Ramblings

Bar Afterthoughts Thoughts After a Bar

Bonjour à tous,

It is 00:21 here (that’s 5:21pm to you, Chicagoans), and I am looking on with weary, post-Happy Hour eyes.  But Phil gives me strength.  Despite this drum-infused strength, the title of this Microsoft Word document is “January 12^th blog attempt,” so if you are reading these words, it means I got hot late, Hibachi-style.  (Cyber chest bump if you understood that.)  Thus, I press on with the hope of triumphing over my doubts, and the desire for a tangible finished product may result in publication of a sub par entry.  Alright, absolved from pressure and ready to go.

At the bar tonight, I watched a pair of dogs flirt for hours on end.  A homeless-looking, grayed, go-getter of a hound worked relentlessly on a beautiful Black Lab.  The lab was playing the game, giving him just enough time at the helm to leave him wanting more, and then backing off.  But the tramp did not back off.  He wanted to be her dog.  What I’m trying to tell you is, I don’t have much to write about right now.  But also, that dogs are allowed in bars in Europe, which is awesome.  

And don’t be a passive blog reader; if you can find motivation from this tale, go right ahead.

Well, might as well mosey on back to what brings me to France in the first place (theoretically):  teaching English.  Lulled into a false sense of security by a calm sea of bi-focaled cinquième students, I hastily and irresponsibly labeled the entirety of my student body as “angels.”  I rescind this first impression, as the troisième classes have gotten comfortable with me and I have been awakened from my blissful dream.  [Cinquième is the equivalent of seventh-grade; troisième the ninth-grade]  My goal with some of these older classes, who are unanimously indifferent towards learning, is to finish the period.  “But Dan,” you say, “What about Michelle Pfeiffer in Dangerous Minds?  She really got through to them.”  That, my friends, is the stuff of Hollywood.

Luckily, there are students like Andrew.  He came to France from Iraq a few years back, and is a year behind due to problems with his French.  This round, little guy does not stop smiling.  I’m always very excited when he pops in my room in between periods to chat with me and work on his English.  The other day, some of the older girls and Andrew were in my room, and they condescendingly asked him why he was there.  “Parce qu’il est mon pote” (because he is my friend), I said, and Andrew’s smile grew even bigger.  So although I have some problems with the students, there are indeed cool moments.  Take that, Michelle.  

Since you’re wondering, on the fashion front, if France is a dog park, I’m this guy.

Not so much this year, but going into last year, I was on a quest to better my wardrobe.  To get Frenched out a bit.  Unfortunately, there are no improvements to be spoken of.  Jeans or corduroys and a tee-shirt, and I’m on my way.  If I can make it to that January paycheck, I may be taking advantage of some serious sales that are going down in Lyon.  Worry not, you'll be in the know.

Be well, take care, and safe travels.