Poop Goes In the Potty

DATELINE: 21.04.09 PARIS, FRANCE

"Poop goes in the potty.

Puh-poop goes in the potty.

yeah.

Poop goes in the potty.

It doesn't go on your friends.

It doesn't go under the table.

yeah.

Poop goes in the potty.

Puh-poop goes in the potty.

..."

Oh!  Well thank god we cleared that up! I was beginning to think the proper place for poop was in college lectures, newspapers, and congressional debates.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is what is stuck in my head after tonight's session of babysitting. It's a hip-hop style song on a CD of contemporary children's songs.

So much for the songs of yore, that we all remember so fondly.  They have been replaced by such gems as, "Poop Goes in the Potty."

Is this something that parents these days are having difficulty teaching, so much that a producer of children's music felt it would be good to record a song about it?  I just can't shake the vision of, say, Jay-Z potty-training his kid, standing before him in the bathroom bustin' out with: "Poop goes in the Potty! Yeah, poop goes in the potty! Boy-eeeeee".  Or better yet, a 40+, balding accountant.  

SNL are you listening??  This skit just writes itself.

Back to my research paper....

Don't forget kids: It doesn't go on your friends. Puh-poop goes in the potty!  yeah!

A little poem

DATELINE: 16.04.09 PARIS, FRANCE

This is a little poem.

I will call it:

What I Will Be Eating for the Next Week

Beans & Rice

Beans & rice & corn

Beans & rice & corn, add more tomato

Beans & rice in a tortilla

Beans & rice with cheese

Beans & rice and salad

Rice & rice & beans

Let's get zesty

Beans & rice, add chili paste

Beans, beans, beans, and beans.

And rice.

Spam, spam, spam, and spam.

Hold the spam, please.

I hate the IRS

DATELINE: 15.04.09 PARIS, FRANCE

I say this every year and I mean it sincerely every year: I hate the IRS.

Our tax system is backwards as far as I can tell, and the IRS seems more concerned with ensuring that we on the bottom of the pigpile are coloring inside the lines rather than making sure the big pigs on the top aren't laundering money. 

This year in particular, what has inspired my disdain is the taxation of unemployment benefits.

Am I the only one who thought that a portion of all the taxes that I have paid in previous years was paying into a pool of money from which, by paying in, I am entitled to draw should my job be lost due to, say, outsourcing to a satellite company in Colombia being incorporated as a separate entity to take advantage of corporate tax loopholes? 

But I digress.

So can we see please, with a show of hands, how many of us believed that the way this works is: over your years of slaving away for the man (maybe you are lucky enough to not be a corporate slave) you paid your taxes like good boys and girls, a portion of which was your contribution to the big happy pool of money known as the Social Security system, and that during that time your employer, or various employers, were also throwing in a portion of money to that big happy pool in your name. Then, should you get handed a pink slip you are entitled to draw from that system in the form of Unemployment Assistance (or benefits), which will be payments amounting to about 60% of what your paychecks had been under your salary.

How many of you are just barely getting by on your current salary and would need to do some careful budgeting in order to make all ends meet and pay all bills on only 60% of that? Come on now, am I the only one among you with the monkey of credit card debt on my back?

Ok, now - think about how much harder it would be if taxes were taken out of your unemployment benefits, meaning that roughly 1/3 of that 60% were then taken back by the Fed as taxation on your benefits payments - money which they are disbursing to you which you had previously deposited through payment of your taxes taken from your paychecks when you did have a job.

OK, now how many of you knew that Unemployment Assistance benefits are not only considered fully taxable income but are also expected to be *repaid* - not unlike a loan with a really shitty interest rate?

Is anyone else bothered by this? Does anyone else think that this really screws the little guy (ie me)??

I expect that while many of you may be unsurprised by this info, you may not have really known this unless you yourself have been through it, or been privy to the outraged rants of someone who has... =D

Come on now, doesn't this seem just a little bit backwards? It was bad enough when I just felt like the tax code was unfairly weighted on the lower classes, and that my tax dollars were being used to fund wars I don't support and the arrogant, destructive missions of a malicious president. But I dutifully continued to pay my taxes because I thought that when I was down and out, the system into which I had paid would otherwise not be there for me.

I'm beginning to really understand why people drop off the radar and stop paying their taxes.

Since I'm already "playing dead" here, maybe it's worth it to just "get lost" in France...  Is France's taxation system any better?  Beuler? Beuler? Anyone?

Somethin' strange... in the neighborhood....

DATELINE: 14.04.09 PARIS, FRANCE

For the last week or two one of the streets I take on my route home has been roped off. Not entirely blocked off, but there has been that red and white striped "no parking zone" tape strung the length of it on both sides. The cars that were parked there when it was put up were roped in. Every so often a few traffic cones would appear blocking some parking spots.

I wondered about it half-heartedly on several occasions. Misa and I wondered about it together on our way home from the Tahiti 80 Concert.

Today I found out what it's there for.

Today on my way home I stumbled upon a film in the making. It is a scene involving a car with 4 passengers driving down the street. They were rehearsing it and blocking the shoot at about 8:30 so my guess is they wanted to shoot at night.

I chatted briefly with an older woman who was also watching the action. I had actually passed by she and her husband walking their dog a few blocks back. We were unable to determine if the shoot was for a film or a TV show or a commercial, but she did tell me that regarding the actors in the car, she had seen them before on TV -at least, for the two who were seated in the front seats. If I understood her correctly she was saying she had seen them in TV broadcasts of films. A man and a woman.

I later asked one of the police officers standing blocking the other end of the street what was happening. She told me they were shooting a film but wouldn't tell me what the name of the film was or anything else. It's likely she didn't know. I wasn't bold enough to ask the crew themselves.

The video of it and the photos are fantastically exciting <>, so hold on to your hats, kids!
=)

a plus!

Hungover blogging

DATELINE: 12.04.09 PARIS, FRANCE

Wow, so... um, drunk blogging. I'm surprised that entry was at all intelligible. Whew. The Misa and I were quite the pair last night. Misa conked out in her bed so soon after we got home that I had to poke her to make sure she was still alive. I didn't think I was so drunk - though I definitely was unable to keep in a straight line on the walk home. But I woke up on several occasions this morning feeling very much the misery of a hangover. It's been a long time since I've drank that much beer (I passed on the wine because I started with the beer and opted for consistency).

So the party was the housewarming for Naomi & Juan's new place. They are in the midst of total overhaul renovations and decided to have the party while there is nothing in the house to worry about - no carpets to worry about spills, no furniture to get damaged, nothing on the walls that could accidently get broken. In fact they had recently completed the demolition stage of the renovation, so really there was nothing to worry about. I think this was SUCH a smart idea. Brilliant actually. And it created such a great atmosphere for the party. All the quarks just added to a very positive, all are welcome vibe. The place is going to be so beautiful when they are done - it is a really nice space. And it is not a long walk from where I live - which Misa and I really appreciated.

We had a *very* good time.

There was a lot of salsa dancing.

The toilet doesn't yet have a door.  So there was just this screen and the toilet is on the other side.  We always went with a buddy so that someone could function as the door.  Je suis la porte.

I really have to say, they are an amazing group of people - Naomi, Juan, and their friends/family. I really feel lucky to be part of their circle.

Misa arrived in Paris from Lyon on Friday afternoon.  We met up at the Eiffel Tower after I was done teaching and walked from there to my house.  We went out that night to a music club called l'Alhambra, in the area of République.  We went to see Tahiti 80.  The show was so good and so much fun!  Again, I was kicking myself because much like the Saul Williams show (from which there are only crummy videos up on YouTube), they didn't really check our bags, didn't seem to have any problems with people recording the show, and we were right upfront.  OK. Lesson learned.  When I go to see Phoenix next month I am bringing my camera. 

So yesterday Misa and I went wandering around the Montmarte area, which is really near my house, just to the left and behind the Sacre Coeur.  It is such a great neighborhood!  It is, of course, touristy.  It's famous, so that's unavoidable.  But a lot of cute little streets, and cute little shops.  We had coffee. We stopped for ice cream. We sat in an adorable little park behind the Sacre Coeur to eat it. I will definitely spend more time there.  I am a bit embarrassed that I have been living here in this apt for nearly two months and I hadn't yet discovered what is right next door. Also in Montmarte is the Dali museum.  We didn't go to it but I will very soon.  

Misa just left to return to Lyon.  I am sad she had to go so soon but excited to go visit her in Lyon at the beginning of June!!  Yay!!

Watching the world go by with the ever necessary morning-after cup of coffee.

Pour tout le monde de Paris... A plus!!

Drunk Blogging

DATELINE: 11.94.09 PARIS,FRANCE

Misa is vi9siting me for the weekend.  last night we went to see Tahiti 80.  They put on a great concert.  tonight we went top Naomi and Juan's housewarming party in the house they bought, which they are renovating.  right now =- they have torn down the walls.  i9t's in rough shape.  the toilet it behind a curtiain.  and the lights are precariously stru ng over beams.  it was a great party and we made a new friend.  A mexican woman named Alex.  the three of us stumbled home.  She continued on.  Misa and I stumblemed up my stairs and into my apt.  we floppec on beds.

now we go to sleep.  

great party.

great weekend. 

awesome.

o

The new man in my life

DATELINE: 09.04.09 PARIS, FRANCE

There is a new man in my life.  A very very little man.  He's 2, and his name is Alex.  I speak to him in English and he responds in French.  But language barrier is no obstacle, we understand each other perfectly.  We buy a baguette and he eats the middle, I eat the crust. We make a good team.  =)

This week I began job #2: taking care of Alex.  Three nights per week I pick him up from Creche (little municipal daycare centers that are in every neighborhood) and bring him home.  I feed him dinner, give him a bath, and then we play.  He likes to ride his bike in circles around the apartment.  Sometimes his scooter instead.  On the way home he is careful to point out all of the motorcycles that are parked on the street, in the dealership, or that drive by.  The few blocks we need to walk to reach home pass very very slowly.  

On the way home we will stop at one of two bakeries we pass and pick up a baguette.  This is part of the routine and it is not permissible to skip this.  At the bakery near home the lady behind the counter is his friend.  He calls out her name well in advance of entering the bakery. He will give her the money and she will give him some candy.  He loves her truly.  He also loves her baguettes.

Last night I picked him up and we rushed off to meet "muma" to go to a Passover seder.  Our route to the metro station passed the alternate bakery.  I attempted to avoid buying bread on Passover but Alex would have none of it.  So we bought a demi-baguette.  On the train ride he dug out all of the soft tasty inside.  He liked part of the crust but mostly was not interested and instead would tear it off, sniff it, maybe give it a taste, and then hand it to me.  I quickly learned that it would serve us both best if I just tore off the crust myself after he had dug out all he could of the middle.  Between the two of us, we at the whole baguette.  

The new little man in my life is also very considerate.  Eating the baguette seated on the train we both got well covered in crumbs and flour.  I was dusting it off of this coat and he immediately reached over and began attempting in his little 2yr old way to dust it off of my jeans.  

I heart him already.

A peek into the folds

DATELINE: 04.04.09

Something amazing has happened to me since I've been in Paris. At least, it is amazing to me. For as long as I can remember I have always felt a great deal of frustration surrounding my drawings, and specifically my perpetually failed (I felt) sketchbooks. There would be, from time to time, some painstakingly done drawing that I would feel good about. But they were extremely rare, and usually of something incredibly boring, like a shoe. The kind of thing we all had to do for freshman year 2D drawing classes.

I never felt like my drawings were what I wanted them to be. I was always so intimidated by the question of "what to draw?" and by the vast white space of the page. I've always been really slow when it comes to drawing, and I get hung up on the pointless details. They are (were, maybe??) my perpetual sandtraps, my roadblocks, my kryptonite. I wanted my drawings to have soul, energy, and personality - like Aaron's drawings, or Bethany's.

But since I came to Paris, something has shifted. I am sketching more, and more inclined to sketch than photograph (which is really a total flip), and I actually really like the results. Sometimes the sketches come about frantically - particularly when I'm trying to sketch the woman on the train seated across from me before she notices.

What is more, my sketchbook on the whole has become something more akin to what I have dreamed it would be: A book where the pages are filled with mixes of drawings and text, where the text is winding around and in between the drawings and doodles.

To a degree I've fallen in love with my sketchbook. I don't think I've ever felt this way before... . I don't know what precipitated this change. Maybe it was the book Bethany gave me for my birthday with samples of the sketchbooks of many famous contemporary artists. Maybe it was the mechanical pencil she let me pencil-nap which has become my good friend (never leave home with out it!).

I don't know where these sketches have even come from. But it's something that makes me so happy I can't begin to explain. It is something I am so immensely proud of, though I know that to someone else there may be nothing particularly spectacular about the sketches.

So I want to share them. Here is a selection of some of the drawings I have done since I have been in Paris.

In Italy, near the Duomo in Viterbo.

The quote that was on the crypt read: "What you are now, we used to be.  What we are now, you will be."

Recent self-portrait - waiting in the metro station for my train to come after class last week.

Note to self: buy new sneakers

DATELINE: 02.04.09 PARIS, FRANCE

I've taken to walking to and from school lately.  By lately I mean: this week.  I like it - I like feeling like I am getting to know Paris better.  I like discovering all the little shops, cafes, chocolateries, trendy bars, high fashion stores.  It's good.  

I know it takes me about 15 minutes to walk 1 mile.  It takes me a bit over 45 minutes to walk to school, which makes it roughly 3 miles.  This means that today alone, I walked 6 miles. When I arrived home I was beginning to feel the first tinglings of sprouting blisters on the bottom of my feet, and was surprised.  Until I did the calculations and realized - hmmm.. these shoes maybe aren't so cut out for that much walking.  

If just to school and back is in the ballpark of 6 miles, that means Erika and I must have walked easily twice that on Monday.  Tuesday I walked closer to 4.  Wednesday was just the walk *to* school, but not home.  So add 3.  Then today, 6.  So in the last 4 days I have walked roughly 25 miles if my calculations are even close to accurate.  

My little Puma's were never meant for this degree of work.  I am certain they will not last to the end of July at this rate.

Note to self: money being saved by not buying metro tickets will be used to buy new sneakers.

"Just threaten to take her chocolate. That usually gets her."

DATELINE: 01.04.09 PARIS, FRANCE

Seriously?? Seriously.

Today I had my first session of teaching English, and generally tutoring, a 4 yr old.  Yes, that's right.  A 4 yr old.  Does anybody else find it a little disconcerting that someone might see reason to hire a *tutor* for someone who has yet to reach school age? 

The complaint is apparently partially on the part of the school.  Yes, school.  At age 4.  I have no objections to young children in school-like early education programs, but that is not the case here.  This wee little gal is in actual school - equivalent to what we in the states would consider kindergarten.  And what is expected of her is about kindergarten/first grade level.  The school has complained that her English isn't very good, clearly French was her first language, and that she "has trouble with her letters" - i.e. she can't write them and can't quite keep them straight.  Ok. Um, she's *4*. 

Honestly, how many 4yr olds do you know who can write there own names and say the whole alphabet?  At 4 yrs old, I still expect to see names or words where half the letters are squiggles that only vaguely resemble letters and the other half are backwards.  At 4 I would expect that a precocious child can sing the whole alphabet song and recognize all the letters.  But I would not find it concerning if they couldn't.  I'm not a teacher, nor am I a parent so I don't really know, but to me that just seems a bit unreasonable.  

So I've been hired to help this young gal, we'll call her Princess, learn to recognize her written name, learn her alphabet, and learn her English.  Well, over the course of the slightly more than 1 hr that I worked with her I concluded that her issues were not so much in the knowledge department.  She recognized her written name, she was just bent on that it's not spelled that way.  At the end of the hour she was willing to concede that maybe all of those letters did belong in her name, but not in that order.  

I also concluded that her issues were more in the behavior department then in the intelligence department.  At one point as she was testing my limits and refusing to sit in her chair, her sister came in and told her "If you don't go with Rachel, I am going to give her all of your chocolate."  At which point Princess promptly (but not without a screech -NO!  Not my crack!! -and some pouting) returned to her chair.  It was all I could do to not let my eyes pop out of my head.  At 4 yrs old the major tool used to garner this child's cooperation is candy.  

I'm sorry.. are you _sure_ you're not American?  

I'm just going to venture a guess here, but I suspect this child's behavioral issues may be due at least in part to the level of sugar in her bloodstream.

Erika comes to Paris

DATELINE: 03.31.09 PARIS, FRANCE

Erika blew through Paris this last weekend.  She

arrived on Saturday morning and must, sadly, return to Boston tomorrow (wednesday).

I only got to have her for one day, but it was a fantastic day, and I am grateful that I got to have her all to myself.

We began the day at my place around 11:30am (well, Erika began by walking from Gare St. Lazare to my place in the 9eme arrondissement).  There were a few visits Erika needed to pay to some hotels so we left my house and aimed ourselves for the area near the Sarbonne - over in the 5eme arr. 

Sorry, strike that; *I* aimed us haphazardly in that direction but mostly just generally towards the river, while Erika - more familiar with the city and with a better sense of direction then I, aimed us towards an actual destination.

We meandered the streets, soaking in sun, clear blue skies, amazing weather, familiar company. I hadn't played tourist in Paris yet (I know - shameful), and could not have asked for a better companion or a better day to do so.

So we meandered the streets and eventually found ourselves in a small plaza with a fountain. We stopped for a few photos and to check the map, only to find that we had managed to drop ourselves *exactly* where we needed to be, not even one block from hotel #1 (although I had been aiming for hotel #2).  As Erika said: We could not have taken ourselves more directly here if we had tried.  

We visited the hotel and continued on our way, directly through the Louvre plaza with the Arc de Triomphe (not the main one) and the Jardins de Tuilleries, to the Pont des Arts, and along the Seine, now actually headed toward the Panthéon and hotel #2.  This time, I let Erika lead the way.  

We passed the Notre Dame and some government buildings where a group of (presumably) teachers were gathered across the street protesting the changes that Sarko (as they call him here) wants to make to the French educational system (he wants to cap salaries for teachers, change who gets to determine curriculum - so that he determines curriculum, and change the way the schools are funded).  People are immensely unhappy and the universities have been on strike for more than a month.  We suspect that he was either inside the building across the street or coming through - there was a great deal of security presence, a group of eager protesters, and some news cameramen.

We found our way to hotel #2, paid them a visit, and then had a seat to review our plan.  I ate peanuts. 

We decided to follow through on the original plan: purchase a baguette, a block of cheese, and a bottle of wine and sprawl on the grass either on the Champs Elysée another park, followed by an ascent of the Arc de Triomphe - the one everyone knows.  

One problem with out plan - it was Monday.  Most of the boulangerie are closed on Monday. Sadface.  

We were meandering more or less generally back towards the river and left towards the Arc de Triomphe and found ourselves getting really ravenous.  We found a boulangerie that was open (hallelujah) and bought a sandwich to split and a baguette.  The sandwich: a classic in Paris - Jambon, fromage, et burre dans baguette.  Possibly the most brilliant sandwich ever.  We meandered and ate, and suddenly found we had taken ourselves almost directly back to the Louvre.  I'm pretty sure my sense of direction is not that good, so I am convinced that among the other things stashed in Erika's cleavage there is a compass that has a direct line to her brain.

We walked through the Jardin des Tuileries, stopping for a nap, an orange, more baguette, and some sunbathing in one of the many lawn chairs that live around the man-made pools there. We continued on through the Place de la Concorde and onto the Champs Elysée, stopping for photos of the new roof on the Grands Palais.  This brought us directly to the Arc de Triomph.

We bought our tickets (making an attempt to get the student discount which was thwarted by our birth dates which were printed on the face of our student IDs. dammit.) and ascended the 286 winding stairs, 50 meters, up to the top - being careful to avoid the herd of jostling adolescents from Canada who came hollering all the way up.  You would think that the round and round and round you go up the stairs would have sedated then at least a little.  

At the top of the Arc de Triomphe we violated some of the rules, but not my favorites - no tighty-whities and no tripods.  It's true!  Ask Erika!  Erika seems to believe that the "No tighty-whities" man actually meant "no sunbathing" but I remain unconvinced.  He clearly was wearing tighty-whities.  The "no tripods" rule, I still can't figure out.  

From the Arc de Triomphe we followed Avenue de Friedland to Boulevard Haussmann toward the Gare St. Lazare, where Erika would get back on a train and return to the mystical land of Orly's house in the burbs.  We stopped at a cafe near the church of St. Augustine and spoiled ourselves with more sunbathing (don't worry France, we weren't in our tighty-whities!), good coffee, and a chocolate mousse like none other.  

I dropped Erika at the train with just moments to spare, and followed Ave. de St. Lazare to Rue des Martyrs.  My home turf.  Up the hill, up 6 flights of stairs, and 7 hrs later, I was home. Home and sunburnt.

A perfect day.  I miss Erika already.