speed

Living each day as my last.

From the second I dreamed up this crazy project, this idea popped into mind: RIDING ON A MOTORCYCLE!

I had a taste for it when I was forced to guard my modesty by sitting sidesaddle on the back of a moped taxi in rural Thailand… and have longed to hop on back of a Vespa with a colleague I adore… but since I didn’t think his girlfriend would like me to have my legs wrapped around his backside, I have been restraining myself….

Until France. My host brother had a brand new racing bike and was eager for a joy ride. My host mom intervened, not trusting her son with my life. Even still, as she watched her husband and I leave for a little “tour du ville”, she bid us to “roulez doucement”…

We headed through town, my fingers interlaced around B’s tummy, my legs gripping his outer thighs. He lifted my visor and asking me if I was scared, urged me to relax (probably so he too could begin to breathe again) and lean into the curves.

We increased speed and headed out, out, out… past the l’Occitaine factory and the sunflower fields, and the tractors that were mowing down the lavender stalks… we wove between cars, hopping back and forth over the line, racing forward, faster and faster, only the heavy lavender fog managing to keep up with us… I laced my fingers around B’s waist, clinging for dear life as visions of a Gingerbread woman-like me, arms and legs splayed, flying backwards came to mind when I saw 165 kpm… 102 MILES PER HOUR!!

Very stiff and windblown after three hours on the French “Autobahn” I slowly lifted myself from the bike… still a bit incredulous that another one of those crazy thoughts on my list actually manifested themselves.

scrabble

I just realized last night that I have been carrying around a bag of scrabble chips for quite some time. On the chips are words, images and expressions. Each game I play, I mix them up and hope for a high score.

Recently, though, I’ve been digging deeper into the bag, tired of using the same little wooden squares over and over. Surely people are going to start to notice that I am merely reshuffling these pieces again and again?

As I search for an adjective, noun or verb, or to string all of the above together, I feel like Amelie Poulain’s suicidal little fish, Blubber - flailing around, side to side, gasping for air. Even more, I identify with the little guy trying to move from his little bowl of experience to the bigger stream – not to project too many emotions onto Blubber.

The answer may seem quite simple. Expand my vocabulary, seek new images, push myself harder. If only so easy. Truth is, I’m not going to print out an SAT vocab list and start replacing words in my pieces, word of the day lists are great, but I always end up deleting those annoying emails and eventually taking myself off of the mailing lists. It must be more organic. I can’t steal someone else’s bag, especially when it comes to expressions. I am constantly craving fresh imagery and descriptions – ones that are new, unadulterated by other writers, that ring true, are rich and beautiful and delicious, yet not overly dramatic, ones that summon the reader forward on their own volition, rather than dragging them alongside the wagon.

So for the moment, I am open – eyes, mind, heart – to all that is coming my way – to really be immersed in the landscape of la vie quotidien, I am plunging into the books that summon me forward, reconsidering my choices to push past the fall backs and considering my voice – not to change it, but make it even more me. But isn’t that how it always goes? That when you’re at your best that you’re most you? Or at least something like that.

garçon: linguistical revelations

I find that some of the most insightful sermons are peppered with references to ancient languages. For instance, the Hebrew word kavodh (weight, honor, esteem) was translated as glory in the Old Testament, yet the word glory in the New Testament is often the translation for doxa (the way God makes Himself recognizable).

I would venture to say that a current comparison of language also provides extremely edifying insight – for example this summer’s very popular French song by Koxie, “Garçon”…. Check out this spoof:

Just in case you didn’t get that, a bit of Google’s apt translation:

(Note the most important slang not translated – garçon= boy, gar= guy, gare= train station, con= asshole, enlèves=remove, cedille= small punctuation on the c)

Just now,
J’roulais on my scooter in Paris,
On one car at the traffic lights, a guy said to me:
“Hey Madam, what time is it?”
J’lui say: “Midi.”
It m’dit: “Madam what went right! Want not m’faire a treat?”
His pals rigolent. At the time I did not understand.
J’réponds: “My great, it’s no way to talk to people. Tu we would not speak like that to your mother.
The guy looks at me. With a head of guard dog he m’fait: “Vas speaks not my mother or j’te trapping!”
J’lui say: “From quiet Alphonse. J’te not know, you m’agresses! What is this lack of sensitivity? We told you not treat women as princesses?”
It m’dit: “Yeah, but you j’te kisses!”
J’lui say: “Well not exactly, it is well that the malaise!”

((Chorus:))
You know that boy, if t’enlèves the cedilla it makes boy and cons station to my daughter, the station cons.
Beware cons, beware of cons who lose their cedilla.
Boy if t’enlèves the cedilla it makes boy and cons station to my daughter, the station cons.
Beware cons, beware of cons who lose their cedilla.

J’continue my way. At the next traffic light, I hear “Hey big naughty when you want j’te take!”
It is still with his head Alphonse glans.
J’lui say, “Here you t’enfonces is indescent!
I think so guy, down to your planet!
You take for Tony Montana, have you not even hairs on the quéquette … “
It m’dit: “Go ahead am not fulgaire! T’vas see where j t’la save.”
“You say qu’c'est me who is vulgar? But there it is the feast! I dream. For that you take? Now you t’arrêtes.”
I come down, it goes down.
J’dis: “It’s a mess in your head! Accounts What do you do? Here t’es in trouble.
I want an apology, I expect and j’lacherai not the case. “
He said: “No toi you t’excuses, kind of old witch.”
“This is the best I t’ai given time, I would have done better to shut me!”

And the language of reference if you’re interested.

ps – I’m not a man-hater – I just couldn’t resist!

celebrities make fools of themselves too!

Yes, sickening US Weekly caption. But it’s not just the Hoff that makes fun of himself in foreign media.

dreaming back to august vacation…

I was given my first manual car(!) on my last day prior to vacation. I set out to battle Brussels’ congested streets with its trams, buses, bikers and eager pedestrians. I stalled 5 times getting out of the spot (I was nervous and thought the break was the gas!), 6-8 times in the biggest roundabout in Brussels and managed to maneuver intersections by waving my arms like a crazy person, holding my breath and coasting through. I was so shaken I forgot my card at the atm on the way home, freaked out about not having money for vacation, canceled my card, then got a call from a man who managed to track down my brand new home phone number(!?) on the internet and dropped off the card to my apartment!!

The next morning I arrived in Provence. My wonderful host family took one look and ordered me out in the sun (later they tried to find anyone whiter than I at Les Gorges du Verdon) and said it was time to lift my morale. Martine took me out to practice driving – we screeched up the hills of Manosque to the high-pitched tune of Mika “Love Today” – breathless from laughter, Martine deeming us the new Starsky & Hutch. Martine promptly sent me to diving school for the next two mornings! As if I didn’t already feel reverted to 16, she later whipped out her camera to reveal all of the photos she had taken papparazzi-style of me and my cute instructor at the end of our lesson!! Then, in typical French fashion, my host dad reassured me over dinner that the offer to make myself at home extended to the bedroom… though my host mom said, “dans l’herbe est beaucoup plus romantique.” ooooh la.

Next I headed to Dublin to stay with family, then Killarney, the Ring of Kerry (quite happy the county I’m named after isn’t crap) and finally to Galway. Ireland was very green, rainy and low-key – I read 5 books (best ones: A Thousand Splendid Sons and The Boy in the Striped Pajamas) and the most excitement was walking in on one of my aunt’s dinner party guests in the bathroom (he came out and announced to all that next time I should text him prior and stay longer!), then after dinner having a dance party that ended at 3 am with my aunt (slow) dancing on the dining room table and the next morning having a medium-sized bird fly into my aunt’s house when I was the only one awake.