Beckism.com

Whew! After a little over three weeks, I’m at last back in the United States of good ol’ America. To recap (for anyone not aware), my dad had a sabbatical in France (because he is a hard-core Francophile, it seems), and as a graduation gift he brought me over here. Just for kicks, he brought my sisters, too. When we scheduled the trip, I wanted to go home after two weeks, but he pressured me into a month because he didn’t think two weeks would be long enough.

After having me grump around the house for the last two weeks, I suspect he’s regretted this.

In any case, I was in France from the end of May until the end of June, and am at last home. And about time, too. Before coming to France, I was pretty sure that I’m not a tourist. Now I’m certain of it. I really, really dislike wandering around other people’s countries consuming their culture. Especially when I’m surrounded by a language that should never have been written down.

Of course, that isn’t to say that I didn’t had fun. There are some good things about France (the baked goods and their approach to fruit—i.e., lots of it and without loads of sugar—are particularly praiseworthy. Seeing places like Fontaine Bleue was cool, and hot white chocolate at Angelina (near the Louvre) is good enough to die or kill for. But a month was still too long.

Since having me bitch constantly isn’t all that fun, here’s some other good stuff that has happened on the trip:

Going to Scotland (and very briefly, London). Scotland is a really, really cool place. Granted, everyone’s driving on the wrong side of the road, but they’ve got some very fun little castles (the best are the ones that are run-down, where they just let you explore the place on your own and don’t restrict you to the fancy, lord-and-ladies areas). We also got to see my cousin Laurie, who is one of my coolest cousins.

In London we got to see Avenue Q, which is amazing on stage. Just from hearing bits of the soundtrack thanks to Ajay I hadn’t thought I would like it much, but I was dead wrong. What a hilarious show.

Seeing Dad was really nice, too, since I haven’t heard from him much recently. Granted, a month in close quarters was a bit much, but so it goes. Family is there to drive you nuts.

I also enjoyed a number of things in France, but overall it’s just not my country of choice.

In any case, now I’m home and trying to make a living doing freelance web work. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get clients regularly enough to keep myself afloat, but we’ll see. If not, I’m planning on applying to some agencies like the one I worked at in Walla Walla. They always need workers, and I’m sure I could get a good reference.

I’d never really thought it would happen, but I also got a cell phone to help out with the whole being a business thing. It’s very strange having to think about carrying it around with me. I’m having a minor dilemma trying to figure out how to put both it and my keys into pockets (since I can’t very well put them into the same pocket or I’ll scratch up the phone). Life is a trial.

I’m also trying to do some writing, although I haven’t really dived into that yet. I’ve done some writing for the book I always meant to write first, but nothing substantial yet. I’m thinking of re-implementing the daily word requirement for myself. Without a deadline, I think I can set it low enough to be low-stress, and it certainly helped me get my thesis written.

And that, I think, is enough of a monstrous update for now.

Alright, I’ll admit it: I may be a hard-core Francophobe (for reasons that I’m not really clear on; probably my one patriotic American action), but damn do the French know what to do with fruit.

In America, I am apt to search despondently down aisle after aisle in the grocery store for 100% cranberry juice (or grapefruit juice, or orange juice, or…). In France, you just wander down any aisle with fruit juice in it.

They also make yoghurts that have more fruit than sugar (and some truly bizarre yet tantalizing flavors; grapefruit yoghurt, anyone?). Add to this the extreme number of pastry shops with little bundles of raspberry-loaded joy, and you’ve got a culture that knows what to do with fruit. My dad has been practicing French with a French woman (who is practicing her English), and we were invited over to their house. Desert? A huge bowl of strawberries and raspberries. (Cue heavenly music and lights here.)

Sit up and take notice, US! Fruit actually tastes great without adding a bunch of sugar to it!

As of a half week ago or so, I am in Paris, consuming their cultural artifacts like a good American tourist as part of my thank-God-I-graduated activities.

Here’s the thing about Paris: people are always telling you that Parisians have serious class and romance going for them. Of course, the fact that you are liable while walking down the street to step in dog crap flies in the face of this a bit, but evidently they’re working to fix that little faux pas.

But what really makes me think that this whole “we’re classy” thing is just marketing is the pharmacies. It seems like every block has a pharmacy, or sometimes two, and while this would not necessarily be a bad thing (maybe Parisians just get sick a lot), every single pharmacy has a garish green and often blue neon plus sign sticking out into the street, usually flashing, and always really, really ugly.

I don’t get it. Who the heck thought that this would be a good idea? Sure there’s neon in some parts of the city, which is to be expected, but walking down what would otherwise be an interesting street of apartments and little shops who wants a brilliant flashing plus sign in their face?

On the other hand, the newer, snazzier pharmacy signs show you the temperature, and in the absence of your typical American bank sign, that’s kind of nice.