the time of my life and the life of my times
Some people really piss me off. People who don't turn the lights off in their room when they leave the house, even when they've been told repeatedly that electricity in France is almost twice as expensive and to please not leave things on when they're not being used. Or people who spend an hour on Skype in the middle of the night with thin walls arguing with their parents about why they can't travel more when they're not traveling nearly as much as some of the other kids here, and why are they being punished? Let's see, when your parents tell you they have no money and can't pay for it, do you honestly think whining about it to them will help? Getting mad at them? Begging them and promising to cut down on the hundreds of euros you spend on make-up and the 50 euros you spend a night on drinks, every night of the week? What part of "don't have any money" doesn't compute?
Then there's the Skype argument with parents about Facebook. Apparently when parents don't approve of what you're putting on Facebook, you get to yell (in an apartment where every little sound is transmitted through the walls, and some people do like to sleep sometime around one in the morning) about how you're 20 years old, and how dare they question what you're doing? How dare they bring up how what you put on Facebook gets viewed by potential employers in the future?
And then there are the people who just make me smile. Like the French. Thursday, March 19th, there will be a national strike in France. My classes may get cancelled, although I have to check with the individual teachers to be certain, because some of them arrange to have their classes in cafés on days when there are strikes (yes, this is a common occurrence). The trains, buses, and metro will all be affected, not to mention post offices and other public services.
I understand the importance of strikes, I do. It's a way for the little guys to band together against a big, powerful guy and show that they might be little but there are a lot of 'em. It's necessary. Going on strike because you aren't getting paid enough, or aren't being treated fairly, or don't get proper benefits, or what-have-you. That I get.
But the French workers are going on strike against the economic crisis. They're protesting the economy.
What do they think that's going to do, exactly? Going on striking isn't going to show the economic crisis who's boss. It isn't going to convince the economy to straighten itself out. It's like having a war on terror, only more fun and less work. But it's just as futile.
Still, given a choice between a war on terror and a strike on an economic crisis, I'm not sure which wall banging my head against seems more appealing. I think I'll spend the day in a café watching the gendarmes walking through the streets with their enormous guns over their shoulders.
Speaking of guns, I did mention, of course, that this week my school is, in the words of my professor, "occupied", right? Yeah, seems that last week there was a break-in by a bunch of students in the middle of the night at the Sorbonne and they trashed the place, breaking things at random. That means this week, all along rue Saint-Jaques and Saint-Michel are police vehicles and armed guards. Ah, the French. They're very good at making their displeasure known.
Sounds like someone you know, right? Wonder who that could be.
And people wonder why I like this place. Good food, good wine, a curmudgeonly nature, and lots of history? What else could I possibly need? Guys that aren't complete creepers? Well, there are alway planes. And trains.
Somedays are just good days. And today was one of them. I'm pretty much awesome. And I like my life.
Everyday, when I get ready in the morning, I watch the previous night's Countdown with Keith Olberman. Then every night, after I've finished classes for the day and settled in my pajamas, I watch the Rachel Maddow Show, the Daily Show, and the Colbert Report from the night before. It's a nice routine. I get my news, my humor, and I get to oogle John Stewart for 30 minutes.
Seriously. Do I have to go back to South Carolina?
