A witty dialogue between my friend George Michael (Gregoire) and I on the way to lunch today. Sometimes it goes like this:
"boool, booul, boooolsht, buuuuuuulsheet. " -GM
"Bullshit. Bullshit." -DM
"booolsheeeeeet. booolshheit. sheeeet" -GM
"almost..." -DM
"Its like when one person, he say to other person, 'what are you saying is wrong'." -GM
"Yes. exactement. this is bullshit." -DM
"Deeahhne, you are full of bullshheeeet." -GM
"Oui. I know. I never said I wasnt. Its one of the best things about me."-DM
"Ah Yes. Ok. I think I know this... I am so tie red today." -GM
"tie red?" (thinking thinking thinking....) "oh Tired!!! yes me too." -DM
"what do you say Teeered? Terrrrred?" -GM
"Tie urd. Tired." -DM
One of the most common language barriers I have found so far is the differentiation in sound of the I. Here, the I is always pronounced ee. Not sometimes this or that, like it is in the English language. For example, Chinese is pronouned Sheenwah and written chinoise or chinois.
So essentially now that I think about it, you could take this same rule and apply it the same way the chinoise mix the L and R sounds. Rike Lock and Loll for example. Anyway...
Our language barriers are so funny sometimes that, more often than not, it becomes the actual getting from point A to point B that is the interesting and fun part. Its actually getting to what the point may be. Its the journey, not the destination, if you will.
So I myself am a big fan of games; Board games, crosswords, word problems etc... so today was no different. It was just like playing a game. It took George Michael and I almost 20 minutes today to get to the point. Heres just a clip... Imagine (pron: Ee mah jee nay)
"Deeahhne, what is it when it rains, or like in the country and there's water? And maybe there is a mountain... when its wet?" -GM
Now mind you, I have NO idea what he is about to get at. We are just walking along, casual conversation. But with the French, you never know; Could be Sarkozy, could be the Next Big Thing in Tech, could be some Russian water polo player in the Olympics... I mean you just really never know what they're gonna want to talk about.
So we continue through the exercise...
"Dew? Mist? Is it a movie? Brokeback Mountain? Greggy, I have no idea..." -DM
"No its like it gets on your shoes. You know you have to wipe them after... and maybe you are walking on a hill or something." -GM
"You mean Sheeeet? Like a cow or something? You step in sheet? or Mud?" -DM
"Oui! Yes Mud! I like mud wrestling!" -GM
"Really? You just get the XXX channel at home or...?" -DM
"Oh I dont know. No. I have lots of DVDs! But I just want you to know that I like this." -GM
And thats that.
And because of this lunch today, with the Panda and Georgey, I remembered something very important. Its the little things in life that make me most happy. Today was absolutely hysterical the whole way through and I feel so good because of it.
Now to My point-if I were to be asked what the best moment of my life was, my answer would be simple. Maybe it would be in a haiku or in a long drawn out story about me and 2 frenchmen, or me and a nun walking into a bar, but still, Id get to the point and it would go something like this. It would be "any moment I was laughing."
February 29, 2008
February 27, 2008
Heritage Month
Ha! How great is that?
March is Diane Micheil Heritage Month!
I have to thank my friend Little Anthony for that one. I dont think he reads my blog so I can call him Little Anthony here. He knows thats what I call him, but generally prefers I dont do it in public. I think he likes to think of it as my pet name for him. Aaaaanyway, lil Ant is coming for a visit from New York in March and has declared that the whole month be dedicated to me. And I thought to myself, "self? what a great idea that is to have a whole month dedicated to you."
Talk about uplifting, right?
Short post for today but I want to encourage all of you to declare your own *personal heritage month. Or have someone declare one for you!!!
*March is taken
March is Diane Micheil Heritage Month!
I have to thank my friend Little Anthony for that one. I dont think he reads my blog so I can call him Little Anthony here. He knows thats what I call him, but generally prefers I dont do it in public. I think he likes to think of it as my pet name for him. Aaaaanyway, lil Ant is coming for a visit from New York in March and has declared that the whole month be dedicated to me. And I thought to myself, "self? what a great idea that is to have a whole month dedicated to you."
Talk about uplifting, right?
Short post for today but I want to encourage all of you to declare your own *personal heritage month. Or have someone declare one for you!!!
*March is taken
February 26, 2008
Lost in Translation
Sometimes I wonder how long this is going to last... How long can I go in this silence? How long can I survive in a culture that exists solely on its own language? I mean, sure, I could have learned French at some point in my life, but why would I? Im a Californian! The real need there is to learn Spanish--weekend trips to Mexico, communication with hired and un-hired help, Mexican restaurants, the flea market, the Car Wash... I mean come on!
Never would I have imagined myself moving to Paris. Never imagined at the very least going alone, not knowing a single person, not having a place to live, or a person to love...Am I crazy?
I mean I realize the very harsh realities of my situation most often when Im at Lunch with my colleagues. Lunch is a VERY big deal here. You are almost required to go to a 1hour sit down at a restaurant. We usually travel in packs of 4pp to 10pp, (yes its more like an event than a meal really) and I usually end up going with a different mix of peeps every day. Its nice. Except... well, I want to fucking talk!!!!!!!!! I hate not talking. I don't want to be the center either, but I hate not being able to contribute my well thought out and witty 2 cents. I hate that by the time things are explained to me of what was just discussed that the conversation has moved on to something else. If I decide Id like to contribute then its way after the fact and I look like a total dumbass who cant keep up. And shit. Maybe I am?
And its a bit disheartening knowing that not one person, in all of France, even knows who I am.My character. My intricacies and quirks. My funniness and my meanness. My sarcasm. oh my sarcasm...I miss you sarcasm (kiss hug kiss hug, come back soon!). Most of me is silent and my humor tends to falls on deaf ears here. And Im so scared Im gonna turn into a boring french person. (No offense frenchies!!!) And granted, Im not the easiest person to get to know, but the very basis of my being, is Lost in translation. Let me highlight my point with an example; Someone in my office called me "shy." This didnt really seem fair to me since hey, what do you want me to do? What, literally can I say to you to change your mind? What kind of conversation are we supposed to have?
"-ca va?
-ca va. et toi?
-ca va."
et voila. merde.
(And ps. it wouldnt kill anyone to brush up on their English ya know!)
I dont want to be scared of the French anymore. Some of them, er rather,No wait, I take that back. The French language scares me. I live in constant fear of being misunderstood. And even when I speak French I am misunderstood. So I suppose on the bright side at least my expectations are being met.
This is why I think I decided to pitch An American in Paris, ie, French Toast, when I did. I needed to figure out a solution for myself that would enable me to find my voice way before it would appear on its own, in French.
And peeps, I cant wait to spill it! From the mounds of steak tartare, to cutting an entire pizza with a fork and knife, to horse meat, to sushi with a side of bread, to the lack of mexican food and the great wine debate! Im covering it all and my unbiased, tell-it-til-it-hurts truth is coming. Its French Toast.
That said, until the pilots are shot, I think I just found my remix...
The ReBirth of Cool.
phew. glad i got that out! liberating! i feel much better now. thanks Blog!
Never would I have imagined myself moving to Paris. Never imagined at the very least going alone, not knowing a single person, not having a place to live, or a person to love...Am I crazy?
I mean I realize the very harsh realities of my situation most often when Im at Lunch with my colleagues. Lunch is a VERY big deal here. You are almost required to go to a 1hour sit down at a restaurant. We usually travel in packs of 4pp to 10pp, (yes its more like an event than a meal really) and I usually end up going with a different mix of peeps every day. Its nice. Except... well, I want to fucking talk!!!!!!!!! I hate not talking. I don't want to be the center either, but I hate not being able to contribute my well thought out and witty 2 cents. I hate that by the time things are explained to me of what was just discussed that the conversation has moved on to something else. If I decide Id like to contribute then its way after the fact and I look like a total dumbass who cant keep up. And shit. Maybe I am?
And its a bit disheartening knowing that not one person, in all of France, even knows who I am.My character. My intricacies and quirks. My funniness and my meanness. My sarcasm. oh my sarcasm...I miss you sarcasm (kiss hug kiss hug, come back soon!). Most of me is silent and my humor tends to falls on deaf ears here. And Im so scared Im gonna turn into a boring french person. (No offense frenchies!!!) And granted, Im not the easiest person to get to know, but the very basis of my being, is Lost in translation. Let me highlight my point with an example; Someone in my office called me "shy." This didnt really seem fair to me since hey, what do you want me to do? What, literally can I say to you to change your mind? What kind of conversation are we supposed to have?
"-ca va?
-ca va. et toi?
-ca va."
et voila. merde.
(And ps. it wouldnt kill anyone to brush up on their English ya know!)
I dont want to be scared of the French anymore. Some of them, er rather,No wait, I take that back. The French language scares me. I live in constant fear of being misunderstood. And even when I speak French I am misunderstood. So I suppose on the bright side at least my expectations are being met.
This is why I think I decided to pitch An American in Paris, ie, French Toast, when I did. I needed to figure out a solution for myself that would enable me to find my voice way before it would appear on its own, in French.
And peeps, I cant wait to spill it! From the mounds of steak tartare, to cutting an entire pizza with a fork and knife, to horse meat, to sushi with a side of bread, to the lack of mexican food and the great wine debate! Im covering it all and my unbiased, tell-it-til-it-hurts truth is coming. Its French Toast.
That said, until the pilots are shot, I think I just found my remix...
The ReBirth of Cool.
phew. glad i got that out! liberating! i feel much better now. thanks Blog!
February 25, 2008
French Toast
"It's called an American in Paris. Its about a charming, intelligent girl who moves to Paris on her own. Her witty and insightful revelations regarding the stark and subtle contrasts between French culture and American culture are where we are going to find the crux of the stories. She takes us into her world of hilarious findings, no-nonsense rules and etiquette, and culinary pleasures and attrocities. She will need a co-host that speaks both French and English so we can broaden the audience and keep it relevant for both the US and all of greater Europe. So what do you think? "
"I love it!" he says. "But lets change the name, its a bit too broad and I think its been done. We'll start shooting pilot episodes in the next couple weeks. You will do all the writing. Lets start to run the show on cnetv.fr, Goosto.fr, onlylady.fr. Next week when I'm in SF we'll try to sell the US for chow.com, ok?"
And just like that "French Toast" was born.
So I had this idea for a TV show even before I left San Francisco. I actually had 2 things in mind when I set out for my new life in Paris. 1. Date the President. He is single and I had a shot. He's the bling bling president and short men love tall women. and 2. Become an International Star.
Simple.
Anyway, he's married to some over the hill model now and frankly, Im over it anyway. Hes kind of an ass and none of my friends approved of the courtship, so I decided to let it go.Back to my show.
It was probably one of the most exciting days in my life so far. I mean I have this great job as it is, and Im in paris and my life is really good. So yeah, I feel infinitely lucky day to day, but I have never actually taken my career aspirations by the balls and just gone for it. (ha sorry, that was a weird analogy.) So now yours truly is in development with cnet networks to produce her very own light hearted, intellingent and of course tongue-in-chic (see it altready started!) humorous online TV show. Just like that. et voila.
But theres a greater point that Id like to share with you all and excuse my soapy-boxness here, but I dont do it that often so sit tight... Never be afraid to ask. If you want it, ask for it. My parents can attest to this as I always seem to be asking them for things. The worst that can happen is that you are told No. (Fortunately for all of us, this doesnt happen too often, thanks Mom and Dad!) so Ive never really had any sort of aversion to asking for things. If I ask you, if I ask the universe, if I ask my God, or my Boss (which sometimes fill in for each other) you just have to ask. Can I move to Paris? Can we produce a show Ive written and feature it on a few of our websites? Can I borrow 20 Euros? See its easy!
And now lets raise our French Champagne filled glasses for a toast...
To French Toast!!!!!!!!
"I love it!" he says. "But lets change the name, its a bit too broad and I think its been done. We'll start shooting pilot episodes in the next couple weeks. You will do all the writing. Lets start to run the show on cnetv.fr, Goosto.fr, onlylady.fr. Next week when I'm in SF we'll try to sell the US for chow.com, ok?"
And just like that "French Toast" was born.
So I had this idea for a TV show even before I left San Francisco. I actually had 2 things in mind when I set out for my new life in Paris. 1. Date the President. He is single and I had a shot. He's the bling bling president and short men love tall women. and 2. Become an International Star.
Simple.
Anyway, he's married to some over the hill model now and frankly, Im over it anyway. Hes kind of an ass and none of my friends approved of the courtship, so I decided to let it go.Back to my show.
It was probably one of the most exciting days in my life so far. I mean I have this great job as it is, and Im in paris and my life is really good. So yeah, I feel infinitely lucky day to day, but I have never actually taken my career aspirations by the balls and just gone for it. (ha sorry, that was a weird analogy.) So now yours truly is in development with cnet networks to produce her very own light hearted, intellingent and of course tongue-in-chic (see it altready started!) humorous online TV show. Just like that. et voila.
But theres a greater point that Id like to share with you all and excuse my soapy-boxness here, but I dont do it that often so sit tight... Never be afraid to ask. If you want it, ask for it. My parents can attest to this as I always seem to be asking them for things. The worst that can happen is that you are told No. (Fortunately for all of us, this doesnt happen too often, thanks Mom and Dad!) so Ive never really had any sort of aversion to asking for things. If I ask you, if I ask the universe, if I ask my God, or my Boss (which sometimes fill in for each other) you just have to ask. Can I move to Paris? Can we produce a show Ive written and feature it on a few of our websites? Can I borrow 20 Euros? See its easy!
And now lets raise our French Champagne filled glasses for a toast...
To French Toast!!!!!!!!
February 19, 2008
I Find the Holidays…
My TV arrived today. Its 32” of Flat Toshiba love and I swear you’ve never seen anyone more excited! At least that what Nick said. He is over from London for the weekend to celebrate Valentinos (I like that, don’t you?) Valentino’s Day. Its sort of like Valentine’s day for those who aren’t actually in a relationship, but like each other enough to have sex and go out dinner. It’s a great holiday, and next to his other favorite holiday, “Steak and Blowjob Day,” which happened to fall on this same weekend as well, (coincidence? maybe) Id say we had a really nice time. Not to worry ladies, Ive created one for us too… Potage and P---- Day. For your reference this Holiday falls on the 16th and 17th of every month so be sure to let your man (or woman) know! Oh and Potage is French for 'soup,' so have at it!
Um… oh the TV! I am so excited to set that up or at least have someone set it up for me. Its so purrrty. The rest of my furniture is to arrive today as well so let’s hope the delivery man finds me and I find my furniture in excellent working condition. Nick is here for one more day so Im hoping he’ll find time in his hectic Holiday schedule to help me hang some stuff and sort the tube out!
_____________________________________________________
Note to Readers!!!!!!!!!
While I wrote this blog entry, Nick was still in town and we were merrily playing house for the weekend. I get to work today only to find out that steak and blowjob day is an actual holiday and is one month after Valentines Day, on March 14th! I couldnt believe it either!
http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Steak+and+Blowjob+Day
Id be upset, but seeing as how I nominated my new Holiday for a bimonthly celebration, I cant be too upset. As Nick would say, I’m not “gutted” about it.
Happy Holidays!!!
[Please consult your HR department or Manager for Paid Time Off/ Holiday Hours and scheduling for above mentioned Holidays]
Thank you
Um… oh the TV! I am so excited to set that up or at least have someone set it up for me. Its so purrrty. The rest of my furniture is to arrive today as well so let’s hope the delivery man finds me and I find my furniture in excellent working condition. Nick is here for one more day so Im hoping he’ll find time in his hectic Holiday schedule to help me hang some stuff and sort the tube out!
_____________________________________________________
Note to Readers!!!!!!!!!
While I wrote this blog entry, Nick was still in town and we were merrily playing house for the weekend. I get to work today only to find out that steak and blowjob day is an actual holiday and is one month after Valentines Day, on March 14th! I couldnt believe it either!
http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Steak+and+Blowjob+Day
Id be upset, but seeing as how I nominated my new Holiday for a bimonthly celebration, I cant be too upset. As Nick would say, I’m not “gutted” about it.
Happy Holidays!!!
[Please consult your HR department or Manager for Paid Time Off/ Holiday Hours and scheduling for above mentioned Holidays]
Thank you
February 8, 2008
PCP and Merde
I'm in the merde, as Stephen Clarke so aptly put it. I know this feeling. And it's not one I'm proud to say I have. My house- both figuratively and literally- is out of order.
And I didnt quit smoking. Not only did I not quit, but my half-ass effort at quitting thrust me into a world of Marlboro lights. I thought to my self, "Self? If you dont buy your usual Dunhill Lights then you probably wont want to smoke as many right?" So wrong. No I smoke crap. Granted, I do not smoke quite as many, but I certainly didn't quit. And thanks to all of you supported this decision by the way...Ive noted some of your helpful sentiments below:
"Deahhne, you too much Party Girl to quit."
"No! You're quitting? Really? Why?"
"Well you wont mind if I smoke around you right?"
"That's fine, but it wont last."
"Well what are you gonna do then? You know Im coming to town next week right?"
Now Im not blaming anyone but myself, but I have to wonder how many of my friends are actually in the Smoking Al Queada and why they refuse to let me out?
Merde.
Plan B. Keep smoking until apartment or part of personal house is in order. Set new date.
Now to Voltaire where we find my wonderfully vacant apartment. Chez Moi is successfully stagnant in its progress to becoming my Home. I cringe to admit this, but...I went to IKEA again. (I had to, and trust me I wasnt sprinting through the doors with excitement this time.) Anyway, I had to make some big purchases so I researched before I went so by the time I arrived I would be all ready to go. Well wouldnt you know it, but luck be a lady that day! They had everything I wanted in stock and could express ship to me the very next day. I began planning my IKEA party.
Well as it turns out not only did I give IKEA the wrong address (I had to call Olivier the next morning to call them to try to straighten out for me) but on top of this I managed to pull almost every box incorrectly from their magical wonderland of warehouse shelves. 6 doors to an armoire instead of 2 doors and 4 walls.
My IKEA party was a disaster to say the least. Benoit and Olivier came to help, but their efforts were totally in vain.
-"uh Deahnne?Where are the rest of the boxes?"
-"what do you mean? geez you guys, just do the armoire first and then we'll move on to..."
-"uh no. Why so many doors(portes)?"
merde. merde. merde.
Later that night I got so drunk putting my bed together that its actually now a Rocking Bed. I know I know, dont-come-a-knockin. Save it.
I laugh at first. And actually we all kind of keep laughing about it all night. But later that night I laughed myself right into tears and into a fit of frustration.
Does this mean I have to go back to that God forsaken place? There's just no way. I'd rather scrap all of it and make my apartment a "Porte Concept Pad."
"Welcome to PCP! No you're not hallucinating- there really isn't any furniture in here! Oh those clothes? Its the latest. I read an article in Vogue that its best to keep your clothes in complete disarray strewn all over your bedroom floor. Feng shui something or other. Anyway... Pick a porte, any porte!"
I mean maybe if I had a refridgerator or a TV or a curtain around my shower. Maybe if I had a stove or an endless amount of money or even one ounce of what people call "domestic skills."
I mean I cant even call the cable guy. I need wee-fee for my computer. I need my QWERTY back and obviously I need to be medicated. Not in a Heath Ledger kind of way, but for God's sake can someone tell me when to use a screw and when to use a nail?
Then Benoit says something I will never forget:
"Deahnne... It's difficult to be French."
And I look at him and say, "No Benoit. It's Difficult Not to be French."
et voila.
And I didnt quit smoking. Not only did I not quit, but my half-ass effort at quitting thrust me into a world of Marlboro lights. I thought to my self, "Self? If you dont buy your usual Dunhill Lights then you probably wont want to smoke as many right?" So wrong. No I smoke crap. Granted, I do not smoke quite as many, but I certainly didn't quit. And thanks to all of you supported this decision by the way...Ive noted some of your helpful sentiments below:
"Deahhne, you too much Party Girl to quit."
"No! You're quitting? Really? Why?"
"Well you wont mind if I smoke around you right?"
"That's fine, but it wont last."
"Well what are you gonna do then? You know Im coming to town next week right?"
Now Im not blaming anyone but myself, but I have to wonder how many of my friends are actually in the Smoking Al Queada and why they refuse to let me out?
Merde.
Plan B. Keep smoking until apartment or part of personal house is in order. Set new date.
Now to Voltaire where we find my wonderfully vacant apartment. Chez Moi is successfully stagnant in its progress to becoming my Home. I cringe to admit this, but...I went to IKEA again. (I had to, and trust me I wasnt sprinting through the doors with excitement this time.) Anyway, I had to make some big purchases so I researched before I went so by the time I arrived I would be all ready to go. Well wouldnt you know it, but luck be a lady that day! They had everything I wanted in stock and could express ship to me the very next day. I began planning my IKEA party.
Well as it turns out not only did I give IKEA the wrong address (I had to call Olivier the next morning to call them to try to straighten out for me) but on top of this I managed to pull almost every box incorrectly from their magical wonderland of warehouse shelves. 6 doors to an armoire instead of 2 doors and 4 walls.
My IKEA party was a disaster to say the least. Benoit and Olivier came to help, but their efforts were totally in vain.
-"uh Deahnne?Where are the rest of the boxes?"
-"what do you mean? geez you guys, just do the armoire first and then we'll move on to..."
-"uh no. Why so many doors(portes)?"
merde. merde. merde.
Later that night I got so drunk putting my bed together that its actually now a Rocking Bed. I know I know, dont-come-a-knockin. Save it.
I laugh at first. And actually we all kind of keep laughing about it all night. But later that night I laughed myself right into tears and into a fit of frustration.
Does this mean I have to go back to that God forsaken place? There's just no way. I'd rather scrap all of it and make my apartment a "Porte Concept Pad."
"Welcome to PCP! No you're not hallucinating- there really isn't any furniture in here! Oh those clothes? Its the latest. I read an article in Vogue that its best to keep your clothes in complete disarray strewn all over your bedroom floor. Feng shui something or other. Anyway... Pick a porte, any porte!"
I mean maybe if I had a refridgerator or a TV or a curtain around my shower. Maybe if I had a stove or an endless amount of money or even one ounce of what people call "domestic skills."
I mean I cant even call the cable guy. I need wee-fee for my computer. I need my QWERTY back and obviously I need to be medicated. Not in a Heath Ledger kind of way, but for God's sake can someone tell me when to use a screw and when to use a nail?
Then Benoit says something I will never forget:
"Deahnne... It's difficult to be French."
And I look at him and say, "No Benoit. It's Difficult Not to be French."
et voila.
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