimistic.
I’m not being (moody - a typical teen - emo - depressive) pessimistic though
Head to toe, I’m new!
New boots! They drive my brother insane, who already confesses ‘heels aren’t his thing’ since he’s far too polite to admit he can’t stand them (black suede booties with little metal claps on a bow that ties up on the heel) 
New jeans! Never shop in France unless you’re a US size 6, it will send you into a swirling vortex of self-image doom (nonetheless, I don’t hate these baggy-style, lowrise)
New sweater! White, which is self explanatory (but for those of you who don’t baby sit, haven’t been in Girl Guides, and have never pitied their mothers doing brothers laundry:  for the other 98 percent of the world, rule of thumb states that nothing ever stays white) 
New pull! No, I’m not sure if that’s a word in english (it’s a navy blue warm thing, not a sweater since it’s open in the front, and not a cardigan, since it has a sash, not buttons) 
New haircut! I already complained about that today. 
Hmm. Optimism, optimism...
What isn’t new? 
The rings on my middle fingers:
Left: Fleur- de- Lys surrounded by a thick band of half heart shaped flowers that my brothers offered me for my sweet 16
Right: My name spelled out in hieroglyphics (I have déja-vu, and no, I didn’t just say that to stick another french expression in there, I’m pretty sure I already told you about these rings, so I’ll drop the subject) 
And of course my locket, from grammy - in my pocket when it’s not around my neck
I was told that when you put a picture in a locket, you never take it out, so to choose them wisely. I think I did pretty well: I put the two boys who don’t have the choice but to put up with me for the rest of their lives. 
Salut Toulon. 
Is it possible I still have three stops to go? 
Ten minutes late. I wrecked my pattern. 50 minutes to go.
I have aquired a seat mate! 
Naturally, she would not like a chocolate, and takes out her cell phone. 
People are so friendly. 
I love kids. The little broken crayon boy is playing Mario Kart. 
How many hours does an American boy play per capita? European? South American? 
What about the little boys that manufacture the cardboard boxes they come in?
On that note, the flavor of my munchies is ruined.
A fine state of affairs the world is in when people can type and watch out the window for inspiration to fill cyber-pages, tasting disgust at the idea of blood shed over chocolate and diamonds, people throwing away their money on Gucci bags, ripped jeans and-
And still, every mother puts in a full day, that’s only begun when it’s PJ time. 
‘The world doesn’t need a president: It needs a mother’
-Cathy (the comic book that I was obsessed with in 9th grade) 
Not only from Cathy, from the same volume, but the same strip states
‘If you played fair, and shared with the others then people wouldn’t fight with you! And for goodness’ sake, if you make a mess clean it up!’
Imagine the government that could be run strictly on a regime of a mothers critiques...
Eat your vegetables (good for the environment! They use a tiny fragment of the space to produce in comparison to the mass amounts of meat north America consumes). 
Clean your room, I don’t care if it’s your room, it’s nice for everyone else not to see the mess- Don’t you dare hide it all under your bed or put it in the laundry for me to take care of! (Landfills, carbon footprint, you name it.) 
I don’t care what the class average is, I know you can do better! (In each student taking responsibility, class average goes up, class average goes up, initiative goes up, etc) We’re having leftovers, it would be wasteful to throw that all away (did you know that the average European throws out 23 percent of their meals? Don’t quote me on that, I heard it on the radio, but I don’t know if the radio is a citable source. On that note-) 
Who told you that? you can’t believe everything you hear! (Oh hey Cold War)
Turn out the light when you leave the room (If we all cut back on energy consumption... Or consumption in general actually...) 
Don’t swear! It makes you sound less intelligent! 
That one I just agree with
It’s not an epic metaphor to solving the worlds issues
my laptop battery is at 40 percent
So far: One thousand Nine hundred Twenty Nine
Now that was a fun number puzzle to work out!
Am I really that different from Mr Money (who left without saying a word)
Yes, I like to think I am (who am I to say? I didn’t look up at his stop) 
We both play with numbers, he just made a career out of it
For all I know, he might enjoy opera and jazz music
I can’t tell when we’re in tunnels anymore - Are they the track lights or city lights?
City lights to kitchens, and living rooms, and children's bedrooms, where those two poor little kids should be tucked in right now, not on a bus
What a sheltered life I’ve led
How can my generation bring children into the world in good conscience? 
They’re destined to latch onto technology like crack babies, destined to fail at bringing global warming back from the brink, destined to die in guilt of the hundreds of thousands of younger people taken by AIDs and cancer before them
They’re destined to leave less for their children, less space, food, water, hope, goodwill, clean air, moments they can recall total silence without the infernal buzz that is the value of our society
Neon, drills, engines, four different IPods, crackling receipts in brand name pockets
I don’t fear for my children, because they would have enough
I don’t fear aging, wouldn’t wage a war against wrinkles with cremes or incisions, I’m too much like my mother for that who loves her smile lines
But I fear my children wouldn’t be like their grandmother, or mine
Is it not terrifying, the idea of watching the last real wax and twine candles burn out? 
That in time may come the dawn of a day where nothing is genuine, nothing is real? 
What of a mothers love? Will even that prevail institutions, and the need for careers, to buy a better life, to take cars, not trains? 
Here we are.
One day, this station will be reduced to rubble
How will mothers get their children home safe?
Where will the grandmothers wave from, on the day the world falls?
Will I be a mother or a grandmother on that day?
Will I already be burnt out?
Because it will come.

The Misadventures of Having Three Brothers

Day 1
Technically, day one was when I arrived at a train station at 8 in the evening, a last minute switch, for fear of not arriving because of trains of strike. I showed up a day early, and was received to their home by a meal Thomas and Christophe prepared. We watched a french comedy, and then I settled into Mathieus room (I’m told it was quite the escapade, an original endeavor, a three hour task; to clean), and fell asleep to the sound of the youngest two brothers laughing and cracking jokes through the wall. Is it possible that I missed the rowdiness of having brothers? We’ll see. That was day minus One.
I woke up at 8, since the night before Mathieu make a joke about seeing me at lunchtime I wake up so late at home (mom wakes me at 10:30), and the boys proclaimed it story time! All the times they dunk the last one under, the time with the ice cubes, oh joy! Turns out, my cell phone has a built in alarm clock, and it only took me 20 minutes to work it out!
Up, breakfast, and making sure Thomas is up; I was in my room working on my lesson by 10. Yeesh! Everyone in the house works quietly until, maybe noon? Either way, I got half of my prépas course finished, started tweaking a poem I wrote on the train (depending on how much sense I manage to extract from the rambling, I may post it later), got all of Mathieu’s english assignment for the vacation done with him. I was laughing at Thomas, who apologizes when he kills people in his grand theft auto style video game, when we sat down for lunch.
And then.
Would you like to see a view of marseilles? Of course I would! ... What kind of shoes did you bring?
Two hours later found me with (multiple blisters and) my french men atop a mountain: the wrong mountain. Christophe cut me two branches of Provincial flowers! They’re pretty :) Anyway, I saw half of the view Marseille has to offer. From there, the boys were able to plan this week, one day I’ll go to see these ruins, another, knowing I’m a female they proposed to take me shopping, one day I definitely have to go downtown (How unfortunate I'm not 18, Christophe would have taken me dancing), et cetera! But, we had to scurry on our way down so as not to make Mathieu late: He got braces!! Some people really can’t pull off braces, but he can! 
Wanna know how much I miss having guys around like the ones from back home? I watched a soccer game. On TV. All the way through. With french commentary on British players. And I actually watched! Snuggled into the corner of a leather couch, I was even contemplating enduring a basketball game with Thomas when everyone else got home; so we watched some whacked out comedy called Samantha Oups instead. 
Failing at following the crude humor didn’t last too long, and I had only been suffering briefly when the Chamouleaus asked if we wanted to go out for supper, so off we went (after Christophe and Mathieu had finished wrestling/boxing for the front seat, naturally). Entrée? Pesto and feta baked muscles. YUM. Main course? Italian sausage Gnocchi s in tomato paste (I’d say *om nom nom*, but everyone here eats really quickly, so it was more like *gulp*). Piece de resistance (ie. Desert): Creme brulée. T'was excellent, but I’m still convinced I’m going to track down the little restaurant in Paris where I had it first... Someday :) 
These days are flying by. I missed blogging on the day I had been away from home for two months, and yesterday marked my two months in France. About 20 percent of my trip is over (much to my fathers glee as you can imagine). Where did that time go? I still don’t feel like I have my feet on the ground most days. 
So let’s recap:
Ride a motorcycle: Check. Go to the Opera: Check. Visit Italy and eat pizza (and ice cream, and pasta, and....): Check. Learn to do a cartwheel: Check. Walk the Promenade des Anglais: Check. Visit Mathieu in Marseille: Check. Buy black lace gloves: Check. Weekend at Adélie, Eva and Gretas: Check. Set into my schedule: work in progress. Finish Christmas shopping: also a work in progress. 
Realize how much home means to me every morning that I wake up and don’t know where I am today: big check. Reality check that is. 
It’s exhausting to be so behind in almost everything I do over here. In ear training for example, I’m about ten years behind. It feels like everyday, I’m learning more things about the complicated systems that I’m only temporarily part of. The idea of laying roots that I’m going to tear back up in what in all fairness is very soon, seems self destructive. 
We’re on vacation right now. A very vague sketch so far has been: Friday after school shopping with Adélie, then to school (with bags) for spanish course, then to College Matisse to get luggage and sax, then being disappointed when my bus passed Auréliens going in opposite directions (This is going to the the first time I've been away from him for more than two days at a time since the day I met him) then to the Conservatory, then to Eva’s! There until sunday late afternoon, then to Mémère and Pépère s! Crammed practice, haircut, a great Ella Fitzgerald video, time to pick out three gifts and 6k in one day, 2 of which were in heels, and organizing a travel switch between Sunday and Wednesday evening. 
Today is friday. I have to go now, we leave for the movies in a bit, and then Thomas and one of his buddies are getting an english lesson! 
So, again I have to go. But I know it’s halloween at home, and the leaves here aren’t going to turn, I have to put on a sweater when it’s under 15 degrees, and it seems that everyone points out the snow on mountain peaks an eternity away. I fantasize about home, but I wouldn’t come back. Not yet. Too much left to check off. <3
Love always,

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

For Those Boycotting my 'fake-happy blog'

Who spends their time thinking about Christmas gifts in October?
Bussing through the most industrial sector of a Mediterranean paradise
Trying the distinguish between palm fronds, and daydreaming of pine boughs
Dulling the shock of a Ford by counting Cimiez, Renaults, Peugeots passing by
Who spends their time thinking about Christmas gifts in October? 
Expanses of azure blue ocean, gazing out of grey eyes that match known waters
Singing along with the radio, no one realizing you understand the lyrics
Salmon apartments, terra-cotta tiles that won’t be disguised in a blanket after fall
Who spends their time thinking about Christmas gifts in October?
Weekend with alto player and opera singer in Nice, two ago with Italian ballerina
Headed for Antibes, a stop-over before meeting a friends family in Marseille
Kids ride over coveted grasses of parks at 5 PM in 19 degrees
Who spends their time thinking about Christmas gifts in October? 
Pharmacie, Lingerie, Boulangerie wall an inconspicuous bus station
Every other foot person smoking, two ladies complain in german
Designer handbags, Olive trees, 
planes flying home without me aboard
But I’ve passed the airport, long ago, passed the Hippodrome, passed my time at home
Behind me the mountain village of my host family’s home, place Massena, my lycée
I’m here, on a bus, in Province, trapped within the parameters of my heart strings
An ocean is a long way to stretch, even when others yearn for closeness as well
Who loves their host brother for the boy he still is and the man he’ll be?
Who vainly searches names of European cuisine who fade from tongue and memory? 
Who pays no mind to the advances of french musicians, future politicians, romances?
Who travels at ease at nightfall alone, but won’t sleep until they hear goodnight?
What happened to all the faces and spaces that seem familiar?
When will my head stop spinning, be calm at a resting pace? 
Where am I heading after I get to the end of this road?
Why will the crunch of snow below my feet fall on foreign ground this Christmas?
How did I get here? 

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

I'm a robo-bee! (This is my lame-o pun at busy bee and "of the technology generation"... Blame my father)

And thank goodness for as much! If not me, super robo-bee, who would make you all roll your eyes in exasperation, and collect that indeed, your day will have been what it will have been, but it's so vastly improved by laughing at ones self? (Yes, I'm reading too much poetry, and no, six hours of sleep is not good for my health but hey, jazz with conquer all!) 
This is my well intended attempt at getting myself back on topic: Technology generation. 
My class depends almost entirely on Facebook for communication through our class group, be it news about strikes (yes, the reason behind the military in Paris), homework or just a sense of community, it’s essential. Where does one even begin about Skype? It allows me to communicate with my family and friends, see their smile, and unless the video lags (not an uncommon occurrence, but in all fairness, who’s complaining since it’s free?) watch as their laugh lines up with the glow of their faces. My tabs bar has my brothers hockey homepage so that I can follow their stats even though I can’t be at their games. My professional email, my personal email. A link to a song I adore, and a site called GivesMeHope that does just that. Youtube, and Google translate are at my service in one click. 
As for the France that you all see in the news: Yes. In Paris it’s verging on riots. Here in Nice, you can rest easy, the most danger I will have to survive is a headache from trying to focus on my teachers over the noise outside. There are “mobs” of protesters made up mostly of teens who are only too happy to skip class and make noise, even without knowing the specifics of the law they’re fighting to prevent a reform of. The strikes are a massive pain in the rear, since there are no busses, no cafeterias, and no tram, but I’m starting to get used to the havoc! Aside from that, the big scary ‘blocus’ (the earlier mentioned “mob” with aim of locking us in/out of my high school) has yet to amount to anything. 
School can be described in a less mathematic scheme than my pervious blog like so: 
An adorable teacher first thing monday morning who offers us lemon tea on cold mornings, and then has the near impossible job of managing all of the TMD kids to sing together. By the end of it, Dalila and I are usually warmed up for our lyrical lesson that follows. 
Each week is a new ailment post gym class, such as rolling an ankle, getting too cocky with one’s cartwheels and falling flat on one’s nose or doing a backwards roll (sounds easy but I’ve been drilling myself on them for three weeks now, and though I’m inept to say the least in the domaine of flexibility? Come on! Kids do them by accident when they’re little...) and today, uncovering the origin behind “seeing stars”. History of jazz is always comforting, and I take an inordinate amount of notes so I can use them in my courses! 
One of the courses that I find most interesting is my modern world course. We studied democracy, I was interested enough to want to understand! Now we’re onto studying trends in the global population, and the earths sustainability, and it’s great :D Physics still not so much. I made a Facebook group for my class to give everyone a place to keep each other up to date about the strikes, homework reminders, and just a place for us to be a class, and this week, as we see our teachers, I give them my email so that if they have reminders, or notices that need to get around, I post it. One teacher, not giving names, laughed and puffed themselves up, muttering about how Facebook is not a site for students and teachers to share, and that no, he won’t join the group. I was stifling too strong of a snicker to correct him before leaving. Then about thirty of us cluster around a Yamaha and sing Our Love Is Here To Stay. Three flights down, and my escort to choir awaits :)
Thursday is my fitness test... Survival of the fittest test, that is. My prépas students are an amazing way to start the morning. Their level is astonishing, not a word a lie! The teacher got me a copy of their study novel: Allen Ginsberg. Impressed? I am. I’ve used to dictionary for some of the words, and am halfway through the book, and only starting to settle into the rhythm of the words. I’m getting good grades in French... And my teacher marks me like the rest of the class. I’m thrilled! :) Sax lesson. And a double dose of harmony for me! 
The skits I write are acted out on friday mornings, where for two hours, I select three victims -I mean, classmates of course- and harass their accents. Survive math where the balance of nature has been restored and with the invasion of graphic calculators, the troops are falling. I finish my week with a concentrated dose of Spanish with a Spaniard who speaks at about three syllables per second. 
When we come back from our vacation (I leave Friday of this week, and get back in time for choir Wednesday of next) I’m hoping to join a MOA course and go to big band religiously. I’ll fit my quota of sleep in there some other time, when I’m not having the time of my life :)
There will be no blogs for sure until Tuesday, but from there on, they should be more frequent. 
On that note, I abandon you all for a few hours of sleep <3
ps- bzzzzz <3 Home is where the honey is! 

Thursday, October 14, 2010

An Operette résumé of the my week and the Dialogue of the Carmelites

For the first time, when I say this is going to be short, I mean it. I’m exhausted! The wall everyone always said I would hit, and that I swore I would giggle at? It hits hard.
A reflection on my week, only listing the things that make me gasp and ask how on earth I got there again, 
Monday: 6 am. Musical analysis. TMD choir. Vocal lessons. 
Tuesday: 6 am. Acrogym, soon to be replaced by running (this area of my personal hell lasts two hours). Round one of Physics (but who will win when the gloves come off? The students or the teacher?). Multiple chopped lessons with Pépère. Histoire du Jazz. 
Wednesday: 6 am. Histoire de la musique. Round two of Physics! Prowl the wild jungle of practice rooms to fill the three hours I have before Solfege. Buy a ham and butter sandwich with Rhett, who doesn’t let me walk to our choir alone since it gets dark now. 
Thursday: 6 am. English lessons with my university prep kids! :) I <3 them. Piano lessons with Pépère. Initiation of Harmony. Classical sax lesson. Harmony with Aurélien.
Friday: Writing letters to my brothers and scripts to english skits for my class. Onto the library to get through french novels. Spanish class. Big band.
Last night, I had a Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman moment. I went to the opera. A real, red velvet, crystal chandelier with 600 lights, gold gilt, angels on the ceiling, statues lining the boxes opera house! The best part? After getting as dolled up as the back of a moving car permits, I sat, in my little black dress, in one of those boxes. 
I’ll write more soon, but I have to get up in 7 hours.
Daddy would appreciate the clarification in the fact that my Pretty Woman moment excluded the whole prostitution thing... Just an after thought. :P

Monday, October 11, 2010

Italy: Discovering the meaning of life (naturally, it comes at a high caloric and fat intake)

Life's sole purpose is indulgence. 
My research has proven this true trifold, twice in the form of complex sugars: Once combined with an irresistible compliment of (as my specific research included) pesto and parmesan or Shrimp and tomato Alfredo sauce. The second time in the form of three quarters of such crust, with a combination of freshly melted, fresh local cheeses, basil that still crunched a little at the stem, and naturally, the restaurants specific homestyle tomato sauce. 
The third you ask? 
Italian Gelatos. Creme? Check. Vanilla? Check. Tiramisou? Check. Hazelnut? Check.
The boot country isn’t just a menu either! Strolling down the main run of Sanremo with a certain beautiful, ballet dancing local, I was blown away by the assortments of roses, and the ocean lined by a black and white marble walkway. There’s a russian equivalent of a church a 10 minute drive from her house, more marble statues, a casino, and about  a thousand name brand boutiques. 
Only I would go to Italy, and squeal in delight at the prospect of marketplaces. Being me despite everything, I did. More Italian trademarks roamed the streets, from shoes, to sunglasses. I was enthralled by the idea of the originals of things like venetian masks and glassware, gold brocade frames, African bangles, and Vespa satchels. If there were people roaming the straight roads without 200 dollar sunglasses and Louis Vuitton purses, they were flying under the radar. 
It was fairly windy on Sunday, but Saturday showed the coastline in it’s glory, my favorite view of it wasn’t on the boardwalk. It was on a balcony, with traditional linens and white wrought iron table set, timeless, and giving me the impression that it in turn was under the impression it would perch under the rose terrace for all time. 
How many times in the run of a day do I wish I could capture a moment in time in a bottle, in a word, in a song, anything. More than anything, I wish I could share all this with everyone. 
Today was the first day I felt fall in my bones, waking up in a house between Nice and Monaco, staring out over a private port, four houses down from Tina Turner’s old summer home. I walked down to the bus stop, and watched the sun come up from my window.
How people weren’t as all fixated as I, I’m not sure. I don’t think I would ever get used to this place. I can’t imagine not being traumatized to see the leaves of fig trees yellow, and surrender. I couldn’t dream a dream where the sun shines brighter, an ocean who’s blue is more entrancing.
That last line is a lie. I can dream of rivers of Celtic leaves running like wild horses down  Smokey. 
For all that Italian and French cuisine is to die for, for all the succulent luxuries that are everyday, today wasn’t easy. Today, picturing everyone putting the art of dressing for winter into motion, and then clustering around tables, in the warm light of loved company, the fall rain was a little chilling even on the Mediterranean. 
Today, as everyday, I’m wearing my ring from my sweet 16, and the hieroglyphic counterpart from two summers ago and a dear friend. I have starfish in my ears, and my brothers pictures hidden away in my heart locket. I’m not that different. I’m not that far away. 
Happy Thanksgiving everyone. 
Hey. Post a comment and tell me what you're thankful for!

Monday, October 4, 2010

Stream of consciousness/ Playlist on shuffle time until Croq Messieurs!

I'm hungry. "I don't want to talk about all the things we've been through. Though it's hurting me, it's ancient history" Winner Takes it all by ABBA.
This is how this is going to go. I'm going to type whatever I think, as I think it, and I'll change paragraphs at the end of every song, and name a line that triggers a thought. Here we go. I think half the music is going to be obscure jazz songs no one will know the title to. In those cases, I'll just continue writing what I was thinking earlier. In the meantime. I've decided the odds of my getting married are slim to none. Why? My criteria are as follows: I can't hate the way he eats. He should smile at me for no reason when he feels like it, and not think it's odd when I do the same. I can't hate the way he drives. He should get in the habit of something sweet, even if it becomes systematic. Above all, he has to understand, that I will go out of my way to do things for him, and I just want someone who knows the same love I do.
"Truth spoke in whispers will tear you apart, no matter how hard you resist it. It never rains when you want it to." Humble Me- Norah Jones. It's been pouring all day. For the first time, I gritted my teeth and bought a sweater with wool in it. Moms are always right, and the water slipped off my shoulders as I ran to the conservatory like water off a duck! (I promise, I wasn't waddling). I saw a bunch of swans in a river the other day. The water here in rivers has a green tint sometimes, and it made me think of a picture Julie took in Switzerland.
Going to help Thierry cook croq messieurs. Can't put into words how many silly little things make me think of home these days.
"I'm not afraid of anything, even time. It'll eat away at everything, but we'll be fine." The Golden Floor by Snow Patrol. An addition to my list? When cooking sand which type things, no, I don't like the crust of bread future prospective husbands, bear that in mind :P.
It's night here. While driving home through the first rain here since I've been, I was staring out the window, watching the sky retreat into itself. It's such a dark feeling when the sun isn't around to set, and darkness just dims the light of the sky. I don't mind it when the night splays like spilled ink, but when the light simply dissolves, it's quite sobering. Either way. Sitting, and wondering why life is so like a movie, but why the parts that a song always plays in the background of and time just seems to fly doesn't work like that in real life. I decided when I traced a raindrop with my finger down the glass, and realized it looked like a shot, that it if we want to play the lead role in our movie the way a story line requires of the hero, or heroine, then we pull the movie apart at the seams. It's not about the fact that it's raining out, and that the car you're in is still a way from home, what matters is the fact that if you cock your head the right way, you're inside a screen, and you're watching the world through a stained glass lense.
"I go walking in my sleep through a jungle of doubt to the river so deep. I know I'm searching for something... Something so undefined that it can only be seen by the eyes of the blind." The River of Dreams by Billy Joel.
"Because maybe you'll look up someday, to the bright blue sky, and you'll never look away... Maybe." Maybe by Augustana. Titles are predictable. I should write a song in a minor key and call it Happiness. I don't think I have it in me to write in minor right now. I just got back from supper. You know you're starting to be at home somewhere when not only do you know what kind of desert your brother takes every night, but when your host father forgets to grab him one you automatically get up to grab one, and turn around to a table full of grinning faces.
I did try to warn you there would be random jazz music. Thou Swell by Carmen McRae.
Oh. That was a short song. Onto Innocence by OLP. This was one of the only songs I knew by them before a certain obsessed fan of theirs came into my life, and showed me something different than "wishing she were a dancer, and that she'd never heard of cancer. She wishes God would give her some answers and make her feel beautiful. We are all innocent."
That's something I always said. That if I could go back, I would have been a dancer. Seeing my friends, my beautiful, graceful dancer friends, I get jealous sometimes... Until I see the ones with a lesser balanced head starving themselves. What with the obsessive personality of mine, I don't know if that would have been such a great combo. As for cancer. If I could ask God for an answer, that would be up there on the list of the first I would ask.
Find A Way by Elliot Yamin. Bear in mind this song, since choosing any lyrics would be absurd in this context.
1. Why are people so lost?
2. If he could give the whole world a glimpse of what we could be if we acted like we were all back in primary, and everyone shared, said please and thank you, and the rule was hands off? Would he trust us to lead as the example for the next generation?
3. Cancer and AIDS. Really?
The list could go on. But this is a stream of consciousness, not a rant, and Fix You by Coldplay just came one. "Tears stream down your face, when you lose something you cannot replace. And I? I will try to fix you." No more rescue missions. I promised myself that before I left, and so far I'm holding strong.
"You think you've seen the sun, but you ain't seen it shine." Michael Bublé? Nope! A new favourite :P Sarah Vaughn! Thank you Pépère :P Thank you twice: Fred Hersh's Get Out Of Town. It's a slight culture shock from my general régime at home, but jazz music just comes naturally to my ears. It's effortless, and it's really special to have a music I enjoy without lyrics. Playing the music is another story! Classical fingerings are out the window!! ... And I like it :P It's liberating, to know that I have a pattern, but if I don't feel like it? I don't have to to follow. I can do whatever I like. I can make a piece into whatever I feel.
In theory, I'll be able to. Once I get good enough :P
Hey There Delilah. Plain White Ts, you're all jerks, writing songs that make people laugh, and smile, and sing along, and cry when they're gone. Most of the time, I don't even realize how far away I am, until things happen like waking up to an email from the kid that's been your brother since he's been 3 messages me, and says he's reading my blog. Thomas, how did you grow up this fast? You're not supposed to be in 9th grade. You're supposed to still get mad when I ruffle your hair or give you a hug! Everyone is growing up so fast.
Does that sound silly coming from a 16 year old girl? What about people like Doctor Dawn who watched me from, literally, birth, grow into a teenager? What about another Dawn, who was only here for a little while, but who's emails knock the wind out of me just the same? Everyone is still here. Age seems to speed exponentially the older one gets.... But I think it's safe to say that from a distance, a really, really big distance, like earth to heaven distance, maybe we can enjoy growing older.
Stand by You by The Pretenders. I know you will. I think of Shane all the time. It still doesn't come automatically, to be a brand new baby, but then again, he's not a brand new baby any more. I need to stop doing that. Soon enough he won't be a baby at all.
Time flies faster when you're trying to keep up.
My vocal lessons went really well today. Dalila, the girl I have classes with is amazing. She makes me smile. We got to listen to Eva play her Alto. She's PHENOMENAL. At the Delegates meeting this afternoon, as usual I got carried away, and accepted a microphone, and put myself up for another election! What I'm being elected to, I didn't quite specify, but we're just going to see how this whole episode blows up :P
Speaking of things blowing up. Mom thought it was too funny that I got shocked on the house's anti wild boar wire shocked me. Yup. This is me after all.
And to mis Chicas? Mi clase de espanol comenca este viernes! todo mi amor a senior!
Aah. Long blogs are a sign that I'm starting to get control of my life :) I have enough time to write!
Don't get used to it :P <3
Love you!!