i am fed up with the cold. please, increase your temperatures by approximately twenty to thirty degrees. no, but seriously. please.
avec amour, scottie
in other news, i will be in poland in one week from today. upon seeing la rafle last week, i have been wondering what in the world i think i am doing to myself. la rafle, a film about the largest mass arrest of jews in france during world war two, tore me apart, quite honestly. i don’t know how i expect to hold myself together going to auschwitz, by myself. happy vacation!
i have been in kind of a daze the past few days. this weekend, i had a six-hour bout of the flu (why do i always seem to come down with unbearable, inexplicable illnesses? really.), but i didn’t mind because later i got to play with meredith, who was visiting from italy. lovely time, really. last night, becca’s host parents invited over about thirteen of their friends and family members to drink wine, eat fondu, and showcase our musical abilities. funny, funny. i can say quite honestly that the highlight of the evening was singing ‘wonderwall’ at the dinner table with a large handful of drunk frenchies. they truly love that english music.
last weekend, i journeyed to paris to visit maggie and her troop of elon comrades. despite the fact that we literally failed to take pictures, it was a lovely stay. and let’s be honest, with a free hotel room and free fancy-chic-restaurant meals, i won’t complain. one of my more notable memories, i would have to say, would be dining in restaurants with a large group of non-french speakers. balancing the dynamic between trying to translate french, speaking french to the waiters who most surely spoke english, and speaking english to the french waiters who preferred that i speak french, was a rather slippery slope. an interesting one, indeed. coming to mind in particular is my experience in the last restaurant we ate at; i was yelled at–no, forcefully spoken to–by a french waiter who asked me, in french, “where are your eyes? did you not understand what i said? i said, on the right, on the right! the womens’ bathrooms are downstairs, on the right!” this was his response when i asked for a second time where the women’s bathroom was, because maggie did not see a door that said “femmes” and i had not yet gone downstairs to survey the toilette situation. that was a bit unnerving, but really, paris was lovely, i promise. really really.
in conclusion, dreamsboro, i await you. summer of freedom.